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Authors: Colin Cotterill
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started when she got here. She took a few mouthfuls of sticky rice, dipped in chili and fish sauce. At about the second or third mouthful, before she could swallow it, her eyes seemed to cloud over. She spat out the rice, dribbled slightly, and collapsed onto the table.
“I tried to resuscitate her, but I believe she died very suddenly. She didn’t choke, didn’t turn blue. She just died. I tried to massage her heart, gave her mouth-to-mouth, but I didn’t feel there was much hope.”
“Do you know anything about gnathostomiasis?”
“Yes. I’ve lost enough patients over the years to parasites. But that’s not what killed Mrs. Nitnoy.”
“Why not?”
“It’s a very painful death. It comes upon you suddenly, but the last few minutes are agony. Mrs. Nitnoy was perfectly normal until a few seconds before she died.”
“You’re quite right. You seem to have noticed a lot of detail.”
“I was talking to her all the time.”
“Do you know if she had a headache?”
“Why, yes. It’s strange you should ask. That’s what we were talking about. She had a horrible hangover. Mrs. Nitnoy liked her beer, and there had been a reception the night before. She’d had a little bit too much and woke up with a splitting headache. If it hadn’t been for the preparations for today’s visit, she’d probably have taken the day off.”
“Did she take anything for it?”
“She had a bottle of painkillers.”
“Does she have her own desk here?”
“She had her own office, but you won’t find the pills there. She kept them in her handbag.”
“That didn’t come to the morgue with her.”
A supervisor glided through the room yelling urgent instructions.
“No. It was here, but a serious-looking army officer in dark glasses came by to pick it up during the afternoon.”
Siri raised his eyebrows. She responded in kind, only to a lesser degree. “He said she had some sensitive documents in her bag and he’d been instructed to come and pick it up.”
“By?”
“His superiors. I didn’t get any names.”
“Did he take anything else? Anything from the desk?”
“No. Just the bag.”
“I don’t suppose you had a chance to look in that bag?”
“Dr. Siri. What type of woman do you take me for?” She climbed on the chair and hung another chain of decorations. The stage was starting to look like a marquee that had been shredded in a monsoon. “Our design specialist assures us this is all beautiful. Do you think it is?”
“I think it shows a great deal of failed initiative.”
She laughed. “I take it your tact got you into the position you find yourself in today.”
“Very much so, I’m afraid.”
“Don’t be afraid. We need more people with the courage to say what they feel. It’s getting rarer.” She stepped down. “Slippers.”
“What?”
“She carried her slippers around in her bag. The Party insisted she wear black vinyl shoes with heels for public engagements. She hated them. They gave her blisters. So she had these soft slippers she put on whenever she could.” Siri smiled. “What is it?”
“Nothing. What else did she have in there?”
“Now you think I’m a snoop.”
“Snooping’s good for the regime.”
“Really? All right. Little stuff, mainly. Address book. Keys. Smelling salts. Balm. Name cards. That was about all.”
“Did you look at the name cards?”
“Doctor Siri.”
“Sorry. No makeup, lipstick?”
“Frowned upon, and quite expensive now.”
“So, apart from the address book, there wasn’t really anything in there that could be called ‘sensitive papers’?”
“No.”
“And it was all carried off by the serious officer.”
“…Yes.” It was neither a firm nor an automatic “yes.”
“Dr. Pornsawan?”
“Almost all.”
“Apart from?”
“Well, the reason I know what was in her bag was because I went into it to borrow her headache pills. One or two of the ladies were traumatized by what happened to Comrade Nitnoy.”
“And
“I tried to resuscitate her, but I believe she died very suddenly. She didn’t choke, didn’t turn blue. She just died. I tried to massage her heart, gave her mouth-to-mouth, but I didn’t feel there was much hope.”
“Do you know anything about gnathostomiasis?”
“Yes. I’ve lost enough patients over the years to parasites. But that’s not what killed Mrs. Nitnoy.”
“Why not?”
“It’s a very painful death. It comes upon you suddenly, but the last few minutes are agony. Mrs. Nitnoy was perfectly normal until a few seconds before she died.”
“You’re quite right. You seem to have noticed a lot of detail.”
“I was talking to her all the time.”
“Do you know if she had a headache?”
“Why, yes. It’s strange you should ask. That’s what we were talking about. She had a horrible hangover. Mrs. Nitnoy liked her beer, and there had been a reception the night before. She’d had a little bit too much and woke up with a splitting headache. If it hadn’t been for the preparations for today’s visit, she’d probably have taken the day off.”
“Did she take anything for it?”
“She had a bottle of painkillers.”
“Does she have her own desk here?”
“She had her own office, but you won’t find the pills there. She kept them in her handbag.”
“That didn’t come to the morgue with her.”
A supervisor glided through the room yelling urgent instructions.
“No. It was here, but a serious-looking army officer in dark glasses came by to pick it up during the afternoon.”
Siri raised his eyebrows. She responded in kind, only to a lesser degree. “He said she had some sensitive documents in her bag and he’d been instructed to come and pick it up.”
“By?”
“His superiors. I didn’t get any names.”
“Did he take anything else? Anything from the desk?”
“No. Just the bag.”
“I don’t suppose you had a chance to look in that bag?”
“Dr. Siri. What type of woman do you take me for?” She climbed on the chair and hung another chain of decorations. The stage was starting to look like a marquee that had been shredded in a monsoon. “Our design specialist assures us this is all beautiful. Do you think it is?”
“I think it shows a great deal of failed initiative.”
She laughed. “I take it your tact got you into the position you find yourself in today.”
“Very much so, I’m afraid.”
“Don’t be afraid. We need more people with the courage to say what they feel. It’s getting rarer.” She stepped down. “Slippers.”
“What?”
“She carried her slippers around in her bag. The Party insisted she wear black vinyl shoes with heels for public engagements. She hated them. They gave her blisters. So she had these soft slippers she put on whenever she could.” Siri smiled. “What is it?”
“Nothing. What else did she have in there?”
“Now you think I’m a snoop.”
“Snooping’s good for the regime.”
“Really? All right. Little stuff, mainly. Address book. Keys. Smelling salts. Balm. Name cards. That was about all.”
“Did you look at the name cards?”
“Doctor Siri.”
“Sorry. No makeup, lipstick?”
“Frowned upon, and quite expensive now.”
“So, apart from the address book, there wasn’t really anything in there that could be called ‘sensitive papers’?”
“No.”
“And it was all carried off by the serious officer.”
“…Yes.” It was neither a firm nor an automatic “yes.”
“Dr. Pornsawan?”
“Almost all.”
“Apart from?”
“Well, the reason I know what was in her bag was because I went into it to borrow her headache pills. One or two of the ladies were traumatized by what happened to Comrade Nitnoy.”
“And
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