Colin Cotterill - Slash and Burn

“I … I swallowed a bug,” said Mr. Geung. “Sorry.”

When she’d stopped laughing, Dtui continued with her notes.

“That brings us to the interviews,” she said. “We have incomplete transcripts for the interviews with Nino Sebastian, the Filipino flight mechanic, and David Leon, the senior flight person at Spook City. They were the last two to see Boyd alive, unless you count the bear. There were two interviews with Sebastian; one by the AA investigator shortly after the crash, and another sponsored by Congressman Bowry and conducted by a private detective in the Philippines. That interview ran out to forty sheets. The congressman released only twelve of those to the MIA committee. Six of those twelve are marked on the file as ‘On loan to Major Potter.’ As you might imagine, the six we’re left with don’t say very much. We learn that Boyd and Sebastian had flown together on around forty occasions. That afternoon they’d flown the chopper directly up from Udon in Thailand with cargo that was labeled ‘Refugee Supplies’ due for Ban Song. Then we cut sixteen pages to Sebastian stoned and drunk in a bear cage wondering where his pilot’s gone.”

“But what that does tell us is that both the pilot and the mechanic were out of control,” said Phosy. “Hence the crash. Doesn’t sound like foul play to me.”

“According to the regulations, AA flight crews weren’t allowed to drink or mess with intoxicants up-country,” Dtui told him. “Somebody there got our boy stoned. That could be construed as foul play.”

“What about the AA interview?” Siri asked.

“Six pages in total. All but one signed out to Major Potter. That one page suggests that Sebastian was cut up about not having done enough to save his young friend’s life. He didn’t say who supplied the LSD. He blamed himself for getting dragged into the drink session and for not saying no to the drugs. Plus the fact he’d left open the bear cage and next morning the hungover beast attacked four locals before they could subdue it.”

“Nothing worse than a bear with a sore head,” Siri nodded.

“AA agreed with Sebastian’s appraisal of himself and fired him. He scratched around Thailand doing odd mechanic work before heading back to the Philippines with his savings. He and his family opened a service station and cafe. He stayed there till his death.”

“When did he die?” Phosy asked.

“Three weeks ago,” said Dtui. “There was a sticker attached to the front of the interview sheet.”

“Cause?”

“He drowned. There was a storm drain at the bottom of his property. They found him face down in the water.”

“You said there was another interview?” Siri asked.

“David Leon. Senior flight mechanic at Long Cheng. He was one of the witnesses who heard the explosion. Talked about Mike Wolff, the pilot who’d been drinking with Boyd and Sebastian that night. Explained that Wolff was shot down a couple of weeks later. They’d recovered his body. Ten page interview. Four pages released to Major Potter. Leon had been a fighter pilot in Vietnam but lost his licence, and the reason for that isn’t anywhere in the files.”

“But there was no interview organized by the congressman for this man?” Siri asked.

“No. Leon had been hired directly by the embassy in Vientiane to work with the Ravens-the forward air command. The embassy conducted the interview. There was just the one. Why?”

“I don’t know. Boyd’s father hires a private detective in the Philippines to interview one mechanic-forty pages worth-but isn’t interested enough to interview the only other witness there that night. Doesn’t that strike you as odd?”

“Perhaps he died before they could interview him,” Dtui suggested.

“He’s dead too?” Siri asked.

“Yes.”

“When?”

“About the same time as Sebastian. In fact there was a couple of days between the two deaths.”

“He didn’t fall into a storm drain, by any chance?”

“No. He had a heart attack in a go-go bar in Thailand.”

“Oh.” Siri gasped and coughed. “This is far too much of a coincidence for my liking. No wonder Major Potter found something smelly here.”

“I think the fact that we didn’t find any of those released papers in the major’s belongings is relevant,” said Phosy. “Whoever killed him helped himself to those.”

“It also makes you wonder whether Judge Haeng was looking for them too,” said Siri.

“You think Justice might be involved in all this?” Daeng asked.

“I don’t know. Haeng was looking for something he didn’t find. He’d been in Potter’s room earlier. And he’s been acting like the Americans’ own private little Pekinese all week. He’s up to something.”

“You think he’s being nice to them so he can have them killed one by one without being suspected?” Daeng asked.

“No. I believe the killer of Major Potter was a completely different animal to whoever took a potshot at the senator.”

Phosy agreed.

“You think we have two different assassins?” Daeng asked.

“Maybe three if you include the post office tower explosion.”

It was time to bring Dr. Yamaguchi and Gordon into the discussion.

Meanwhile, deep in the west wing, Civilai had chuckled and hmm’d and ahah’d through thirty minutes of Senator Vogal eulogizing himself to heaven and back. Ethel Chin was always at the senator’s side. From this close proximity it was clear why she had joined the senator in isolation. The stress of events at the Friendship, or perhaps just the unpleasantness of being in such a nasty place, had brought her lower face out in hives. She’d pasted a layer of make-up over it but the damage to her skin was plain to see. She sat at the desk purportedly reading a book but with such lack of commitment as to look up with a laugh at all the senator’s jokes. Not a minute into the meeting, Civilai had become the American’s best friend. The senator had already shared two tearful “not even my family knows this” moments.

On the rare occasion that Civilai was allowed a few seconds to respond to a question, he did so with a respect and humility that made Peach’s nostrils flare. After exactly twenty-eight minutes, there came a knock on the door and Rhyme entered with his flash unit attached to a cumbersome hunk of equipment and he took several photos of the elder statesmen in conversation. Ironically, in the photos, the senator appeared to be listening intently to Civilai’s thoughts. Rhyme’s departure was clearly designed to be the end of the dialogue. Vogal stood at the door bidding farewell and nodding at Civilai who remained seated. Peach stood then sat down again. Ethel Chin rolled her eyes. Reluctantly, the senator closed the door, locked it, and returned to his perch on the end of the bed, making a pointed study of his wristwatch. It wasn’t as if he had somewhere to go. Civilai decided it was time to probe.

“Peach,” he smiled, “ask the senator what type of family it takes to produce such a noble and intelligent son.”

“Do I have to?”

“Please.”

The senator beamed when he heard the question and settled happily into the role of interviewee.

“All my people are in tea,” he said. “Importing originally from Ceylon. My family are the business brains. My Uncle Edwin and I were the black sheep. We had our hearts set on public service. Money just didn’t seem too important to me. My focus was on removing evil from the world and replacing it-and I know this sounds corny-but replacing it with a little love and humility. I believe we owe it to the world, not just to take, but….”

This drivel went on for another two minutes before the subject eventually found its way home.

“It was my Uncle Edwin who introduced me to the foreign service and for that I shall be eternally indebted to him. God rest his soul. He was a great man.”