“I’ll be sending my people to both,” said Phosy. “I want photographs of the mourners and the gawkers. There’s a good chance our killer will attend one or both of them. If he . . . or she, has put as much effort into all this as it seems, he or she will be there to admire his or her work. Siri, I don’t want you or Daeng anywhere near the parade today.”

“Oh, what a disappointment,” said Siri. “Daeng will be devastated.”

Despite the threat to his life, Siri rode his bicycle back to the restaurant with Ugly trotting alongside, without giving a thought to snipers or tossed grenades.

“You do know you started this whole mess?” Siri shouted. “What are you doing allowing a complete stranger to tie notes to your tail?”

Ugly’s ears and tail drooped and he assumed a repentant expression all the way home. They arrived in time to find Daeng at a table with two Europeans. One was Dani, the owner of the Nam Poo bar. The other looked a lifetime older than Siri. The doctor pictured the old fellow lashed to the mast of a sailing ship for his entire life braving the storms and the baking sun.

“This is Dani’s Uncle Joe,” said Daeng. “He’s visiting Dani and his family.”

Siri shook the old man’s hand. He had one hell of a grip. The experience was like putting your hand on a railway track and having a train run over it.

“Dani says he never forgets anything,” Daeng added.

Joe sipped his coffee.

“Tell him,” said Joe in gutter French. “Tell him I was there in Paris in ’32 when the president got shot.”

They’d obviously discussed Siri’s request already.

“Tell him yourself,” said Dani. “He speaks better French than any of us.”

“What?”

“You tell him,” said Dani.

“He’s a Chinaman,” said Joe.

“Try him,” said Dani.

“You speak some?” shouted Joe.

“Only what I picked up from the whores on the old rue Bouterie,” said Siri.

He’d never actually been to the old rue Bouterie and had never learned anything of value from a whore, but his comment had its desired effect. Joe looked at the doctor and laughed so hard he couldn’t keep the coffee in his cup.

“Good luck to you,” said Joe.

“I was in Paris in ’32,” said Siri.

“So Dani here tells me,” said Joe. “You anywhere near the shooting?”

“I witnessed it,” said Siri.

“You don’t say,” said Joe. “You don’t say. Fancy that.”

Daeng refilled his cup.

“They told me the Russian they arrested for the killing was just a patsy,” said Siri.

“A madman,” said Joe. “A drunken fool so high he had no idea why he was pumping bullets into the guy. It was all set up by the family. Doumer had two of the boys killed over there in Annam.”

“Do you know why?” Daeng asked.