Curse of the Pogo Stick (19 page)

He handed the twins, now crying in coordinated stereo, to two maternity nurses and asked them to take care of the infants. He told them he’d stop by later. He walked to the morgue, carrying the remains of Danny and Eric under his arm, his only luggage. One of the uprooted chrysanthemums lay on the morgue’s welcome mat as if it were insisting on an autopsy. The door was padlocked and for some mysterious reason his key didn’t work. He wondered why they’d needed to change a three-month-old lock. He went to the office window but the curtains were drawn tightly and there was no gap to allow him to see inside.

It was just after five and usually Dtui and Geung would be heading off to water the squashes in the cooperative plot behind the hospital. They understandably dawdled getting there so it wasn’t unheard of for the morgue to remain open till five thirty. They certainly wouldn’t have rushed away before five. He had to consider another obvious possibility. On his last protracted interstate trip, the hospital had drafted Siri’s staff to work in other departments. He thought he’d kicked up enough of a stink about it to ensure it wouldn’t happen again but he wouldn’t put anything past the current administration.

He stopped by Urology and wandered in to the office of Dr Mut. ‘Wandering in’ was a standard procedure in most Vientiane offices. Doors were usually left ajar due to the heat and a lot of the buildings were open plan. Apart from personages of the absolute top of the heap, there were no receptionists or secretaries to keep out unwanted guests. So riff-raff was to be expected.

“Good health, Mut,” Siri said.

The doctor was staring at two plastic cups that sat in front of him on the desk. He looked up and smiled. He was a kindly, greasy-faced man with hair slicked to his scalp like trails of paint.

“Ah, Siri. Can I tempt you?”

“Can’t say I’m sure what you’re asking me to do,” Siri confessed, not knowing whether these were specimens or oolong tea.

“I always end the day with a hot ginseng. Keeps me active in the bedroom.” He winked, threw back one of the cups, and wiped his lips.

“I’ll pass, thank you, Mut. Being active all by yourself makes you blind.”

Mut laughed. “Word on the ward is that you’ll be rabbiting soon on a regular basis. Young bride. Disgusting. Envy you, though.”

He threw back the other cup.

“Shouldn’t you be savouring that?”

“No. Horrible stuff. Don’t want it to last a minute longer than necessary. Tastes like pubic-hair roots. Gets stuck between your teeth the same too. Know what I mean?”

Siri had always found it fitting that the head of Urology should be so adept at toilet humour. Mut was its grand master.

“Well, seeing as you know so much about everything,” Siri said, “and seeing as you stole my nurse last time I turned my back, I thought perhaps you’d know what’s become of my morgue people.”

“Ooh!”

Mut let the end of the ‘ooh’ trail into a long noisy breath. “Now that I can’t tell you, comrade.”

“Because you don’t know or because it’s a secret?”

“Mystery, Siri. Mystery. Nobody has any idea. That morgue’s been locked like that for several days now. Nobody seems to have a sound idea why. But there are rumours, Siri. Lots of ‘em.”

“I’m listening.”

“Something happened, they say. Your Nurse Dtui and her policeman got caught up in something nasty.”

“And?”

“That’s all I heard.”

“That’s not much help.”

“Sorry, comrade. All I know.”

Siri, anxiety growing with every stride, hurried to the administration building. As it was after five, he wasn’t surprised to find it devoid of administrators. None of the clerical staff there knew anything beyond the same rumour passed on by Mut. His frustration grew. He knew how unconcerned Dtui and Phosy were for their own safety. It was like them to get into trouble. He went to Mr Geung’s dormitory room but his neighbour admitted he hadn’t seen Geung for three or four days. The mystery was thickening.

Siri’s Triumph was in the parking lot where he’d left it before he headed north. He wiped a thick brown layer of dust from it and tried the key. It charged into life first time. He had to hand it to the British. If nothing else, they knew how to make motorcycles. He attached Danny and Eric to the back of the seat and headed to Madame Daeng’s shop. The shutter was bolted and a sign, not in Daeng’s own hand, was taped to the front of it. It read:

SORRY, CUSTOMERS.

CLOSED TILL FURTHER NOTICE.

He wasn’t sure where to turn next. He knew it was a mistake but he stopped by his house out beyond the That Luang Stupa. The place was a menagerie of his own making. Through his benevolence it had become a guesthouse for strays, some of whom he hadn’t yet met. Mrs Fah’s kids were running around like headless chicks, shaking off the cobwebs they’d gathered at school. Inthanet, the puppeteer, was having a serious fight with his girlfriend, Miss Vong, in the kitchen. Something about a wife he’d forgotten to mention. Comrade Noo, the forest monk who was in hiding from the Thai junta of the month, was giving a seminar to half a dozen students in the backyard. And two attractive young ladies he didn’t know sat in his room watching a TV he didn’t own.

None of the inhabitants could shed light on the events at the morgue and he realized staying at the house would do him no good. He grabbed some fresh clothes from one of the two piles the women were leaning against and retired to the bathroom. He tried to ignore the brassieres in lurid colours that hung there, had a quick shower, and fled. At the door, he ran into Mrs Fah coming back from the market with instant noodles for her brood.

“Dr Siri. When did you get back?” she asked. Siri was delighted at least one person had noticed his absence. “We heard you’d been kidnapped.”

She didn’t seem all that concerned. It was as if ‘kidnapped’ and ‘bitten by a mosquito’ might have carried the same weight in her addled mind.

“I escaped.”

“That’s nice.”

“Mrs Fah, have you heard anything from Dtui or Phosy?”

“No, Doctor. Since she moved out, I haven’t heard a thing.”

“Has there been any news around?”

He didn’t mean newspaper news or radio news. He wasn’t particularly interested in crop yield or cooperative farming advances. He meant reliable social hearsay news such as was in ready supply at the markets.

“Nothing much. They say there was a killing out at Kok Pho. Plenty of police out there. Just rumours, probably. Like some noodles, Doctor?”

But when she looked back he was already on his bike.

What in the blazes was happening? He needed answers and there was only one person he could rely on to provide them. He sped out along the Phonkeing Road. The potholes were more challenging than he remembered and there were several occasions when his hands were the only parts of him in contact with the bike. He skidded left at kilometre 6, sped along the side road, and soon found himself surrounded by boys with big guns at the entrance to the government compound. In spite of the fact that he’d been there a thousand times they still insisted on escorting him to Civilai’s house. His friend might be retired now but he still had his security rating.

From the kerbside in front of the little bungalow, Siri sat on his saddle and yelled. “Old brother, could you come out here and tell this midget I’m not a threat to national security?”

It was dark now and the light on the porch went on and the door opened. But it was Civilai’s wife, Madame Nong, who stood there smiling.

“Well, if it isn’t the second most handsome man in Laos,” she said in her songlike Luang Prabang lilt.

“You know this man?” the little guard asked. It seemed to Siri that if the government didn’t insist on changing sentries every week they might save themselves a lot of effort.

“It’s fine,” she said. “He’s harmless.”

The escort rode away and Siri climbed off his bike. He went through the silly little American gate that any horse or bullock could have stepped over and kissed Nong’s cheek. She too was a product of a French education so she didn’t recoil from physical contact like the wives of her Vietnamese-trained neighbours.

“I was hoping to see the old man,” Siri said.

“I was hoping too. He’s been gone all this week.”

“Gone where?”

“Don’t know.”

“Come on. There’s nothing you two don’t share.”

“I’m serious. He came home one day in a fit of nervous excitement, packed a few clothes, told me not to worry, and left.”

“He’s retired.”

“It doesn’t feel like it. He’d been working on something with your Nurse Dtui and Inspector Phosy.”

“Did he say what?”

“Look, dust yourself off and come inside. I’ll make you a little drinkie and tell you all I know.”

“My fantasy.”

“What?”

“Civilai out of town…”

“Dream on, Casanova. I still keep my Luger under the pillow.”

“That’s encouraging. At least we make it to the bedroom.”

At the kitchen table, Nong told Siri everything she knew about the booby trap, the poisoned cakes – everything up to the day Phosy and Dtui decided to follow up on a lead they had about the Lizard studying at Dong Dok. Civilai had come home that day, flustered and secretive, grabbed a bag of clothes, told her not to worry, and was gone in twenty minutes.

“And, of course, you’ve worried,” Siri assumed.

“It’s been three days. Of course, he used to do things like this all the time when he was in the politburo. I wouldn’t see him for weeks at a time. But he’s not supposed to be doing anything official these days. That means he’s doing things he shouldn’t. Ornery old men can get themselves in a lot of trouble, Siri.”

“Well, if he was dead you would have heard by now.”

“That’s very comforting, thank you.”

“Have you asked around?”

“All his old comrades. Nobody seems to know anything. It’s as if my darling husband has just vanished off the face of the earth.”

“Don’t panic, my love. I’ll find him.”

Every step, every line of inquiry had made the mystery even more baffling. He had one more stop to make before he would allow hopelessness to overtake him. Phosy had an office at police headquarters at the Interior Department. It was one of the few buildings where the wandering-in policy didn’t apply. A scruffy man in a large green uniform sat at the desk. His hair was so short it was more pink than black. He seemed surprised to have a visitor after dark.

“Help you?”

“I’m looking for Inspector Phosy.”

“No.”

“No what?”

“Haven’t seen him all week.”

“Do you have any idea…?”

“No. I just man the desk. If you have any inquiries – ”

“I know. Ask in the morning when someone with a mind is on duty.”

“Hey, no need to be rude, old man.”

Siri took a deep breath and reminded himself where he was.

“Look, I’m sorry. This isn’t police business. I’m a friend of the inspector. I haven’t seen him for a few days and I’m worried about him.” Just for effect he added, “I’m Siri Paiboun, the national coroner.”

“Then I reckon I’ve heard of you.”

“Could you just give me a hint?”

The night man looked up into Siri’s tired eyes and obviously decided he wasn’t a threat to security.

“All I can tell you is that something big went down earlier in the week and your pal was caught up in it. Him and a couple of other people have been missing since. Nobody’s saying what happened to them. We’ve had the director of police and half a dozen Vietnamese advisers here running around. But I didn’t tell you this.”

Siri’s was the only engine disturbing the silence in Vientiane that night. He’d reached the stage where he didn’t know what to do, who to ask. The fatigue of the past few days was squeezing rational thought out of him. With no idea how much precious petrol there was in his tank, he rode around the streets of Vientiane’s humble downtown. It was a grid of no more than twenty blocks, most of them dark, deserted, and uninviting. Few Lao could afford a night out and for those who could, the curfew had them home by ten. The resident foreigners had their favourite spots and kept them alive. Ninety per cent of the entertainment venues had closed down since the Royalists left and the remainder were pale shadows of their lively pasts.

Siri had no idea why he was still there. If he’d been looking for inspiration, it didn’t come. He’d ridden four times past Daeng’s shop and banged on the shutters twice. He’d stopped at the spot on the bank of the Mekhong where he and Civilai ate their baguette lunches and solved the problems of the universe together. His heart felt heavy in his old chest. He didn’t want to assume the worst but the worst kept tapping him on the shoulder.

Finally, he stopped at a
roti
stall down by the old deserted Odeon cinema. He figured sugar might be the solution. He ate two sweet condensed-milk
roti
with castor sugar sprinkles and ordered a third before it occurred to him he hadn’t eaten since the pork the previous evening. What a different place, time, and dimension that all seemed now.

“Siri?”

The voice from behind him was warm. He turned to see Bassak, one of the clerks from the Department of Justice. He was waiting for a girl to fill an order at the minced-fowl stand beside Siri’s.

“Good health, Bassak.”

“It’s good to see you alive, Siri. Welcome back.”

“Thank you.”

“I hear the judge made it back too.”

Siri shrugged.

“Never mind,” Bassak sighed. “So you’d all be out celebrating then?”

“No, just can’t sleep. You know how it is? It’s like travelling by air. Once you land, your soul takes a while to forget it’s flying.”

“Never flown myself.”

Bassak collected his spicy minced duck and climbed onto his bicycle.

“What did you mean, ‘you all’?” Siri asked.

“What’s that, comrade?”

“You said, “You’d all be out celebrating.””

“Oh, I assumed you’d just left the others.”

“What others?”

“I just dropped off some quails’ eggs at the Russian Club. The wife raises quail for a bit of extra cash. They’re a bit like chickens: eat whatever you feel like giving them. We can make about…”