“The embassy has its own guests turning up for the parade today,” said Sihot. “They were given leis at the airport when they arrived. They have a supply.”

“So, she gets there early,” said Phosy, “fills the tank, punches the holes in the floor, puts up the flowers and leaves the doors open until the Australians get there. They’re already on cloud eleven from whatever they’d been ingesting the night before, so they’re not completely tuned in. She joins them in a few sips of beer and off they go.”

“It’s not impossible,” said Siri. “And Jim, wanting to document everything, insists on taking her photo. So, somehow, in the confusion of the departure, she makes sure the camera doesn’t travel with them.”

“I don’t know,” said Phosy. “I don’t think a photojournalist would be separated from his camera that easily.”

“The Swede said everyone was aware of Jim’s allergies,” said Sihot. “He’s been using an inhaler for years. He bought a fresh one the day he arrived in Vientiane. Always liked to have a spare in case of emergency.”

“So, where were the inhalers?” Siri asked.

“They didn’t see any at the pond,” said Sihot, “but they were looking under the water. Inhalers would have floated. I sent someone to talk to the fisherman, see if he caught anything plastic.”

“Did you find out why the Swede was asking about Siri?” Phosy asked.

“Something about writing an article for a French magazine,” said Sihot. “The life of an Ancienne graduate fighting against the French. We have no way of checking whether that was true or not.”

“Oh, so close to stardom,” said Siri.

“Look,” said Phosy. “I’ll be leaving all this with you two. I have to attend this damned stupid parade at That Luang and listen to a National Day speech moderately altered from every other National Day speech I’ve ever sat through. At least I can take some files and sign stuff. Siri, how are the arrangements for the funeral going?”

“The Party’s having its state funeral on Friday,” said Siri. “It’s symbolic so they don’t need a body. Or, at least they won’t be getting one. They’re not having Civilai lying in state, although he’d really get a kick out of it. Not that it would matter if he were there. The average villager couldn’t identify a politburo member even if he had his name tattooed across his forehead. I doubt there’ll be a cheer squad or women throwing themselves in front of the hearse. The actual funeral will be this evening.”