Colin Cotterill - Love Songs from a Shallow Grave

"And what is going to help me, Comrade?"

"The truth might be a good place to start."

"I've tried. Believe me, I have. But your police friends have their own truth and they've been backing me into it all day."

Siri sat cross-legged on the floor and looked at him. He took a few seconds to consider the consequences of what he was about to do.

"Has anyone told you what the evidence is against you?" he asked.

The prisoner looked up.

"I've picked up bits and pieces from their questioning. But not everything. No."

So, for the next ten minutes, Siri laid it all out for him. He told him about all the circumstantial evidence that was ganged up against him. And, as he spoke, Siri watched the man's reactions. He watched for nonchalance and feigned surprise but Neung listened intently and asked questions at the right times. He was like an acolyte listening to the teachings of a monk. Siri tried to see inside him. The doctor had made mistakes before. He'd seen guilt when it didn't exist. He'd failed to notice evil when it was right in front of him.

The danger was that a man with the temperament to put detailed planning into three murders had to have a special type of mind. And Siri wondered whether he had the ability to see beyond that deceit.

Once all the evidence was mapped out, Neung fell back against the wall and bumped his head several times on the concrete. It was as if he suddenly understood how bad the situation was.

"Everybody thinks you're guilty," Siri said.

"You too?"

"Yes."

"I see," Neung sighed. "Then I'm on my way to hell on an ox cart." He stared deep into Siri's golf-green eyes. "Are the police aware you're here telling me all the details of their case against me?"

"I didn't even know myself when I came back here."

"So, why?"

"You're just about to go up against the whole injustice system. They'll give you some token representation but ultimately, it's you against them. And I don't think those odds are fair."

"Even though you believe I'm guilty?"

"Irrespective of my thoughts as to your guilt, you still have the right to defend yourself."

"Thank you."

"It isn't much."

"Will you be attending their kangaroo court?"

"I'm off on a junket in Cambodia, me and the only qualified lawyer in the country. That's why I'm here at midnight. We leave tomorrow morning."

Neung sighed and thought for a moment. A toad was practising its baritone beyond the window.

"OK. Can I tell you my story?"

Siri was surprised. He was afraid he was about to hear a confession and he didn't know how to handle things. He wondered if he should call Phosy.

"I don't — " he began.

"I want to tell you everything I know," Neung said. "I want at least one person to have my side of it."

"If you're going to give me that 'I hardly knew them' routine, I don't think I want to hear it."

"I'm sorry about that. I did. I knew all three of them. And somebody's obviously aware of that."

"Yes? What somebody might that be?"

"If we knew that, we'd know why I'm here."

"So, you'll be going with the 'I was framed' defence? Good choice."

"Do I have any other hope?"

"No."

"So…?"

"So, I'm listening."

"All right." Neung shimmied across the concrete floor till his nose was no more than a few centimetres from the bars, his hands within grasping distance of Siri's neck.

"Dew," he began. "She was the wife of my section head, Comrade Chanti. I met her once at the company's New Year children's party before I went off to Germany. It was about five years ago. Chanti and his family had just arrived from the north-east after the ceasefire in seventy-three. My boss introduced his wife to everyone. She wasn't particularly friendly. She seemed reluctant to be there. She had one baby in arms and one toddler. I don't recall seeing her talk to her husband at all that afternoon. Then I met her once more at the government bookshop in the reading room when I got back from overseas. She was more friendly then. I had to remind her who I was, told her our kids had played together at the party. She said she'd just come back from Moscow. Then she was off somewhere in a hurry."

"That's it?"

"The sum total. Two meetings, a dozen or so words. She was more polite the second time but we didn't actually hit it off."

"But there was somebody from the reading room you did hit it off with."

Neung blushed.

"That was my one guilty secret in all this," the man confessed, "and it doesn't surprise me I've been found out. I deserve it. I don't know how my wife will ever find it in her heart to forgive me."

"I get the impression your wife's a very understanding woman. I passed her in the entry. She's been sitting out front of the prison since she found out you'd been arrested. She and your father. They've both refused to leave."

"Do you think…do you suppose the police have told her about Kiang?"

"Of course. They have to mention details like that to the family to see whether they register any surprise. To see whether the suspect is a serial philanderer."

"It'll break her heart."

"You should have thought of that before you started fooling around."

"I had no intention of being unfaithful."

Siri's eyebrows reached for the ceiling.

"Really. Before Kiang came into my life I was perfectly content. And it was she who approached me. I was in the reading room at the bookshop and she got my attention by telling me I reminded her of somebody. She didn't ever give me any details but I got the impression it was someone she'd known when she was younger. Someone who'd left or died."

Siri considered that point. It fitted into the mother's account of Kiang's soldier-lover killed in the north.

"Of course I'd noticed her before at the shop," Neung continued. "She was a striking-looking young lady. And it was as if she was attracted to me. I could sense it. But I kept things polite and I didn't encourage her."

"Why not?"

"I'm a married man. And, I don't know, I suppose I thought she wasn't interested in me exactly. Just my similarity to that other man."

"But the flesh was weak."

"Doctor! A beautiful woman begging to make love to you? What would you have done?"

"Strange as it may seem, the opportunity doesn't arise that often. But I get your point."

"And it was all so wonderful. Kiang was sweet and loving. She had a passion. It was as if she were saving it up for someone. It got to the point that I didn't care who she thought I was. Of course I fell in love with her. In fact, it was more like an addiction. I couldn't get enough of her. We got together when we could, made love, talked about our times in Europe. But she didn't ever introduce me to anyone. I never met her family or friends."

"When was the last time you saw her?"

"Midday Saturday. We met for lunch. We had this place by the river where we'd meet up. An old guesthouse. We'd found the key under a pot of dead plants once when we were sheltering from the rain. It became our rendezvous spot."

"Saturday was when she died."

Neung nodded and his eyes glazed over.

"She didn't show up for our lunch date on Monday."

"You weren't curious why not?"

"Of course."

"Did you make any effort to find out why she didn't turn up?"

"We had an agreement. I wasn't to contact her. I couldn't go to her house or the library. I didn't even have her phone number. All the contact came from her. It's the way she wanted it."

"And that arrangement was all right with you?"

"I had a wife. I wasn't really in a position to insist on visitation rights. And I was crazy about her. She could have done and said anything and it would have been fine with me. I was just glad to be around her. I loved her."

"And your wife?"

Neung nodded.