Colin Cotterill - The Woman Who Wouldn't die

‘Dr Siri. You are a man of science. Your education gave you proof that there was only one world. This physical one we see all around us. Yet, without warning, you were tossed into this other dimension. You see it just as I do. You experience it. And, even though you can’t deny it’s there, your incorrectly educated self is always at odds with it. It’s there but it cannot possibly be there.’

‘So, how do I …?’

‘It might be too late, Siri, my darling. Cynicism is a big part of who you are. It’s the shutter you pull down to keep out the storms you can’t weather. As long as that shutter is down, your ghost friends will be on the other side of it.’

She stood and started back over the rocks. As she passed Siri she stumbled and he caught her. She looked into his eyes.

‘You know, I’m probably not the most qualified guru to be working with you on this problem. What makes me flesh and blood and them not, I have no idea. But I cannot deny they’re there nor can I deny my role in their unsettled state. The moment you’re able to do the same, that’s when you’ll communicate with them. It’s standing-room only out there, doctor. Your waiting room is full. I see them.’

The two divers had returned to the river’s edge. She released his hand and continued along the bank. There had been something deja vu about her words. He’d had this conversation before in this same place. But not in the waking world. The divers’ return was an annoyance. He hurried along behind her to where the minister leaned over the mechanic.

‘Anything?’ shouted the old general.

‘A lot of mud down there,’ said the mechanic. ‘No sign of a wreck.’

But Tang was out of the water and ripping branches from the nearest tree. He returned with two, handed the pilot one and dived back in.

‘I think he wants you to follow him,’ said Siri.

The mechanic shrugged and swam out after the brother. Once more they duck-dived at the deepest point. The onlookers stood still and silent watching the surface of the Mekhong. Siri, with his troubled lungs and his modest beginner swimming ability, could only marvel at how the two could be so comfortable under thousands of kilograms of water. In fact they were down so long he was starting to get anxious. Not so anxious that he might rip off his shirt and dive in to rescue them, but enough that he asked the minister how well he could swim.

But then the divers’ heads appeared above the choppy water and each had a broad smile on his face.

‘Have a nice time?’ asked Madame Daeng, sniffing the air around Siri like a dog taking in the hindquarters of an interloper.

‘I’m lucky to be alive,’ he told her. ‘Our pilot trained on Dumbo the elephant.’

‘This Dumbo wears lavender perfume?’

Siri didn’t hear. He looked out over the balcony. The river was so crowded with craft you could step from one to the next and reach the far bank. Daeng wore sunglasses and had a half-empty beaker beside her on the rattan table. There too sat her notebook and a pen.

‘Ice tea?’ he asked.

‘Mekhong whisky and water,’ she told him.

‘At eleven a.m.?’

‘I’m on vacation.’

‘Are your legs playing up?’

‘Will you stop talking about my damned legs,’ she growled. ‘My legs are fine. I’m more than just a pair of legs, you know? Ask about my elbow, why don’t you? My fish-gutting skills. My ability at mental arithmetic. Just leave my bloody legs alone.’

‘I … how many glasses have you had?’

She ignored the question. Siri brought over the second deckchair and set it up beside hers. He sat. Silent. Decided this was as good a time as any to keep his mouth shut. They watched the chaos on the river for a good ten minutes.

‘I’m sorry,’ she said.

‘No problem.’

‘So. What happened upriver?’

‘Are there any other words I shouldn’t use? Buttocks, for example.’

She smiled.

‘Just shut up and tell me about the trip,’ she said.

‘How can I shut up and-?’

‘Siri!’

‘We had a lovely time, impending death notwithstanding.’

‘Did you find the brother?’

‘We’re not sure. There is something just below the mud.’

‘A boat?’

‘It’s likely. They poked it with sticks and estimated it was about five metres long. The mechanic said it might be a rock but the deaf and dumb fellow seemed pretty excited.’

‘So, she’s legitimate then, your witch.’

‘It’s too early to confirm but too eerie to ignore.’

‘But you have a gut feeling.’

‘She is rather impressive.’

Daeng took up her glass and drank from it.

‘Right,’ she said.

‘Any luck with 1910?’

‘I found the one and only Pak Lai schoolteacher.’

‘Oh, well done.’

‘He graduated from fifth grade. Didn’t make it as far as high school history.’

‘Oh.’

‘And, are you sure it was a date?’

‘What else might it be?’

‘A telephone number?’

‘I just couldn’t imagine a royal spirit giving me his telephone number. Did you …?’

‘There’s no phone here. Or, rather, there are four phones but no line. This area isn’t a priority … for anything. Do you think we might use the helicopter radio to call Phosy?’

‘They’ve gone already. Popkorn and his frightful wife went directly back to Vientiane after dropping us off.’

‘Madame Peung didn’t go with them?’

‘No, the minister said he’d send a team of military engineers. Madame Peung will greet them and lead them to the site. Could be tomorrow or the day after. Meanwhile, she’s invited us to dinner at the governor’s house tonight.’

‘You naturally accepted.’

‘Would have been rude not to. And it’s an opportunity to talk. We had precious little time this morning and it was hellish noisy on the flight. She’s a difficult woman to tie down. If I’m lucky I’ll be able to get her alone for a little while and do a bit of probing.’

Madame Daeng knocked back her drink and stood.

‘Steady on, ma fille ,’ said Siri.

‘I can look after myself,’ she snapped. ‘Always could.’

Nobody had laid claim to the cadaver of short stature. It was Monday and Inspector Phosy had left a number of messages with the Housing Department asking them to let him know whether Comrade Koomki turned up for work that morning. There had been no reply. And so he sat at his desk. He’d progressed to a rank where a quick response to a call for help was no longer his concern. This was largely a desk job. Promotion generally led one away from the work one enjoyed and into a state of inertia.

Still unable to get word to Siri and Daeng in Sanyaburi, Phosy had nothing to do other than thumb through the incident files on his desk. It had been a weekend of misadventure rather than crime. A grandmother in Amone had made a cake. She had mistakenly mixed the eggs and lard with gunpowder instead of flour. The oven blew up but as she had rushed to the bathroom to take care of business she was unharmed. Then there was the gardener at the Lane Xang hotel who had slipped on wet leaves and broken his head in the empty swimming pool. And the mysterious disappearance of one of the three hundred stone busts of the president recently arrived from Romania. More likely a miscounting of stock than a theft.

Nothing there called for his professional expertise. So he allowed himself some time to mull over the odd situation they’d encountered in Ban Elee. Phosy was a simple policeman — a hero of the revolution perhaps but uncomplicated in terms of seeing and believing. He could gather facts, analyse them and draw conclusions. Perhaps the only man he’d met who could better him at detection was Dr Siri himself.