“Why is that a good point?”

“Because if he was corrupt he’d have a motorcycle. No, boy, he’s friendly enough. I’m sure he gets along well with the locals. He’ll keep.”

The taxi pulled up in front of the old French resort. The cabins had long since yielded to the monsoons and many were without roofs. But, according to the sergeant, the restaurant was still functioning and provided fare for visiting cadres and those lost on the highway. There were a few wooden tables in front of a bunkerlike structure. Phosy called for service.

“Good day?”

From the rear of the building came a pudgy man with a random sort of beard that sprouted here and there like the hair of a mangy dog. He was dressed in camouflaged fatigues from a long-ago campaign.

“Gentlemen,” he said, without enthusiasm. “Welcome to Ouan’s restaurant. Looks like you got here just before the rush.”

“We have some questions,” said Phosy.

“Certainly,” said Ouan, “but I don’t see how you can ask questions on empty stomachs. How about a little lunch?”

The policemen hadn’t eaten since early that morning but they were nervous about a restaurant that had no customers for long periods.

“How old are your ingredients?” Phosy asked.

“I have a refrigerator, Comrade,” said Ouan, as if the life span of food was unlimited once chilled. “I have a generator. Take the weight off your feet. Sit here in the shade and I’ll see what I can rustle you up.”

He led them to the nearest table and wiped it with his forearm.

“Perhaps a drink?” he said.

“Water for us,” said Phosy.

“Really?” said Ouan. “I have cold beer.”

“No, we’re on duty,” said Phosy, although the thought of a cool beer there in the middle of dusty nowhere did appeal to him. Jiep had also perked up at the mention of it. But Phosy was the chief of police. He had to set a good example. “We’re here on official business. We’re looking for a colleague of ours. We believe you met him four days ago. His name is Sihot.”

“Captain Sihot,” said Ouan. “Of course.”

“You showed him around?”

“Took him to the karst where that terrible accident happened. That poor Vietnamese gentleman.”

“And where did you go after that?” asked Jiep.

“Well, he was asking about a girl,” said Ouan. “He thought the Vietnamese had gone on a picnic with a local girl.”

“Did you know who she was?”

“No. It’s very unlikely a girl from these parts would allow herself to be entertained by a foreigner, especially a foreigner with a wife and mistress. If there really was a lass she’d have to be from somewhere else. Probably a Vientiane girl. Low morals down there. Most likely he brought a whore with him.”

“We’d like to talk with some locals,” said Phosy. “Someone who might know where the girl was from?”

“Certainly, Officer,” said Ouan. “But first, let’s get you both fed and watered. Special price for our friends in the police force. Captain Sihot loved my fried rice with river crabs. I’m an excellent chef.”