Six and a Half Deadly Sins (7 page)

More worrying was a telegram message Dtui had received from Phosy. It had been brief, and in his usual uncompromising style said for her and Malee to move out of the police dormitory for a few days and take the rest of the week off work. He would explain when he got back. It was important not to tell anyone but her closest friends where she was staying and to remain incognito until further notice. Phosy
emphasized that he was in no danger himself, that this was just a precaution. Dtui was angry but knew Phosy wouldn’t have insisted on such a thing if he wasn’t afraid for his family’s safety.

Dtui stayed just long enough to pass on this message and arrange temporary accommodation, but not so long as to pass on her cold. She left the mystery of the bleach to Siri, admitting she had no idea as to its purpose.

The annual flu bug took hold of Vientiane at the slightest excuse and spread like a bean fart. Changes in temperature. Heavy rain. Non-conditioning air conditioners. They all helped. As soon as Dtui had gone, Daeng and Siri ate half a bag of oranges, but Daeng could feel the tickle in her throat. Siri already had the cough. Vitamin C was probably too little and too late.

The doctor was out front putting the orange peel in the mulch bucket when the messenger arrived. Siri heard him call out, “This Dr. Siri Paiboun’s house?”

Siri walked to the open gate and saw a teenager on a moped just about to drive on. “The street number and the name plaque would suggest so,” said Siri.

“Message from Justice,” said the boy and held up the envelope as if expecting Siri to walk to the curb to receive it.

“I have neuroabstroperosis,” said Siri.

“What?”

“It’s a nerve problem. I can’t walk.”

“You just walked to the gate.”

“I had somebody at the house push me. Once I had the momentum it was fine. Now that I’ve stopped, I can’t start up again. It’s a bugger being old.”

The boy looked bewildered. He hesitated, then climbed down from his bike, walked the two meters to the gate and handed Siri the note.

“Thank you, son,” said Siri.

They stood staring at each other.

“Should I give you a push?” asked the boy.

“That would be splendid.”

Siri arrived at the backyard table where Madame Daeng spent most of her time.

“Siri, why are you walking backward?” she asked.

“Neuroabstroperosis,” he said.

“It sounds made up.”

He sat.

“What’s that?” she asked.

“A note from Justice.”

“Are you going to open it?”

“I’m nervous.”

“Why?”

“They might ask us to leave our beloved home and head off to excitingly fearsome places.”

“Open it.”

Siri deliberately took his time. He pulled a tissuey sheet of paper from the envelope and unfolded it. “And the winner for best cinematography goes to …”

“Siri!”

“It’s from Haeng.”

“Ha! He’s back. Well done, my husband. Does he send his love and gratitude?”

“Even better.” He read, “For the attention of Dr. Siri Paiboun. The ministry appreciates that you are now retired, but we have a matter of grave importance with which we hope you can help us. Inspector Phosy is currently in Luang Nam Tha investigating a highly sensitive case. He has requested the assistance of a forensic pathologist. If you and one assistant are available to travel north, we have a cargo flight leaving for Luang Prabang at five tomorrow morning.
From Luang Prabang you should be able to find connecting transportation to Luang Nam Tha. I emphasize that we have a budget for no more than one other staff member. You may not bring your entire entourage on this mission. Haeng Somboun, Head of Public Prosecution and Justice Related Internal Affairs.”

Siri and Daeng had learned to low-five from the American MIA team in Xiang Kwang. They had perfected their own version, which involved just the index fingers. It was far more dignified.

“Free!” said Daeng with such enthusiasm they both started into a coughing fit.

“We should start packing,” said Siri.

“Packing takes us ten minutes,” she reminded him. “In fact, I don’t believe we ever got around to unpacking from our last trip. We’re always prepared.”

“Like Superman,” said Siri. “I just rip off my shirt, and everyone can see my big S.”

“You keep your big S covered, Siri Paiboun,” said Daeng with a smile.

The three officers on duty in the Luang Nam Tha police office were surprised to hear a vehicle in the late afternoon. Only the military and the Chinese road teams had petrol allowances, and there was precious little reason for either to be in town that day. The officers were already outside on the sidewalk beside the dirt road when Phosy’s jeep pulled up in front. He had two passengers with him: one tall, thin man in an ill-fitting Mao jacket and a middle-aged woman with greasy cheeks who looked like a low-budget version of Imelda Marcos. Senior Sergeant Teyp recognized Phosy and appeared to consider running back inside to put on his shirt. But he changed his mind
and gave a slapdash salute instead. There was a look of surprise on his dark shiny face.

“Are you well?” Phosy asked.

“We … we were expecting you this morning,” said Teyp. “Last night, even. We thought you’d left without … we heard you’d gone.”

“Why would I go without doing the job I’ve been sent here by the government to do?” Phosy smiled. “But I decided it would be inappropriate to conduct an investigation into a crime that might or might not involve Chinese nationals without inviting observers from China. Allow me to introduce Comrade Xiu Long from the Chinese/Lao trade commission.”

“Observers,” said Comrade Xiu Long, stepping down from the jeep. He had apparently picked up a number of words during his tenure as surrogate consul in Phongsali but not the ability to put them together to make sentences, hence the accompaniment of Mrs. Loo, his interpreter. Phosy had no knowledge of the Chinese language, but it had already occurred to him that Mrs. Loo was somewhat sparing with the amount of information she chose to pass on to her boss.

Phosy explained to the sergeant, “Unfortunately, the letter we sent to Comrade Xiu Long from Police Headquarters in Vientiane didn’t arrive. But regardless, he was kind enough to drop everything in order to be involved here.”

Phosy looked at Mrs. Loo, and she reluctantly translated a few words. Her boss nodded and smiled. “Involved,” he said.

Phosy walked past the policemen in their less-than-white T-shirts and entered the small, open-fronted building. The hand-painted sign over the entrance claimed that this was the Luang Nam Tha Police Headquarters.

“So,” said Phosy, kicking off his shoes and making himself comfortable in a cane rocking chair. “Who’s going to brief me about the case?”

The Chinese sat on a wooden bench opposite, leaving the three policemen outside looking uncomfortable.

“We thought … er … we thought you’d just be signing the document,” said Teyp, joining them inside.

“Really? And what document would that be?” Phosy asked.

“The doc … the document we have to send to Vientiane.”

“Well, let me see it.”

“It’s … I … I can’t, really …”

“Look, man, you either have a document to sign or you don’t. Which is it?”

“It’s already signed.”

“Is that so? And who signed it?”

“We thought you’d left and … and forgotten to sign it.”

“I could hardly have forgotten something I didn’t know about, could I now? So who signed it?”

“Comrade Goi.”

“He sounds important. Who is he, the governor of the province?”

“No.”

“Then …?”

“He’s the senior foreman of the Chinese road project.”

“Really? So show me the document.”

“I …”

“That’s an order.”

Teyp went to his desk and removed a banana that was acting as a paperweight for a brown envelope. The banana reminded Phosy he hadn’t eaten for twenty hours. He instructed the smallest of the constables to organize food for himself and his guests as soon as possible. In the meantime, they’d settle for tea. The little officer ran off.

Teyp brought over the envelope. Phosy smiled. It was sealed. He hooked his little finger into the flap and ripped it open. It contained one sheet of greying paper with a rather brief typed letter on one side. It said that, following a
thorough investigation, Inspector Phosy had come to the conclusion that there was no Chinese involvement in the incident that led to the deaths of the two village headmen.

Phosy looked up at the sergeant, who was staring at his own bare feet. “It appears that not only am I a poor speller,” said Phosy, “but that I’ve already signed this crock of shit, and it’s all addressed and ready to go off. Now how do you account for that?”

Sergeant Teyp could say nothing.

“Well, I’ll tell you what we’ll do,” said Phosy, ripping the letter into smaller and smaller pieces. “We’ll assume that you didn’t know your Comrade Goi signed my name on this letter instead of his own. We’ll assume you believed he was authorized to communicate directly with the ministry. We’ll assume that the eight regulations and two laws you and your men have already broken will not be written up in my report and that you are able to start again with a clean sheet. And we’ll assume that you, rather than the Chinese road builders, are in charge up here. How does that grab you?”

Sergeant Teyp nodded and said quietly, “Thank you, sir.”

Phosy didn’t feel nearly as confident as he sounded, but he needed the sergeant and his men to have faith in him. “We have a system. Laws. Everything that happens here is reported to and acted on in Vientiane. You are members of the Lao police force. Never forget that. If we don’t investigate a crime, we don’t issue documents to say we did. Now brief me on the case.”

There were no laws as such. The ministry had drawn up a list of crimes and suitable punishments, but the judicial system was in its infancy and justice was being meted out by old military officers and headmen who interpreted the ambiguous lists however they saw fit. Even so, Phosy’s serious talk seemed to have penetrated, as a brief expression of pride shone in the sergeant’s face. Phosy was suddenly aware of the
bruises where the stick had been poked repeatedly into his ribs that morning.

Before going to the filing cabinet, Teyp took his shirt from the back of his chair and put it on. He opened a drawer and started to finger through the files. There was a sudden flurry of language from the previously silent Mrs. Loo.

“Here,” said the sergeant, holding the file aloft.

“Read it to me,” said Phosy.

“Yes, sir.”

Teyp sat at his desk and gave the date of the crime and the names of the police involved in the investigation. “As we don’t have any working phones up here, we were alerted to the crime by a villager who got a ride in on an army vehicle,” Teyp read. “We were led to a clearing down the gully from the village of Muang Se. It’s a Yao village, and not many of the residents speak Lao, but our own constable Buri does. There we found the two corpses of Headman Mao, the Yao, and Headman Panpan, the Akha, both lying facedown in the dirt. Both had sustained multiple wounds. Both were shirtless and barefooted and wearing only football shorts. To all appearances it seemed that the two men had been overpowered by unknown assailants. Two sharpened bamboo poles covered in blood were left at the crime scene. Signed, Sergeant Teyp Bounyamate.”

There was a pause.

“Wait,” said Phosy. “That’s all?”

“Yes, sir.”

“No witnesses?”

“No.”

“Nobody saw anything unusual? No idea why the two men were together and shirtless?”

“We assumed they’d been cutting trees or collecting fruit.”

“And did you find any collected wood or produce?”

“No, sir. We assumed the assailants had helped themselves.”

“To the missing shirts and shoes as well?”

“No, Inspector. They were there, folded on a log.”

“And you didn’t think that point was important enough to mention in a report?”

The sergeant let forth a sigh that appeared to deflate him and leaned on his desk for support. It was a physical manifestation of desperation, a ritual that Phosy had witnessed and caught himself performing time and again in these frustrating days. The desk creaked in the same key as that of Phosy’s own in Vientiane.

“Inspector Phosy,” said Teyp, “I’ve got this one finger that can type, and the typewriter’s a monster. Some keys you need to hit with a hammer just to make contact with the paper. Leaving out small details can save me half a day for other duties.”

“Is that right? And just how many crimes and misdemeanors has your busy station had to deal with this past month?”

“We have a number of community responsibilities,” said Teyp. He looked offended.

“And the vegetable allotment,” said Constable Buri.

“That’s right,” said the sergeant, nodding.

“There are just never enough hours in a day,” said Phosy. He went over the report information in his mind. There hadn’t been a lot to memorize. “What kind of name is Panpan?” he asked. “It doesn’t shound very Akha to me.”

“His name was Pan,” said the sergeant. “But he had a stutter.”

“Oh, well, that explains it,” said Phosy, scratching his head. “So let’s go and visit the scene of the crime.”

There was a look of horror on the face of the policemen.

“You want to go there?” asked Teyp, his voice rising to a girly pitch.

“Naturally,” said Phosy.

“But …”

“I’ve had just about enough buts for one day.”

“It’s getting late, and we … we haven’t cleared it with the villagers.”

“Then it’ll be a nice surprise for them,” said Phosy. “Let’s go.”

They traveled together on a perfectly good dirt road, Phosy, Sergeant Deyt, Constable Buri, Comrade Xiu Long and Mrs. Loo. Phosy was feeling smug. His decision to collect a token Chinese official as protection had paid dividends. It had nothing to do with protocol. He knew Toothless was anxious to clear the Chinese road gangs of any wrongdoing at any cost. Just why the man would devote himself to this cause so aggressively, Phosy couldn’t say. But his instincts told him that here in the remote north, there was a thin line between being a conscientious policeman and being a dead one. If that was the case, Phosy would be in less danger with a Chinese official observing the investigation. He’d considered inviting a clerk or some minor military officer. It was a stroke of luck that such a senior cadre as Xiu Long should be available and willing to travel at short notice. In fact, it was so odd that Phosy wondered what other motives Xiu might have to cross back over the border at the invitation of a police officer. The trade mission and consular offices in Phong Sali and Udomxai had been closed down by the Lao following the new anti-Chinese sentiment in Vientiane. Xiu was currently working out of an office in Mengla on the Chinese side. Why would he be so eager to get back?