Free Curse of the Pogo Stick by Colin Cotterill Page B

other police forces outside the country. The Vietnamese embassy staff sent a copy to Hanoi but nothing came of it.
    All this had taken place long before Phosy returned from the north-east and became attached to police headquarters. Although his office was supposed to be provided copies of army security files, in reality it took a walk down Route That Luang and a cup of hot tea with the clerk at the station before he could get his hands on them. The story hadn’t made it into the newspaper of course. It was negative news and the authorities held the view that the population didn’t need any more of an excuse to be dissatisfied with their government. As the people knew they wouldn’t be reading about murder and intrigue, very few of them bothered to read the paper at all. Although it was considered confidential and for official eyes only, Phosy had passed the report on to his wife. He believed it was helpful for her to understand just how devious their foe could be.
    Now Nurse Dtui was attempting in turn to pass on the salient points of their predicament to Mr Geung. They were squashed between the shelving units in the storeroom out of earshot of the office. The auditors had been particularly animated all day as they’d reached the bottom drawer of the cabinet, which was empty but for three final sets of records, Dtui’s old Thai Movie Fan magazines, and a concrete imprint of a bear’s paw. They could smell that the end of their work at the morgue was in sight. They sounded positively jolly as they discussed their next mission. Nevertheless, Dtui kept her voice down as she drilled Geung in safety precautions.
    “All I’m saying, honey,” she summarized, “is that you have to be careful.”
    “Oh…of the Lizard.”
    “Of anything and anybody that looks different or out of place. Don’t talk to any strangers. Don’t accept any gifts.”
    “What a…about from the p…post lady?”
    The auditor’s conversation stopped and Dtui listened for footsteps on the concrete floor She heard none.
    “Letters should be all right,” she continued. “But check that you know where the parcels come from. Ask the post lady, “Where does this come from?” All right?”
    “All right. A…and if it comes from Comrade Dr Siri ih…it’s OK.”
    “Right.”
    “Th…the Post Lady said it was.”
    “Good. If she says it comes from – What do you mean, ‘said’?”
    “The Post Lady s…said the p…parcel came from Comrade Dr Siri.”
    “When?”
    “This…morning. Sh…she said it was from the north. It w…was to me. It had m…m…my name written on it. And Comrade Nurse Dtui. But m…my name was first.” He smiled with pride and held up his chin.
    “You didn’t open it?”
    Geung laughed. “It was for m…me and you.”
    “I get that. But did you open it?”
    “Yes.”
    “What was in it?”
    “Cashew cakes.”
    “Did you eat any?”
    “Nnno! Cashews make me f…fart.”
    “Where did you put them?”
    “…and burp.”
    “Geung, where are they?”
    “On the f…filing cabi…net.”
    Dtui moved so fast Geung wasn’t sure she’d ever been there. He followed. She wasn’t in the cutting room or the vestibule. He eventually caught up with her in the office. She was on her knees on the file-littered floor beside one of the auditors. Both men appeared to be taking a nap. There was froth around their mouths as if they’d just cleaned their teeth and not rinsed. The cashew cake box was upside down on the ground. Dtui was taking one man’s pulse, raising his eyelid. From the expression on her face it was evident the men weren’t really asleep at all.
    “Th…they’re dead?” he asked.
    “Yes, pal. Dead as Uncle Ho.”
     
    At that evening’s meeting, Phosy summed up the events of the day for the team. The box and its brown-paper wrapping with Dr Siri’s careful but barely legible handwriting were undoubtedly genuine. The parcel had been postmarked November 29, two days after Siri arrived in Xiang