Love Songs From a Shallow Grave by Colin Cotterill Page B

Paiboun. They had me look at the body.”
    “I see.”
    “Did you know the people who lived in that house?” Siri asked.
    “A few passed through in my time.”
    “Do you recall who it was that put up the sauna?”
    “Of course, the last couple, the Jansens. I was the one who found the wood for them.”
    “What were they like?”
    “Nice enough. Husband was very keen. He was working on education projects, I seem to recall. She was just a housewife but she was kind, you know? Some of the wives of the experts got stuck into the gin but Mrs Jansen got involved with projects too. She helped out with scholarships, that kind of thing.”
    “You seem to know a lot about them.”
    “I got most of it from their house staff. I’m not much of a one for English language. I’d be out front trimming the trees and the houseboys and maids would come trotting down the driveways with all the latest gossip. I wasn’t that interested but it passed the time.”
    “How many staff did they have?”
    “They had a fellow that cooked for them. His wife would come in three days a week to clean. And there was a gardener who doubled as their night watchman.”
    “Why do you suppose they built a sauna in the middle of the tropics?”
    “Mr Jansen was from Sweden or Iceland. Somewhere like that. He believed you couldn’t get all the poison out of your system unless you had a good steam.”
    “And everyone knew it was here?”
    “In those days they did. You couldn’t keep a secret then. They tried to get the Lao staff to sample it but nobody was game. It seemed like a silly idea if you ask me. I can’t imagine what a Lao girl was doing in there in the middle of the night.”
    “Do you know if anyone else has used it since the Americans left?”
    “I can’t remember seeing anyone over here at all. They didn’t put any of their people in these houses by the external wall. They were afraid it’d be too easy to lob a hand grenade over. Not safe, they said. So they let all these places turn to jungle. As far as I know, none of the new regime people had any idea what it was. Just thought it was a box, probably.”
    “Is there any way in and out of the compound apart from through the main gate?”
    “There used to be, brother. Just before the Americans left there were more holes than a mesh stocking. The staff used them to smuggle out equipment and furniture; parting gifts from the Americans before they were kicked out. But when the Pathet Lao boys moved in they patched up most of them.”
    “Most of them?”
    “The old hands know of one or two places you could still get under the wall.”
    “So it would be possible for someone without a pass to get into the compound.”
    “Technically. You’d have to be careful to avoid the security patrols. Trigger-happy bunch. They’d probably shoot you before they asked who you were.”

5
    HALF A DOZEN MEN IN SEARCH OF A SMELL
    T he interviews hadn’t taken as long as Sihot and Phosy had imagined. The answers had all been so pat it was as if everyone had memorised them from an official circular.
    “I barely knew the girl.”
    “Didn’t talk to her.”
    “I have no idea about her personal life.”
    “She seemed like a good soldier”
    Phosy had noticed the bandage on Security Chief Phoumi’s wrist and enquired about it. He was told it was a torn ligament from a motorcycle accident. The rest of his answers were brief and unhelpful. Only Major Dung, in that cocky style of his, had strayed from the script. Even the interpreter was annoyed by his responses to the questions.
    “Do you have any knowledge of the victim having an extra-marital affair?”
    “It wouldn’t surprise me,” Dung had said with a grin. “She put out enough signals.”
    “Meaning?”
    “A lot of your Lao girls in uniform start to think like men. They like to put themselves around. Gather feathers for their caps.”
    “Are you saying this from personal experience?”
    “I might have taken her up on it if I were