Colin Cotterill - Love Songs from a Shallow Grave

Phosy mentioned another name, Comrade Chanti. The Electricite du Lao chief had denied knowing Kiang but he'd given them all the feeling he was lying. And, sure enough, he was. The brother recognised the name. Before his sister left for Bulgaria, Chanti had called several times at the house. Not quite the coincidence it sounded with so few educated women available to the large pool of unattached men. There had been a number of suitors, none of whom Kiang showed any interest in. Chanti had been very persistent in courting Kiang. But, although the mother had liked him initially, she'd made the astounding discovery that the blackguard was married and had two children. She'd sent him packing with a few choice words and they'd never seen him again. One homosexuality theory out the window. One suspect struck off the list, one more climbing the charts. Things were looking promising.

Phosy drove to Lycee Vientiane where he eventually found teacher Oum sneaking a cigarette behind the science building. She told him, although it was far from a hundred per cent accurate, that the test she'd administered on the stomach contents from victim number three, Jim, suggested traces of morphine elixir. It was quite possible she had taken, or been administered a large dose of the drug. This put paid to Phosy's theory of Security Chief Phoumi using the morphine to deaden the pain of an old injury. It also opened the possibility that Jim had been drugged. Neither Phosy nor Oum had medical training and they didn't know what effect a large dose of morphine might have on coordination or mental capacity. They needed Dr Siri to answer that one and he was off having fun overseas.

Phosy had reached the item on Siri's list which asked, What was the timing of Neung and Jim's respective arrival in?departure from Berlin? To answer that he needed to check the transcripts on his desk. It should have been a flying visit, but his return to police headquarters rendered all his other avenues of inquiry null and void. He would never get around to answering Siri's question. Sihot was at his desk with a banana fritter suspended in front of his mouth between his stubby fingers. He was so engrossed by the book open in front of him that he'd apparently forgotten it was there.

"Am I disturbing something?" Phosy asked.

His voice would normally have alarmed Sihot but the sergeant's head remained bowed over the text. The battered banana hovered.

"Sihot!" Phosy yelled.

The sergeant looked up, slowly.

"Yes, Inspector?"

"I trust what you're reading has some bearing on the case?"

"I don't think there is a case any more, sir."

Phosy approached the desk and saw what had taken control of Sihot's attention. It was a thick exercise book whose pages were filled with small, neat handwriting.

"This arrived from the East German embassy just after you left, Inspector," Sihot said. He flipped the notebook closed and Phosy stepped behind him to read the front cover. In Lao were written the words 'MY GERMAN DIARY' then something written in German followed by the name 'SUNISA SIMMARIT'. This was Jim's journal.

"Evidently it arrived a few days ago in a box of personal items Jim had sent from Germany," Sihot said. "She'd sent it surface mail addressed care of the East German Embassy, Vientiane. They didn't realise what it was till they'd opened it."

"So why are we only just getting it now?"

"Jim wrote in German. When he realised what it was, the attache took the liberty of translating the lines he thought would be relevant to the case. I have to say they're very into this investigation, the Germans. He said if there's anything else they can do just get in touch with him. The diary starts off pretty basic, he said, but as she gets more confident with the language, she starts to write more about her thoughts. The lines they translated are nearer the end."

Phosy took the notebook to his desk and flipped through the pages. The first translation he found was about ten pages from the end. It was written in red ink. The corresponding German was underlined.

Z has asked me again. He's very persistent, it read.

Two pages on was the line, I know that Z really wants me to be his lover here. He makes no secrets about it. He pretends to be interested in teaching me fencing but he makes comments often about my looks and my figure. I should be flattered but it makes me uncomfortable sometimes.

The next page. I know he's married but he comes to me almost every day now.

And the next. What do I have to do or say to persuade Z I'm not interested? He was here again today.

Phosy looked up at Sihot who smiled. The inspector skipped a few pages until he was almost at the last entry. The red ink was everywhere now, in the margins and above the original lettering. Z had clearly begun to dominate her life. The entries had become less girlish, darker.

Please stop. Please stop. Please stop. I can't accept you. Your passion is killing me. I can't think. I can't study. Your shadow is darkening my life.

Then the last entry.

Z has taken my virginity. I am spoiled. He forced himself on me in the most awful way. He was inside me. I begged for him to stop but I was a delicate flower pressed beneath him. His strong muscular body was too powerful for me to resist. I still smell him on my skin, his aftershave, his sweat, his passion. It is all over. This country is stained with the memory of this event. I have to leave here. My soul can never be free as long as he is in my world. But what if he follows me back to Laos? How can I ever escape him? He is the devil and he has ruined my life. I fear what he has turned me into.

At the bottom of the next empty page was a signature and a note in red from the attache saying that this was a certified translation and offering further help if there were any more questions. Phosy looked up and tapped his fingers on the page.

"Bastard," he said.

"Her life must have been hell there at the end," Sihot agreed with a mouth full of banana fritter. "And then he does that to her. A lot of sick people in this world."

Phosy looked at the piles of paperwork on his desk, the charts, the pages of hypotheses, the interview transcripts. Until this moment they'd been shards of pottery that didn't fit together into any sensible shape. There was always one piece too many or one too few. But now, as he reread the last entry of an unfortunate woman's diary, all those fragments clicked into place and formed a most beautiful solution. The case of the three epees was solved.

When the unscheduled China Airlines flight touched down at Wattay Airport at two in the afternoon, the pilot was surprised to see a crowd of people waiting beneath a colourful copse of umbrellas in front of the dismal little terminal. If he'd known them, he would have recognised Dtui and Malee, Mr Geung and Mr Bhiku, Mrs Nong and Madame Daeng. But he didn't, so he was only left to wonder how news of the flight had made it around Vientiane so quickly.

It was a Lao whisper which, unlike a Chinese whisper, becomes more coherent as it's passed on. Somebody from Agriculture went home for lunch at K6 and was out feeding the chickens and mentioned to the neighbour that she had to hurry out to Wattay to receive a parcel from Peking. The neighbour was a secretary at Foreign Affairs. She knew that there weren't any flights scheduled from Peking and guessed it might have been the representatives returning from Phnom Penh. She was a friend of Mrs Nong, Civilai's wife who had recently returned from a stay at her sister's. The secretary rode her bicycle to Civilai's house and told Nong that her husband might be arriving on a flight sometime after lunch.

Mrs Nong finished unpacking her suitcase, inspected a spotlessly clean kitchen, and walked along the street to Comrade Sithi's house. The maid knew her well and let her use the telephone. Mrs Nong called the Mahosot Hospital and had the clerk pass on word to Dtui that her boss could be arriving on an early-afternoon flight from Peking. The message Dtui received said, "Siri arriving 2 a.m. Wattay." And so it continued. It had been almost a week since the two old fellows had left on their Kampuchean junket. That wasn't such a rare thing in the region. Flights were unpredictable and communication was poor. But it didn't stop friends and family from feeling anxious.