In this age of mimeograph machines and typewriters with carbon paper, official documents like those in circulation in Laos were not terribly difficult to forge if a man had access to such equipment. Nobody was surprised to learn that there was no Thongphan Ratsakoun at the Highways Department or anywhere else on public file. It would take several months to go through the disparate police record data banks, but there was no point in looking up an obviously fake name.
The villagers who'd mixed socially with Phan at dinners and on the takraw court agreed that he was a top fellow: a very friendly and likable person. Nobody had any idea where he went during the day. They had the impression he'd have liked to have told them about his work but wasn't allowed to. He had a truck but no driver, which was interesting. It suggested that he was independent, perhaps a section head. He was clearly someone with the ability to do everything for himself. He had class, some women said. Perhaps he'd come from a well-to-do family. He'd obviously travelled widely. He knew the country very well.
Where did he come from? Nobody knew. He'd moved around a lot when he was young. Army family perhaps? Somewhere in the north, although he had a central accent. He'd given everyone a life history so vague they could barely remember what he'd said. He'd answered most questions with a joke, and they were too awed by his position to embarrass him with an interrogation. Sergeant Sihot had come to the conclusion that this was a very cautious and cunning villain. He'd left no real trace.
Siri, Civilai, and Phosy were seated on the log overlooking the dwindling Mekhong. Civilai had catered all three lunches. It was a new recipe for homemade baguettes with genuine corned beef.
"How do you get hold of all this exotic fair?" Siri asked. He was actually enjoying his lunch. Civilai had hit on the formula. They were washing down the bread rolls with home-squeezed guava juice, courtesy of Mrs Noy. Civilai's wife was slowly coming to terms with the fact that her previously absentee husband had become attached to the house. The kitchen was a place she was allowed to visit but which was no longer hers. Although Civilai still had the general bone structure of a grasshopper, he now had a more substantial body for her to cuddle on a cold night, so she didn't complain.
"I still have friends in high places," he told his fellow diners. "You'd be surprised what our American colonists left behind. If you slip me a few bucks I can probably lay my hands on some Spam, canned soup, sardines in tomato sauce, franks and beans, you name it. There's a larder full of the stuff."
"All that old tin should be rusty by now," Phosy decided.
"Ah, Inspector" — Civilai wagged his finger — "they say you can never have too much iron in your diet. And if iron is so beneficial, tin can only be one step below it."
Siri laughed. "Just think, Phosy. Before he retired, only the politburo had access to his brilliance. Now we all get to share."
"Good, I could use some brilliance," Phosy admitted and became immediately glum.
"The strangler?" Civilai asked.
"We're not getting anywhere. We're just not cut out to do a nationwide investigation. I don't suppose you've heard anything from your embroidery circle, Doctor?"
"Don't mock the Lao Patriotic Women's Association, Inspector. They'll come up with something. You mark my words."
"Meanwhile, we've come to a dead end with Phan. Not even anything on the truck. It was a Chinese Jiefang. The road builders in the north are bringing them in and selling them secondhand, cheap. Most government projects have one. Nobody thought to write down the licence number. One Chinese truck is pretty much the same as the next."
"It looks like the Chinese are invading us one street at a time," Civilai bemoaned. "They're doing whatever they want up north in the border provinces. I warned the old fogies on the committee, but nobody listened. It's only because we don't have any money that they're not flooding us with cheap, shoddy goods."
"To replace the cheap, shoddy goods from Vietnam?" Siri asked.
"Exactly. Some of those Chinese engineers have special dispensation to hop around the country without the inconvenience of applying for a laissez-passer."
"Like you and me, Siri," said Phosy.
"Yes, but you two are Lao. It's your country…at least for a while."
"That's it." Phosy tried to click his fingers, but they were slick with mayonnaise. "Travel. We know Phan travelled across prefectural borders. Even if he was attached to a government project he'd need a laissez-passer. Private citizens can't just pop into the Interior Ministry and say, "I fancy a bit of a drive up to Luang Prabang; could you give me a travel pass?"
"Even if he had a valid and urgent need, the bureaucracy would delay him for a month or so," Civilai added.
"So how did Boonhee get down here so fast to claim his daughter's body?" Siri asked.
"Sihot got him a pass," Phosy said. "We claimed he was a witness. But for Phan to go to Vang Vieng and then return there two weeks later, he had to be attached to some official project."
"So you're assuming he was in the region for another purpose but changed his identity and project description in order to fool the people in Ban Xon?"
"What do you think?" Phosy asked.
"It's a stretch, but it's as good as anything else you've got," Siri agreed.
"So, let's make a list," said Civilai. He reached into his pack, pulled out three slices of his prize-winning pie, and hunted around for a pen and paper.
"I have a notepad," said Phosy. "I'll exchange it for a piece of pie."
"You'll finish your baguettes, give yourself a few minutes for the first course to digest, then I'll think about letting you have dessert."
"You're a tough nut." Phosy laughed. He found his pencil and held it poised to write.
"Number one, 'military'," said Civilai.
"I don't know." Phosy shook his head. "This fellow doesn't read like army to me. I get the feeling he's a few pegs above soldier. He seems too polished, too charming. Plus the witnesses said his hair was longish, just over his collar. I know we don't insist on five millimetres like the Thais, but if our Phan's an officer he'd lead by example."
"I see him as someone who has, or used to have, influence." Siri thought out loud. "He knows how to talk. Has some breeding. Now if you'd told me he was a Royalist officer I'd believe that. There were a lot of smooth tin soldiers in that outfit. But not the National People's Liberation Army. They're too country. Too simple."
"How about the police?" Civilai asked.
Phosy shook his head. "The only unit that does any travelling is the one I'm in charge of."
"All right, then let's start the list with politburo members and their aides, members of the Central Committee." Civilai smiled, happy to finger his old colleagues. "They get travel passes at the drop of a hat."
"I don't know about that either," said Siri, dusting the last of his breadcrumbs from his lap. "They're too high profile. If anyone with a name was in the region all the local cadres would know."
"But it's worth a shot," Phosy said and began the list. "I'll get Sihot to check whether there were any political meetings in the district at the time Phan was there."
"But don't forget he had to be there twice," Siri reminded him. "Once for the seduction and once for the wedding. There had to be some kind of flexibility in his schedule."
"Or he picked a location he knew he'd be going back to in a few weeks," Phosy said.
"All right," said Siri. "Let's include all the departments — I'm sorry, I mean ministries — that are likely to have projects up in the Vang Vieng?Ban Xon area. Let's start with forestry. We know it's not roads."
"Fishery, health, agriculture," Civilai reeled off.
"Rural development, culture," Siri added, "and I'm thinking specifically of the people who go out to hill-tribe villages and convince them they'd be better off as Lao citizens."