“Why do we think either of them had to be there?”

“A goat herder saw this Vietnamese man hiking there last weekend. He was with a woman. Too far away to identify her.”

“And what’s to be gained by killing him?”

“The first wife stands to inherit a hell of a lot,” said Phosy. “If she’s convicted of murder, the money will go to the minor wife. And the concubine’s father happens to be on the board of directors of the drilling company. He’ll no doubt be pushing for an inquiry.”

“Any children?”

“No.”

“Other siblings?”

“Apparently not.”

Siri looked around at the morgue he’d worked in for five years. In that time, it had been refurbished first by the Chinese, then by the Soviets, but it still looked neglected. The air conditioner wheezed. The corpse carts limped like old supermarket trolleys. Not even Mr. Geung’s “Twelve Puppies to Make You Laugh” wall calendar could inject any passion into that old building. Siri walked to the freezer that had not contained Comrade Thinh and fought with the handle for a few seconds as always. Inside were the jar of water and four tumblers. Mr. Geung always left them there just in case the morgue had visitors. They didn’t see a lot of use. Naturally, there was no ice. The freezers got their name from a short-circuiting accident following which Nurse Dtui and Daeng had spent several hours attempting to thaw out a body with the aid of kettle steam and a two-bar heater. The equipment had frozen nothing since. Siri poured his guests a glass of cool water each and returned to the matter at hand.

“All right,” he said, “even if one of the women in his life was there, how do we know he just couldn’t stand them anymore and stepped off the ledge to be rid of them?”

“Everyone who knew him swears he’s the last person on earth who’d commit suicide; fun-loving, over the moon with the Italian project. He even seemed fond of the women in his own way. No business pressure. No political bullying. He loved his life.”

“Yet here he is,” said Siri. “Dtui, why didn’t you do the autopsy?”

“I’m just a nurse,” she said.

“A nurse with a deep knowledge of forensic pathology,” Siri countered.

“But no certificate on my wall,” said Dtui. “Not even in porcelain varnishing.”

“I’ll print you one,” said Siri. “It seems all you need these days is a bit of paper with one illegible signature at the bottom.”

He pulled back the sheet that covered the corpse.

“Look,” he said. “Dr. Mot didn’t even bother to cut our friend here open.”

“Said it wasn’t necessary,” said Phosy. “Said it was obvious the victim had died from multiple injuries sustained whilst bouncing off rocks on his way down the cliff. Said the empty bottles proved that he was so drunk he probably didn’t feel it.”

“May I?” Siri asked.

“Go ahead,” said Phosy.

Siri turned the corpse on its side and studied the back.