Love Songs From a Shallow Grave (21 page)

“That he’d killed them?”

“That he knew them all. I asked why he hadn’t come forward when he heard about the killings and he said, “It’s complicated.” Complicated? You bet it’s complicated. We took him to HQ and questioned him. And it was as if every answer he gave tied him tighter and tighter to the murders. It was as if he didn’t understand the implication of what he was saying. Everything in this case points directly to him. Every damn thing.”

“He didn’t have an alibi?”

“Claims he was babysitting his son all weekend. His wife was off at a seminar. It’s just one more story that doesn’t work.”

“Start at the beginning, Phosy.”

“All right. You’ll never guess who Neung’s father is.”

“Then, tell me.”

“Miht, the groundsman at K6. And when the Americans were still there he used to go to help his father with the gardening work.”

“So, he would have met young Jim there. Attractive girl. Got chatting…”

“He admits it. Said he knew her before he went off to study. And where do you suppose he takes his scholarship course in electrical engineering?”

“East Germany.”

“Precisely where Jim was headed. And he studied not two blocks from her school. Amazing coincidence? I don’t think so.”

“So, he could have been the mystery man who hounded her there. Followed her to Berlin then stalked her.”

“Forcing her to come home early,” Phosy went on. “He returned at about the same time. Which brings us to victim number two, Kiang. It’s easier to do this in reverse order. In the beginning he told us he’d met Kiang at the government bookshop and they’d chatted about being overseas and he said he’d never seen her outside the reading room. Never socialised with her. And it was so obvious he was lying even Sihot could read it. I was so certain we had our killer I decided I could push as hard as I liked at that stage. But Neung didn’t take much pushing. As soon as the word ‘murder’ came up in the interview, he admitted that he and Kiang were…‘dating’, I think is what he called it. I asked him why he’d lied and he said he hadn’t wanted word to get back to his wife. His wife? Can you believe it? He’s got a wife and a child and he’s dating. And it doesn’t seem like killing the girl was nearly as important as his wife not finding out.”

Phosy’s reaction surprised Siri but he decided that matter could wait.

“And is the school connected? The scene of the murder?” Siri asked.

“Is it ever! It’s where he went to school, Siri. It was his own classroom. He pinned his dead girlfriend to the blackboard he’d copied notes from for seven years. This is a very sick character, Siri.”

“How’s he taking it?”

“You know how they are. Denying this. Denying that. He had himself in tears at one point.”

“So he hasn’t actually confessed to anything?”

“He’s denied killing them but there’s no getting away from the fact he knew them all. He met the wife of his boss through work. I wouldn’t be surprised if he was ‘dating’ her as well. And get this. The syrup on the shaved ice is that our comrade Neung was a fencing star. He was the champion on the university team while he was in Munich.”

“No, wait. How long was he there? Two…three years? How do you get to be a champion in so short a time?”

“You don’t. He was already an expert before he left Laos. He learned from childhood from his own father.”

“Miht, the groundsman?”

“His father had grown up in a boys’ orphanage in Vietnam run by French priests. They had an extensive programme of sports organised for the boys to keep them on the straight and narrow. One of the priests had been a fencing champion and he trained the most promising of his students in sword-play. It appears Miht was the star pupil. If the opportunity had come up he might have even been good enough to compete in Europe, but the war put paid to those plans. Miht came to Laos and put all of his efforts into teaching the skill to his son. Neung had the same natural flair as his father. The old man has a collection of swords at his home.”

Siri thought back to his relaxed conversation with the groundsman. His confident air. He recalled how the fellow had observed the crime scenes so intently. Siri wondered whether he’d known something. Whether he suspected his son might have been involved. Surely, when he discovered that the weapon was an épée…

“It does all seem to fit together,” Siri agreed, pouring the last of their half-bottle into the glasses.

“Seem? It’s a perfect fit, Siri. Your Judge Haeng is so pleased about it he’s decided to make this his first open court murder trial.”

“Wait! He’s what? We don’t even have a constitution. How the hell can he run a murder trial without laws?”

“Not sure, but he’s got the go-ahead from the minister and a couple of the politburo. A lot of people have been upset about all the killing that’s been going on lately. I get the feeling they want the country to know that justice is being done and criminals aren’t going to get away with it.”

“When’s the trial?”

“Next Tuesday.”

“That soon?”

“It is pretty open and shut, you have to agree.”

“There’s no physical evidence, Phosy.”

“You mean, no fingerprints?” Phosy laughed.

“I mean no nothing. No eye witnesses, no blood matches, no connected murder weapon, no confessions – no nothing. But I suppose none of that matters if there’s no law. That doesn’t concern you?”

“Come on, Siri. There’s so much circumstantial evidence you’d have to be a halfwit to think he was innocent.”

“It’s called circumstantial because circumstances happen to coincide. And it’s almost as if he’s gone to a lot of trouble to point every finger at himself, circumstantially. But it isn’t proof. What was your impression of him, Phosy?”

“My what?” Phosy was getting frustrated.

“As a person. What did you feel? How did he affect you?”

“Siri, you’re taking all this philosophical psychological bunkum a bit too far. This is a murderer.”

“All right, forget psychology. What does your gut tell you? Your policeman’s instincts. You’ve met enough killers in your life. What did your gut tell you after a day with Neung?”

“You really want to play this game?”

“Humour me.”

“All right, I felt he’s very cool. That he knew we had all this evidence against him and he was smart enough not to lie about any of it. He was convincing as an actor. But men with the ability to plan and execute cold-blooded murder would have the ability to convince others…”

“Did you like him?”

“Some of the worst villains are likeable, Siri.”

“Did you?”

“Yes.”

“Right. Is anyone representing him in this play trial?”

“I assume there’s somebody.”

“In a land without lawyers?”

“The military, probably.”

“The military conduct court martials and executions. This is a completely different thing. This is no war trial. This is an affront to democratic principles. This is a chance for the public to see Marie Antoinette’s head roll.”

“Who?”

“Doesn’t matter.”

“Siri, slow down. You sound as if you’re on his side. What are you playing at?”

“Not playing at all, Phosy. Looking at all the facts, I’d probably agree that he’s as guilty as the devil himself. Anybody would. Which is no doubt why Judge Haeng selected this as his opening number. Easy. No complaints. An evil killer gets what’s coming to him. Accolades all round. The only loser here is justice. The rightful course of law. Without that we have nothing to believe in.”

“What would you do, Siri? Lock him up till the constitution’s finished? He could be an old man by then.”

“Good point. Can I see him?”

“Who?”

“The accused.”

“What for? Why? When? You have to be at the airport by six.”

“How about now?”

Phosy laughed. Siri was staring at him with those emerald-green eyes. No smile. No bluff.

∗

At the doctor’s insistence, Phosy let him walk back to the cells by himself. Neung sat on the wooden bench, his slumped frame diced by the shadows of the metal mesh of the prison bars. He was long-limbed, a strongly built young man, but his face was soft, the type a woman would find more attractive than a man. It was the face of a child that some would feel an urge to mother.

“Are you Somdy Borachit? Also known as Neung?” Siri asked.

The prisoner seemed stunned, even shell-shocked. It took him a while to acknowledge Siri was there outside the bars.

“Yes.”

“Did you kill Hatavan Rattanasamay, Khantaly Sisamouth and Sunisa Simmarit?” Siri asked. No point in preliminaries.

Neung looked at Siri coldly.

“Who are you?”

“You answer my question and I’ll think about answering yours.”

Neung stood, walked to the bars and glared. Siri resisted the temptation to take a step back.

“Why would I want to kill three people I hardly knew?”

Siri nodded.

It was a bad response. A murderer’s answer.

“But, it isn’t true, is it?” Siri said. “That you didn’t know them, I mean. One you were having an affair with. Another you’d known since she was a child. You travelled to Germany with her.”

“What’s the matter with you people? Don’t you listen? We didn’t travel anywhere together.” Neung had raised his voice. “And I’m not answering any more of your questions until you tell me who you are and what you’re doing here.”

“You aren’t exactly in a position to call the shots. But I have no objection. I’m Dr Siri Paiboun. I’m the man who conducted autopsies on the three women you killed.”

With a speed and ferocity Siri couldn’t have expected, Neung smashed the heel of his right hand into the concrete wall of the cell. Siri took that step back after all. He was certain the prisoner had broken several small bones in his hand. But there was no pain on the man’s face, only anger.

“That’s quite a temper. Are you prone to violent outbursts like this?” Siri asked.

“Of course, I’m a violent maniac. Even more evidence for you. Shoot me before I lose control, why don’t you?”

He slid down the wall to a sitting position on the floor. He massaged his wrist and looked up at the ceiling.

“Anger and sarcasm aren’t going to help you in here,” Siri reminded him.

“And what is going to help me, Comrade?”

“The truth might be a good place to start.”

“I’ve tried. Believe me, I have. But your police friends have their own truth and they’ve been backing me into it all day.”

Siri sat cross-legged on the floor and looked at him. He took a few seconds to consider the consequences of what he was about to do.

“Has anyone told you what the evidence is against you?” he asked.

The prisoner looked up.

“I’ve picked up bits and pieces from their questioning. But not everything. No.”

So, for the next ten minutes, Siri laid it all out for him. He told him about all the circumstantial evidence that was ganged up against him. And, as he spoke, Siri watched the man’s reactions. He watched for nonchalance and feigned surprise but Neung listened intently and asked questions at the right times. He was like an acolyte listening to the teachings of a monk. Siri tried to see inside him. The doctor had made mistakes before. He’d seen guilt when it didn’t exist. He’d failed to notice evil when it was right in front of him.

The danger was that a man with the temperament to put detailed planning into three murders had to have a special type of mind. And Siri wondered whether he had the ability to see beyond that deceit.

Once all the evidence was mapped out, Neung fell back against the wall and bumped his head several times on the concrete. It was as if he suddenly understood how bad the situation was.

“Everybody thinks you’re guilty,” Siri said.

“You too?”

“Yes.”

“I see,” Neung sighed. “Then I’m on my way to hell on an ox cart.” He stared deep into Siri’s golf-green eyes. “Are the police aware you’re here telling me all the details of their case against me?”

“I didn’t even know myself when I came back here.”

“So, why?”

“You’re just about to go up against the whole injustice system. They’ll give you some token representation but ultimately, it’s you against them. And I don’t think those odds are fair.”

“Even though you believe I’m guilty?”

“Irrespective of my thoughts as to your guilt, you still have the right to defend yourself.”

“Thank you.”

“It isn’t much.”

“Will you be attending their kangaroo court?”

“I’m off on a junket in Cambodia, me and the only qualified lawyer in the country. That’s why I’m here at midnight. We leave tomorrow morning.”

Neung sighed and thought for a moment. A toad was practising its baritone beyond the window.

“OK. Can I tell you my story?”

Siri was surprised. He was afraid he was about to hear a confession and he didn’t know how to handle things. He wondered if he should call Phosy.

“I don’t – ” he began.

“I want to tell you everything I know,” Neung said. “I want at least one person to have my side of it.”

“If you’re going to give me that ‘I hardly knew them’ routine, I don’t think I want to hear it.”

“I’m sorry about that. I did. I knew all three of them. And somebody’s obviously aware of that.”

“Yes? What
somebody
might that be?”

“If we knew that, we’d know why I’m here.”

“So, you’ll be going with the ‘I was framed’ defence? Good choice.”

“Do I have any other hope?”

“No.”

“So…?”

“So, I’m listening.”

“All right.” Neung shimmied across the concrete floor till his nose was no more than a few centimetres from the bars, his hands within grasping distance of Siri’s neck.

“Dew,” he began. “She was the wife of my section head, Comrade Chanti. I met her once at the company’s New Year children’s party before I went off to Germany. It was about five years ago. Chanti and his family had just arrived from the north-east after the ceasefire in seventy-three. My boss introduced his wife to everyone. She wasn’t particularly friendly. She seemed reluctant to be there. She had one baby in arms and one toddler. I don’t recall seeing her talk to her husband at all that afternoon. Then I met her once more at the government bookshop in the reading room when I got back from overseas. She was more friendly then. I had to remind her who I was, told her our kids had played together at the party. She said she’d just come back from Moscow. Then she was off somewhere in a hurry.”