"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.
"You're a generous man," Siri told him. "So much love to share with so many women. Which brings us to victim number three, Jim."
Neung sighed with frustration.
"There isn't much to tell," he said. "I vaguely remember her pottering around K6 when she was a kid. She was podgy then. One of those keen young things who follow you around asking questions. I heard they'd taken her on as a trainee at a clinic up north. I didn't see her at all after that until Germany. I was on the fencing team at my college. There were local and regional competitions every weekend. And who should show up at one of them but Jim. I was totally surprised. I didn't recognise her at first. She'd lost a lot of weight. In fact she was looking very fit. She told me she'd come to Berlin to study medicine. That didn't surprise me. I knew she was smart. But what did surprise me was that she could fence. And she was good. Really good, and strong as an ox. She'd obviously put a lot of time into it."
"Where did she learn?"
"I asked her, of course. But her answers were always vague. Things like, 'I can't tell you all my secrets so soon'. I assumed the Americans…but I never really found out for certain. She asked if I had time to tutor her, work on her techniques. I told her I'd be happy to."
"I bet you were. One on one, was it?"
Neung glared. "No. She attended a class I helped out at. It was a fencing school for local teenagers. I was a volunteer. The instructor and I agreed that Jim had potential. In fact, the instructor had a friend from one of the big clubs come to look at her. It was one of those serious places, the type that gear you up for the Olympics. They agreed that with the right coaching she could have a future in fencing. They made her an offer. They said they could arrange for a permanent visa, perhaps even citizenship if she made the grade."
"But she didn't go for it."
"She was good but I could tell her mind wasn't in the sport. The difference between competence and greatness is in the heart. She didn't have a heart for fencing."
"Odd, considering she'd obviously put a lot of effort into it."
"That's what I thought."
"Do you recall her talking about another man? A boyfriend. Someone who might have been showing an unhealthy interest in her?"
Neung put his fingers against his face as if he were raking for a memory or two.
"I don't remember anything specific," he said. "But I did get the feeling there was something troubling her. She'd lose concentration now and then as if she were on another planet. It was a little bit worrying when you're playing around with swords. It might have been because of a boyfriend but I don't know. It wasn't the type of thing I talked about with my students. We really weren't that close."
"Did you see her again after Berlin?"
"Once. Recently, in fact. I was surprised to see her back in Laos so soon. I thought she'd be in Germany for another four years. She was outside the bookshop when I came out one Saturday. I asked her what was wrong and she told me she'd failed her exams and they'd sent her home. She didn't seem that upset about it. In fact, I got the impression she was happier than I remembered seeing her in Berlin. Being back in Laos seemed to have freed her soul somehow. She said there was some matter she needed to discuss with me, urgently. She was always asking this or that question, usually about things that weren't really important, so I didn't take it too seriously. She gave me her number at Settha Hospital. I meant to call, but with all the work out at K6 and family life…"
"And Kiang."
"And Kiang, yes. I forgot all about calling Jim."
Neung's brow arched as a realisation seemed to drop over him. "I wonder, if I'd phoned…" he said. "If she'd wanted to talk about her problem. I wonder if I could have prevented her death."
"I wonder."
Siri sat silent. It was a great line. Convincing. The doctor wasn't about to be sucked wholly into Neung's version of events, but he'd earned himself a second hearing.
On his way out of the station, Siri woke up Phosy at his desk and told him, "Tomorrow, when you're feeling fresh, I'd like you to go and listen to that boy's story one more time. Just listen."
14
The Shaanxi Y-8 lifted off from Vientiane's Wattay airport three hours after the scheduled departure time. No plane, no bus, no donkey cart ever left on time in the People's Democratic Republic of Laos. Timetables were in the same section of the government bookshop as legends and folklore. They were fictional beasts that lied without trepidation. Yet, despite this knowledge, no passengers ever came prepared for a wait. Nobody ever brought books or puzzles or letters to write or darning or weaving or embroidery to fill in the hours. It was as if, deep down, the Lao believed that today would be different. A miracle would happen. Today, a flight would leave on schedule. So they sat staring hopefully at the runway, at the rain on the window, at the other passengers, and then they dozed. And they awoke with a refreshed belief. Always disappointed.
Siri had arrived with stories to fill the hours. He'd informed Comrade Civilai in great detail of the neat slotting of engineer Neung into the evidence of the epee case. He'd left nothing out, neither fact nor feeling. Civilai, in clean but not necessarily ironed clothes, had sat nodding as he watched an incoming aeroplane break through the pudding clouds and splash along the runway like a stork in pursuit of a giant snakehead. Unlike his usual self he had nothing to ask, no clarifications to seek. Siri had done a very thorough job. The doctor was just about to tell his friend about the meeting with Neung at police HQ when a Lao Aviation official stood in front of the eleven passengers with a megaphone and yelled an announcement that flight CAAC23 would be leaving in twenty minutes. Passengers were invited to bring their luggage out to the runway and to help the pilot load it into the hold.
Siri and Civilai travelled light. What you wore today you washed tomorrow. All being well, it would be dry by the following day. The only thing of any substance in Siri's shoulder bag was his Camus compendium, a sort of greatest hits volume. He'd debated not bringing it but he was certain there'd be long periods of waiting or listening to speeches when Monsieur Camus could entertain him.