The Merry Misogynist (28 page)

“I admire your stamina.”

“It killed me. I hid the bike in the bushes at the top of the track. It was dark. I was covering it with branches so they wouldn’t know I was there and I managed to skewer my hand on a sharp sprig and bled like a spigot.”

“But you didn’t cry out in pain, thus giving away your position?”

“No. By now I was in my undercover mode. I swept around the outskirts of the village like a black moth on a dark night and located the hut of Buaphan. He was sitting out front, reading by the light of a hurricane lamp. There was something…how can I put it? Something serene about him. I talked to Daeng about it after the event and she’d come to the same conclusion in her own way. He didn’t match our mental picture of the perpetrator at all. The man we were looking for had to be charming. He had to win hearts. Neither of us could imagine Buaphan switching so drastically. He just didn’t like people. His Nirvana was to be alone. That was his motivation for working on the census project.

“And it was while sitting watching Buaphan read that I heard the truck start up. I could see the headlights veer off down the track. I’d adopted a ‘keep the truck in sight’ policy but I wasn’t sure how I’d be able to follow it without the driver seeing my lights. I was tired and I knew by the time I’d uncovered the bike he’d be long gone. And I still had my mind set on the census collectors at that point. Nouphet had moved up to take the lead in my suspicions. I planned to go down the track the next day and see what he was up to.

“But as I sat there and meditated, I started to think about the driver. He spent a lot of his time ferrying between the three bases. He was their only form of communication. Who could possibly know where he was at any given time? He could tell base two that he’d spent the night at base one and none of them would be any the wiser. He had plenty of opportunity to disappear. The only thing that made him an unlikely suspect was his looks.”

“Plain – bald?”

“It didn’t fit. Then I thought back to the reports. Nobody ever said the man was good-looking. They talked about his healthy hair and his interesting face and his bearing. You tend to use the term ‘interesting’ to describe someone who’s average-looking but oozing with sexual charisma. You, for instance – you’re quite ugly but women find you irresistible. They see beyond your bald head and your grasshopper features.”

“I take your point.”

“Our perpetrator had to be a clever actor. He was able to lie to his victims credibly. The driver had every reason to hate Buaphan but he also had the opportunity to study him. He could steal his identity: walk like him, talk like him, adopt his mannerisms. All he needed was hair. And, these days, with so much vanity in the world, a convincing wig isn’t that hard to find.”

“And all this came to you as you sat in the bushes watching your original suspect fade from your reckoning?”

“Yes, until I fell asleep. It had been a long day. Much as I love Madame Daeng, I sleep much better beside a shrub. Being surrounded by greenery takes me back to my years in the jungle. I slept like a sloth. It was the sound of the truck returning that woke me up.”

Civilai sat entranced with his elbows on his knees and his chin on his fists. “And what time was this?” he asked.

“From the position of the sun I assumed it was around ten. I should wear a watch. The driver came up to talk to Buaphan in the hut. I took the opportunity to slide back down the butte and sneak a look at the truck. It was parked in the shade to one side of the clearing. But there were children down there playing around. I didn’t want them to see me, so I waited. On reflection I have to presume it was around this time that the driver killed Buaphan. Then he had to do away with the old census collector who had the misfortune to turn up asking for his fee. I knew nothing about it.

“After about an hour the children were called to the house for lunch and I had my chance. I can’t say for sure what I was looking for in the truck. While I was scratching around in the cab the driver came down. I was sure he’d find me and I had no idea what I was going to tell him. But the banshees were on my side that day. He didn’t get in the front. He climbed up on the flatbed and unlocked the metal chest. I heard him rummaging around back there and then the sound of the lid closing. He jumped off the truck and headed back up to the butte. He’d left the chest unlocked. I went to have a look. And that’s when I knew I had the killer. There was a holdall in there. It contained some pretty fancy hors d’oeuvres in cans, and dry crackers and a bottle of champagne as well as two rolls of pink ribbon. It was incriminating in itself but there’s nothing illegal about drinking champagne. It wasn’t solid evidence that he’d killed anyone. What I should have done then was left on my bike and gone to contact Phosy. He could have arrested the driver and had witnesses identify him as the man they knew as Phan.”

“But of course you didn’t?”

“It was difficult, Civilai. If I’d left then I didn’t know how long it would take me to find Phosy. I had no idea that he was already in the district. I was afraid that if I went to the local police, they wouldn’t believe me. They certainly wouldn’t arrest a man on my say-so. And in the meantime, I was giving the driver free rein to run off and kill again. So I made my decision. There was a rubber groundsheet in the chest. I wrapped it around myself and waited. I’d left myself breathing room in the chest, just a wedge of daylight under the lid. Through the gap I could see him approach the truck. The driver had completed his transformation already. It was astounding. He
was
Buaphan, complete with hair and clothes and confidence. It was as if he’d taken over the other man’s skin.

“To my horror, he climbed onto the bed of the truck, threw something into the chest on top of me, slammed the lid shut, and locked it. As you know, I’ve had more than my fair share of claustrophobic dices with death since I became coroner, but this was a nightmare. It was midday, and the temperature in there was in the mid thirties, so hot, I needed to do something fast. It was a solid, Chinese-built metal coffin riveted to the bed of the truck. I calmed myself, slowed my breathing, and recalled that there was a toolbox in the chest. I fumbled my way to it and found a hammer and a screwdriver. A metal drill bit would have been handy but fate wasn’t that kind.

“The truck started and I used the cover of the noisy engine to hammer myself an airhole. But these Chinese, I tell you. Why use twenty-millimetre metal plate when you can use fifty? I pounded myself into a good old sweat making the tiniest of holes. I was still going at it when I passed out for the first time. And, Civilai, that pinprick of a hole saved my life. When I came round I had no idea where I was. The truck was stopped and it was quiet out. I was afraid someone might hear me but I needed more air. I used the sharp end of a file to gouge out a larger hole. After an hour I had it to the size of a nostril. I could see through it. It was dark out. We were parked beside a road in some sort of village. There was nobody in sight. All I could think about was Phan being with a new victim somewhere and me stuck in the chest.

“I was deciding whether to yell for help and risk him catching me when I heard the music. It was a band of bamboo instruments and a small choir of drunk-sounding singers. The music was getting closer. I wrapped myself up in the groundsheet again in case anyone opened the chest. It wasn’t a logical response, but I was suffering from oxygen deficiency by then, so don’t expect common sense.”

“I never do. You know? If only we had a campfire and a good bottle of whisky, this would be one of your most classic Siri tales of the improbable.”

“We can still do that sometime. Trust me. This story will get better every time I tell it. Where was I?”

“Wrapped in a groundsheet.”

“Right. I have the groundsheet over my head, and I am blocked from the airhole, so I pass out for a second time. On this occasion I absolutely believe I’m a goner. As I’m fighting off the black moths, I try to summon my resident spirits: my mother, my dead dog, even the pregnant lady with worms, anybody to get me through it. But I was alone. When you need a good spirit there’s never one around. But next thing I know, the lid of the chest is open, and I can see actual stars. I can see Phan’s face looking down at me. I’m drowsy from the lack of air, and he’s a blur, but I’m sure he must be able to see me if I can see him. Yet he didn’t. It was dark in the chest and he was in a hurry. He reached beside me for something – the holdall, it must have been – yanked it out, and he was gone.

“I was disoriented, nauseous. My breathing was awful, but the rush of night air cleared my head a little. Sounds and images were passing in and out of my consciousness: footsteps, the truck starting, driving through thick undergrowth, silence, a distant conversation. I tried to climb out of the chest, but I couldn’t summon the energy.”

“Where was he going?”

“He’d pulled off the road and gone a little way into the trees. I knew in my heart that this was where he’d be killing his next victim, but all I could see was white spots in front of my eyes. I might have even passed out again if it hadn’t been for the pop. I know now it was the sound of the champagne cork, but in my fuzzy state I imagined it to be a bone snapping. That small rush of adrenalin was enough to get me out of the chest and off the truck. I was sure he must have heard me, but no. I don’t remember when I picked it up, but I had a large wrench in my hand. I staggered towards a light. He’d set up a space like a sort of open-air love ring with a quilt and candles. I saw them there. I really didn’t believe I could make it, but he was on her, forcing her to drink, and he smashed a glass and held a shard in front of her face. I knew he’d use it.”

“So you whacked him over the head with the wrench and killed the bastard,” Civilai yelled and let out a loud, “Woohoo!” It frightened a small whiskery-nosed otter out of the tall grass beside them. Siri cast his eyes downward, not sharing his friend’s glee. Murder was nothing to be proud of.

“Come on, you have to be pleased about it,” Civilai told him.

“Of course I’m pleased that he’s not free any longer to kill. But what kind of world are we living in where something like this can happen?”

“I’d prefer to see it as a one-off. I don’t want to believe there are maniacs crawling out of the woodwork. You have to admit this was a special case, Siri. I heard a rumour your strangler was a bit confused in the gender department.”

“He was a hermaphrodite.”

“That’d be enough to throw anyone off-kilter. It doesn’t pardon him but it does explain what happened. Even I’d go nuts if I didn’t have a willy.”

Siri looked into his friend’s eyes and smiled.

“Mrs Noy tells me…”

“Don’t even think about saying it.”

“How do you know…?”

“Whatever it is, keep it to yourself. I recognize that mischievous glint. Finish the story. How did the girl come through it all?”

“She was in shock, of course, but unharmed. We spent the night asleep in the truck. I wasn’t in any state to drive. I caught up with Daeng and the police the next day. By then they’d discovered the bodies of Buaphan and the census collector and put two and two together. Daeng was in a terrible state. She’d expected the next body they found would be mine. I’m afraid I’d rather set her up for that by telling her about my premonitions of death.”

Young Nounou came skipping along the path to the two old men.

“Grandpa,” she said. “Granny Daeng says your friend’s looking for you.”

“Ah, at last,” Siri smiled. “I suppose it’s time for the handover. You coming, old brother?”

“No,” said Civilai. “Give me a few minutes. I want to bask in the afterglow of your adventure. I need to work out the few changes I’d have to make to turn it into a story about me for the next cake party.”

Siri laughed and thumped his friend on the cranium with his fist. He took Nounou’s hand and she led him back towards the giant pumpkin. Daeng was standing talking to a small man in a floppy Burmese bush hat. As they got closer, he saw that it wasn’t a man at all. The figure looked up with a beaming smile.

“General Bao?” Siri laughed and switched to Hmong language. “Is that you inside that ridiculous disguise?”

He didn’t know whether to hug her or kiss her so he settled for a long, lingering handshake. It had concerned him during their time together in the north that he had fallen in love with this beautiful, brave little warrior. But once they were apart, it began to make sense. She was the daughter he’d wanted so badly all his life – the daughter his wife claimed would distract them from the fight for political freedom. She was the girl upon whom he could bestow all his paternal pride and joy. When they’d parted a few months earlier it had been harder than he could understand. And now, at their reunion, he felt he could cry. He wanted to boast to the world that his brave girl had survived.

“Who is that?” Nounou asked.

“A very special lady and a very good friend,” he said. “Do you want to go and find your auntie Tong and auntie Gongjai and tell them to bring the twins?”

“OK.” She ran off.

“How did you two…?” Siri began.

“Instinct,” said Madame Daeng. “We sort of gravitated to one another.”

“That’s nice. Do you mind…?”

“Of course not.” Daeng smiled at Bao and went to sit on a bench. Siri realized he was still holding the Hmong’s hand.

“Is everybody safe?” he asked.

“We lost Chia.”

Siri felt a pain in his heart at the matter-of-fact way she reported her sister’s death. But the tribe had lost many before her and the departed were best grieved for in private.

“We walked for three weeks,” Bao said, smiling proudly. “A few kilometres every night. We hid from the PL and the Vietnamese during the day. And it was true. The twins would have given us away with their crying. You saved our lives.”

Siri blushed. “And Chia?”

“She went to find us water and was shot by a lone guard. She didn’t suffer. How are the babies?”

“They’re enormous. You won’t recognize them. How did you get across the river?”

“It was easy. The uncle who made this garden has another garden on the Thai side. He has a little boat and he travels back and forth bringing his Buddhas and amulets. The guards don’t dare stop him because they believe he has very strong magic. He sometimes lets people hide on his boat.”