The Girl from Perfume River by DS Holmes

Author:DS Holmes
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Historical mystery, Historical Romance, Vietnam, Vietnam War, Literary
Publisher: David Holmes
Published: 2017-02-24T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 31

“NURSE, WHAT IS MR. Kuk’s room number?”

“One moment.” The gray-haired Frenchwoman at the visitor’s desk opened a wooden box and flipped through admission cards. She pulled a card and read, “Only close relatives are allowed to visit.”

“He’s a very close friend.”

“But you’re not related, are you?” she said sternly, and shut the box. “He’s Chinese, you’re Vietnamese.”

I walked away and went outside to the parking lot and the Woody. Tran sat behind the wheel, rubbing his camera’s lens with a soft cloth. The one-story whitewashed brick buildings of Saigon’s General Hospital sprawled over a park-like grounds, the last drops of rain dripping off the faded red tile roofs and the broad green leaves of shade trees, chirping crickets and cicadas investing the twilight hour with a steady racket, cut through now and then by the strident call of an imported peacock. The air smelled fresh and alive with the aromas of tropical plants and flowers, and it was cooler now. I took my purse off the front seat, found a small notebook, tore a page from it and copied down a telephone number.

“Thank you for waiting, Tran.”

“Easy money.” He shook out his cloth. “Mr. Holly okay? He act different today.”

“He’s got a lot on his mind.” I closed the passenger door and went up the steps into the admission wing again. “Excuse me, nurse, please call this number.” I placed the page on the counter and sat on a rattan chair.

Her starched white uniform crackled as she, reluctantly, took up the paper and turned to her phone. After a brief exchange, she hung up and looked over at me. “Mr. Kuk is in Room 13, off the Surgical Recovery Ward. The inspector asked that you wait here for him.”

But I was already halfway down the hospital’s main corridor. Signs on the wall indicated the orthopedic ward and operating theater. Evening shadows fell across the black-and-white tile floor where wooden shutters had been opened after the storm. Gurneys and wheelchairs lined the hallway. The strong scent of disinfectants was pervasive, adding to the unpleasant memories I retained of medical facilities. Hearing the clatter of bed pans and the cries of patients in pain didn’t help either.

Near the recovery ward a young Chinese nurse was pushing a metal cart from a supply closet. “Can I help you?” she asked.

“Mr. Kuk’s room? He was admitted this morning.”

“Next to last on the right, the one with a guard at the door. Keep it brief, he just had a visitor. His sister, I think.”

I looked past her. “I don’t see a guard.”

“In the lavatory? I’m sorry, we’re short-staffed this evening.”

There were two beds in the room, both empty. A gendarme’s kepi lay under the sink, his body between the beds. A scalpel protruded from his throat; blood pooled around his head. Shorty was balled up on the floor under the barred window, entangled in a sheet and mosquito netting. One of his arms was twisted in the bedrail, an IV needle taped to the wrist.

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