“They seemed to have a very impressive tolerance for alcohol from my memory,” said Phosy.

While he fished out the bag, Siri walked around to the front of the Ferrari and looked through the broken windshield.

“That’s odd,” he said. “There must be a dozen mimosa leis hanging from the rearview mirror.”

“What’s odd about that?” said Bruce. “A couple of old Lao hands want to go for a drive in the countryside. They remember the old days when everyone hung flowers inside their vehicles to keep the road gods happy.”

“But that’s exactly it,” said Siri. “The old days. There’s nothing on the road but military and government vehicles these days. Nobody sells leis anymore. Where would they get them from?”

“Temples still make them for festivals,” said Sihot.

“When there’s a fair they prepare them but not before. They don’t have spare leis laying around just on the off chance someone wants one.”

“The journalist welcoming committee,” said Bruce. “They handed out leis at the airport.”

“That was over a week ago,” said Siri. “These are still pretty fresh.”

“Why are we so hung up about flowers?” asked Sihot.

“It’s called brainstorming,” said Siri. “You just say things for no apparent reason until you accidentally stumble upon a truth. It’s like politics.”

Phosy had recovered a black camera bag from behind the seat. He got into a coughing fit from the fumes.

“Sihot, don’t let anyone smoke around here. The interior stinks of petrol. The tank must be cracked.”

“I’ll get the mechanic to empty it,” said Sihot. “Can’t afford to let petrol evaporate in this day and age. It’s hard to come by.”

Phosy laid the bag on the ground and unzipped it. It contained three very expensive looking lenses, several sodden packets of film and one plastic bag with a day’s supply of marijuana with soggy papers.

“These boys were serious,” said Bruce.

“It was a bit early in the day to get stoned,” said Phosy. “There’s no paraphernalia in the front seat. Just the beer bottles.”

“And more important than what’s in the bag,” said Siri, “is what isn’t in the bag.”

“Right,” said Phosy. “I doubt a photojournalist would go on a trip without his camera. He’d be prepared for unusual sights. He’d have it with him on his lap or over his shoulder.”

“The cadre swore his boys didn’t take anything from the car or go through the foreigners’ stuff,” said Sihot. “But I’ll go see him again. Those professional cameras are expensive. A year’s salary for some of them.”

“Have them go back into the pond too,” said Phosy. “See if anything got dropped when they dragged out the bodies.”