Colin Cotterill - The Coroner's lunch

The Khon Khouay were the neighborhood spies, lovingly known as “chicken counters” by the locals. It was their function to keep a rein on affluence and extravagance. Usually, they were part-timers who accepted their role reluctantly on top of other responsibilities. That Mr. Ketkaew had his own office and a real sign suggested he was taking his position seriously.

“Mr. Ketkaew has been assigned to area 18. As the hospital is in the center of that area, we have the honor of allowing him to set up his office here.” The way he said “honor” suggested to Siri that it was anything but. The hospital, far from being wealthy, was struggling to make ends meet. The last thing it needed was a chicken counter, particularly an enthusiastic one.

Ketkaew spoke up. He was a man with no volume control. “So I’m not having any more of those stinks coming out of your place. You understand?”

Siri didn’t really know how to react. He’d seen these officious little men before, sampling their first taste of power. At best, they could be annoying. But there were times, if you got on the wrong side of them, that they could be downright dangerous. “Mr. Ketkaew, perhaps you could suggest to me how to stop dead bodies from smelling bad.”

Ketkaew had to think about it. “Can’t you spray themwith something?”

“You mean like air freshener?”

“Something like that.”

Siri laughed. Even the director suppressed a smile. “I’m afraid we aren’t legally allowed to do that. The law clearly states you cannot spray anything sweet-smelling on a body that affects the natural odor. It’s an infringement of human rights.”

“Well, I suppose you’ll just have to close the windows then. I can’t be expected to work with such a damned stink.”

“You want us to close the windows? In that case, we’ll have to spend scarce hospital money on an air conditioner. You do want us to breathe, don’t you?” Ketkaew shrugged his shoulders as if he didn’t care. “The best solution would be for Director Suk to move your office somewhere else so you don’t have to put up with it.”

Suk cut in. “No. No, I’m afraid this is the only spot we can provide in the hospital grounds. There are one or two sites outside the-”

“Absolutely not. I insist on being on-site in order to do my job to my maximum efficiency.”

It all became clear to Siri, then. The hospital didn’t want Ketkaew there, but couldn’t really refuse. So they put him behind the morgue, hoping the smell would drive him out. As far as he could see, Siri was likely to be the one to suffer most. Why did these things always happen on Fridays! He began to observe them creeping up on his calendar with feelings of dark foreboding. And he still had Judge Haeng to look forward to.

It was difficult for Judge Haeng to discuss Siri’s “attitude” at the second burden-sharing tutorial because they weren’t alone. In the second guest chair sat a dapper man in his forties who probably hadn’t looked much different in his twenties. He had an amusing, softly handsome face and was built for speed. He didn’t say much.

Judge Haeng introduced him formally. “I should like to introduce to you Inspector Phosy of the National Police Force. The inspector has just returned from a very successful training period in Viengsai. He is now ready to return to his responsibilities as a senior investigator here in Vientiane.”

Siri leaned over and shook Phosy’s hand. It was a long handshake that seemed to be extracting information from him. Most people shook hands in Laos, and a person developed a sense of what to expect from different types of shakes: sincerity, impatience, weakness. Siri wondered what he’d just given away.

He thought about the policeman. “Away for training in Viengsai” meant re-education. All of the students at the Police Academy and their superiors had been invited to the north for training when the Pathet Lao took control, partly to establish where their loyalties lay. If Phosy had only just returned, he’d been in the camp for a year. Siri wondered how that would affect a man. So far, he’d laughed at all Haeng’s jokes and agreed with everything he said. It was starting to annoy Siri. Haeng coughed.

“I wanted to have you both here to talk about the bodies that were retrieved from Nam Ngum,” Haeng started.

“Bodies?”

“Yes, Doctor. There were two.”

“Nobody told me that. Why did we only get one at the morgue?”

“All in good time, Siri. Phosy, did you get the copy of Siri’s report that I sent to your department?”

“Yes, Comrade Judge. It’s right here. It was very thoughtful of you to send it.”

“It was no more than the courtesy we expect between different arms of the legal mechanism. If I’d got it earlier, so would you have.” He glared at Siri who smiled, undamaged.

“Excellent, sir.” Siri was beginning to wonder how long it would be before the policeman walked over and polished Haeng’s fly buttons.

“Where’s the other one?” Siri asked.

“At the Vietnamese Embassy.”

“I didn’t know they had a freezer there.”

“They don’t. I believe they have him on ice.”

“What for?”

“Until their own coroner can get here.”

“Their own…they don’t trust me?”

“It isn’t a question of trust, Siri. If they find the same evidence of torture on their man as you did on yours, this could become a very embarrassing international incident.”

“What makes him ‘their man’?”

“This.” Haeng held out a small folder, expecting Siri to come and get it. Instead, the puppy-dog detective leaped to his feet and handed the file to Siri. He remained standing at Siri’s shoulder and was first to comment when the photos of the corpse came into view.

“Traditional Vietnamese tattoos. Very distinctive.”

“Yes, very distinctive indeed,” Siri agreed. He was quite surprised at just how clear they were. “At what point was he rerouted to the Vietnamese Embassy?”

“Someone at the dam recognized the tattoos. They called the embassy, who sent one of their advisers.” There was no shortage of Vietnamese “advisers” around the capital. Cynics-and Siri was one of the founding fathers of cynicism-suggested that there was so much advice from Hanoi being passed around, it wouldn’t be long before the official language changed to Vietnamese. “You can imagine how delicate the matter is,” Haeng droned on. “A Vietnamese national being interrogated and tortured in Laos. The cabinet discussed it yesterday. We’re going to request that you be allowed to observe their autopsy and compare notes.”

“Request? Why request? This is Laos. Shouldn’t we be insisting?”

“It isn’t as easy as that.”

“It should be. We aren’t her next province yet, you know.”

“Siri, if you’re going to spend time with the Vietnamese, I suggest you watch your mouth. They aren’t quite as understanding as we are.”

The meeting went on longer than usual, as Haeng felt obliged to outline all the cases that he and Siri had “cooperated” on. But as long as the doctor kept his mouth shut, it was comparatively painless. Things seemed to be winding down-Siri looking toward the door and escape-when Haeng coughed again.

“I’ve been thinking, Doctor. Now that the work of your department is being recognized by the police, I believe it’s time for you to get rid of the moron.”

Siri shuddered. “The moron? Oh, I don’t know. I know he has his off-days, but I don’t think that’s enough reason to kick Director Suk out of his job. He has a family. Please give him another chance.”

“Director…? Goodness, no, Siri. I’m talking about the retard you have as your morgue laborer. I’m prepared to offer a full salary for that position now.”