Dr Siri Paiboun 01 (2004) - The Coroner's Lunch by Colin Cotterill

Author:Colin Cotterill
Format: epub
Published: 2004-06-07T16:00:00+00:00

They were driving along an overgrown gully similar to the one by the airfield. Siri suspected these tracks couldn’t be seen from the air, and were probably set up by smugglers. The Ho Chi Minh Trail was just like this, a tunnel through jungle. It was no wonder the Americans had been unable to shut it down. The Hmong must have learned the trick from their enemy.

Captain Kumsing had opted not to come along on this journey. He’d sent Siri with a driver and a younger captain. The driver was the friendlier of the two.

Siri asked whether they’d be able to see the project site on the way.

“No, sir. It’s over that way about thirteen kilometres.”

“Really? Seems a bit odd you’d set up a crop substitution project so far from the villages you’re helping.”

The driver laughed. “Yes, sir. It does, doesn’t it?”

The captain glared at Siri, but it didn’t stop him smiling. In fact he kept smiling until a large black shape came hurtling at the windscreen with a thud. The shape flapped against the glass and flew up over the roof of the cab. Siri and the captain both shielded their eyes, but the driver seemed used to it.

“Damn thing.”

“What on earth was that?”

“Crows, sir. They get sport out of buzzing our transport.”

“Crows? Is it normal to find crows ihis far from cities? I thought they were flying rats.”

“I’m not a bird man, me. I know a lot about fish, but – ” The crow came at the truck again, this time at the side window where the captain slapped at it. He fought to get the window up, and the angry bird bloodied his hand with its beak.

“Shit!”

Siri helped fight it off until the window was up and the bird flew back into the trees. The driver wound up the window on his side.

“Never seen one as frisky as that. Must be the time of day. You know, I say crows, plural, but I guess there might just be the one. Those brown chest markings, I recognise them. I’ve seen that fellow before.”

The captain sucked at the blood on his wrist and mumbled under his breath. Siri reached into his pack for antiseptic.

“You want me to look at that?”

“It’s nothing.” And he didn’t mean it wasn’t a serious wound. He meant it was nothing. He held up his wrist and in spite of the blood they’d all seen, there wasn’t a mark.

The driver whistled. “Now, that’s odd.”

As they neared the village, they passed an army guard post. The sentry waved them through. The road opened into a clearing where thirty or forty bamboo-and-grass huts sat on either side of a small stream. Narrow paths criss-crossed in all directions, and at every intersection there was a small structure like a bridge, too small for even a child to cross. The newer ones were decorated with flowers and incense sticks. Older ones had been ignored and left to fall into decay. The driver saw Siri looking.

“They’re bridges so the lost souls can find their way back to their bodies.

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