“I don’t get the feeling he’s that accommodating,” said Daeng, fishing the first note from her apron and turning it over to Dtui’s translation. “The only thing that isn’t immediately obvious is the line, ‘I have already deleted one of your darlings.’ Does that mean he’s already murdered one of your loved ones, Siri?”

“A few years back my dog was killed violently,” said Siri. “I was very fond of her.”

They heard a brief growl from the street outside.

“Siri, you know what I’m getting at,” said Daeng. “Your first true love.”

“Boua?” said Siri. “I’d prefer not to talk about her.”

“Why?” Daeng asked.

“Because whenever I do, you sink into a foul mood for two or three days.”

“That’s just a woman thing,” said Civilai. “Always comparing themselves to their predecessors, even when the ex is dead.”

“Shut up, Civilai,” said Siri and Daeng in tandem.

“It’s true,” mumbled Civilai. “Now look what you’ve made me do.”

He headed off to the bathroom for the umpteenth time.

Once he’d gone, Daeng said, “I think we need to talk about her. Even at the expense of my flimsy female attitude. If this note refers to her, it means the killer was around when you were in Vietnam.”

“It was suicide,” said Siri.

He’d read Boua’s suicide note so many times the paper had crumbled to dust. He read the final sentences now in his mind. Can you ever forgive me for what I’ve done to you, and for what I have to do this evening? This is the only escape for us two. Her one true love: communism, had been a disappointment. It had failed her. And once her vision was clear, she could see how she’d ignored and belittled the man who’d stood beside her for better and, decidedly, for worse. Thus, two hearts had been broken and she could not live with herself.

“Or it was made to look like suicide,” said Daeng. “There are those who doubted the official report.”

Daeng had never seen the suicide note and Siri had never mentioned it. That was the only real secret between them. He felt uncomfortable to be a part of the conversation now.

“By the time you got back to the camp they’d already cremated her,” Daeng went on. “So there was no evidence. Nobody really knows what happened. Around that time was there somebody you upset? Someone who might kill your wife but be prepared to wait twenty-five years to find you?”

Chapter Seven

Chapter Seven

Saigon, 1956