Free The Coroner's Lunch by Colin Cotterill Page A

Sim had restored his name to its full Simenon, and that Inspector Maigret mysteries were now appearing as books. The French in Saigon had shelves of them, and a number found their way north to be read by those communist cadres who’d spent their formative years in France.
    Siri had been able to solve most of the mysteries long before the detective had a handle on them—and he didn’t even smoke. Now, below the swaying boughs of the
samsa
tree, he felt a distinct merging. The coroner and the detective were blending. He liked the way it felt. For a man in his seventies, any stimulation, should it be kind enough to offer itself, had to be grasped in both hands.
    He walked back along the river, but when he reached the intersection that would have taken him back to his morgue, he responded not to obligation, but to instinct. He flagged down a
songtaew,
one of the dwindling number of taxi trucks plying the Vientiane streets. He told the driver where he wanted to get off, and squeezed amid the zoo of villagers already crammed inside. The
songtaew
followed the river east, away from the town. It was never so full it couldn’t pick up more passengers.
    Twenty minutes later, Siri was helped down by a strong girl who held a cockerel under her other arm. He paid his fifty liberation
kip
to the driver, crossed the road, and stood for a moment in front of the newly christened Mekhong River Patrol, wondering what he was doing there. The MRP, a navy of sorts in a landlocked country, had the near-impossible task of policing the long river border.
    The pilots of the hurriedly converted river ferries were army men, trained in two weeks to operate boats that were so noisy you could hear them a mile off. Anyone crossing the river illegally, unless they were stone deaf, could easily hide themselves until the armor-plated craft chugged on by.
    Siri was directed out back to the boat captains’ dormitory. There, the night-shift skippers sat playing cards, or stood in circles kicking a rattan ball back and forth. He was in luck. Following an unfortunate accident, the person he sought had been transferred to the night patrol. Siri found Captain Bounheng rocking back and forth on a cane chair, like an old man. He was only in his twenties.
    Siri introduced himself and shook the young captain’s hand.
    “Do you mind if we take a walk?”
    Bounheng was confused but followed Siri out across the dry rice fields. “Is this normal?”
    “For a coroner to follow up on cases? Oh, yes. It happens all the time. I spend as much time interviewing as I do looking at dead bodies. It’s all very mundane. Reports. You know.”
    Bounheng seemed a little more at ease after that. “He never should have been there.”
    “The longboat man?”
    “We were docking. He was fishing in an illegal spot.” The captain was deliberately striding ahead of Siri, who was hard pressed to keep up with him.
    “I understand. The old fool. These fishermen are an ignorant crowd. Never do what they’re told.” He jogged round in front of the fleeing man. “Can I ask about you?”
    “Me?”
    “Yes. How long had you been…in control of your boat?”
    There was a long hesitation. “I mean, this is a new unit. Only just been set up.”
    “I understand. So? Months? Weeks?”
    “A week.”
    “And I imagine it’s really stressful work.”
    “Stressful?”
    “I’d say so. Patrolling against attacks from anti-communists from across the river.”
    Bounheng laughed involuntarily. “Dr. Siri, I’d been up-country fighting hand to hand for two years. This is a holiday cruise compared to that. No anti-communist in his right mind’s going to launch an armada across the river in a built-up area. The most stressful thing we ever see is villagers swimming across to Thailand. With the river this low, there are plenty taking their chances.”
    “So what you’re saying is that it’s a bit of a slack posting.”
    “It’s very peaceful.”
    “How fast do you travel?”
    “Ten