“But we can communicate?”

“Until eternity.”

“Then that’s good enough.”

With the help of Rajhid, Siri and Daeng climbed the riverbank, crossed the dusty road and negotiated the challenge of the staircase to bed. Rajhid turned off the downstairs lights and closed the shutters. Daeng collapsed fully dressed—for now—on the mattress. Siri, always orally aware, went to the bathroom to brush his teeth. He smiled at himself in the mirror as the toothpaste dribbled down his chin. His teeth always seemed more desperate for a good clean when he was drunk, and he had time on his hands. He opened the medicine cabinet, which usually contained nothing but old razor blades and various balms and ointments for the elderly. But that night he saw four bottles he didn’t recognize. Still brushing, he focused on the label of one of them. He was confused. He read it again and the brush dropped from his hand and into the toilet. He grabbed the bottle, ran into the bedroom and shook Daeng awake. She came to reluctantly and in poor humor.

“Look at this,” Siri shouted, holding the bottle in front of her face. “Look.”

She tried to focus.

“How many of these have you taken?” he asked.

“What?”

“How many?”

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Seventeen

Porn

By midday on Wednesday they had all the evidence they needed to convict Dr. Porn. All they were missing was the doctor herself. Phosy and his team had worked since sun up to put together all the pieces. The fisherman at Ban Donhai had caught two inhalers. The refills in both were empty. But the label on the newer one was clearly from the office of Dr. Porn.

The sons of Lah, the bread woman, recalled that their mother had obtained her benzodiazepine from Dr. Porn’s surgery as well. The locked cabinet in Porn’s office contained a bunch of keys that were labeled “Silver City/USAID.” And the final clue had been in Siri’s bathroom all along. Since Daeng first started seeing Dr. Porn, she’d been prescribed methotrexate: 7.5mg to be taken once a week to treat her arthritis. It would have been far too difficult to explain how she had been cured of an incurable condition so she’d said nothing. She’d stopped off at the doctor’s surgery and picked up her prescription from the housekeeper. Daeng didn’t notice at the time, but the doctor had upped the dosage to 10mg a day. At least that was the amount handwritten on the label. That concentration would be fatal in a woman of Daeng’s age. Daeng accepted and paid for the medication—but she had no reason to take it. So it sat there, unopened in the cabinet until Siri brushed his teeth the night before. The only element missing now was motive, and they agreed the French lover angle was now worth pursuing more than ever.