Death in the Rainy Season Read online

  Morel followed Sarit’s gaze.

  ‘It’s not my intention to make things difficult for you, Sarit. But I – we – have a murder to solve.’

  ‘Hugo Quercy made a deal.’

  ‘What sort of deal? With whom?’

  ‘He agreed to provide information about the people who had come to him with their complaints about the evictions.’

  ‘Who did he pass this information on to?’ Morel was sceptical.

  ‘This goes to the very top – senior people in the police and in our government. It is very serious. Which is why I can’t be involved.’

  ‘Bloody hell.’ Morel’s anger flared up again. ‘How long have you known this?’

  ‘I had it confirmed today.’

  Morel’s mind was reeling. He was trying to piece together what he knew so far. Sarit’s news had thrown him off balance.

  ‘Why make the deal with him, though? What did Hugo have that other activists didn’t?’

  ‘He was a visible personality here in Phnom Penh and also recognized overseas in the aid sector. They wanted him to keep quiet. There is already enough negative reporting about the evictions. It was useful for them to have Quercy as a friend.’

  ‘What did he get in exchange?’ Morel said.

  ‘Support and cooperation. They would give support to his NGO’s programmes and initiatives and help his career.’

  Morel couldn’t believe it. What would he say to Florence Quercy the next time he saw her? That her husband was a government stooge? That he’d compromised himself and others in order to further his career? And where did that leave the murder investigation?

  ‘If what you say is true, then there would be no reason to go after Quercy. He was helping identify potential opponents to the regime, in effect.’

  ‘Not to the regime. To those working on the land evictions.’

  ‘If you prefer to put it like that.’ Morel looked at Sarit. ‘There is still the fact that he had the paper in his pocket the night he was killed. Did he have it because he was going to give it to someone? I need to be sure he wasn’t killed because of this.’

  ‘And if I tell you he wasn’t, will you be satisfied?’ Sarit said. He was so close Morel could see the line of sweat on his upper lip, the acne scars on his forehead.

  ‘Yes, I’ll be satisfied.’

  Sarit held his gaze for a moment, then nodded. ‘OK. Now I think I will return to the others.’ He turned to his son, who had come over to find him, then glanced back at Morel. ‘You are welcome to join us.’

  Morel watched him lead his son towards the crowded dance floor. He poured himself another drink and made his way past the tables to Sok Pran. He was alone, and when Morel sat beside him he realized the old man was singing softly to himself. He beamed at Morel.

  ‘Commandant Morel. Nice to see you again. How is the investigation going?’

  Morel looked at Pran. How much did the old man know?

  ‘Slowly,’ he replied. ‘Has Sarit spoken to you, kept you informed of what’s going on?’

  ‘A little,’ Pran said, rather too dismissively. Morel thought it likely that he knew a great deal more than he was letting on.

  ‘Did you know about the paper in Quercy’s pocket?’ Morel asked.

  ‘I did.’ Pran picked up his glass and raised it to his lips, before realizing it was empty. He set it back on the table.

  I should have known, Morel thought. He was struck by how isolated he was here.

  ‘I’ll be glad when this is over,’ he said.

  Pran gave him a sympathetic look. ‘Our methods are different from the ones you are used to, no doubt.’

  ‘My method involves solving crime.’

  ‘Sometimes a method can be wrong.’

  ‘What does that mean?’

  ‘All I am saying is that so far your method doesn’t seem to be working. It seems to me you are quite stuck in this murder case.’

  ‘I am going around in circles,’ Morel admitted.

  Pran reached for a half-empty bottle and filled his glass. He offered the bottle to Morel, who declined.

  ‘Sometimes, in order to see things more clearly,’ Pran said, ‘you need to stand still for a while.’

  Morel nodded, though he had no idea what Pran meant. He looked over at Sarit, who was talking with another man at the edge of the dance floor. When he leaned over to say something to him, the man laughed. Morel watched, wondering whether what had happened this evening meant that he and Sarit would get past the bland civility that seemed to characterize their relationship, and be more than complete strangers to each other. As he reflected on this, a gang of boys dressed in grubby, ragged clothes appeared out of nowhere, moving from table to table and filching empty plastic bottles they would later try to exchange for money. They were scrawny and probably not much older than Samdech’s granddaughter Jorani, but their eyes held a brazen indifference that went well beyond their years. Morel watched them, morose and bleary-eyed. He reached for a bottle close to his fingers but was stopped by a hand on his wrist. He looked up to see a young woman, dressed in a flaring red dress with sequins across her chest, her hair piled high on her head. She was pretty, the way a mannequin might be. Morel smiled.

  ‘Nice to see you,’ he said inanely. Just in case he’d been introduced to her before and forgotten who she was.

  ‘Come with me,’ she said through the wailing coming from the stage. The band was playing some pop tune Morel vaguely recognized. He caught a glimpse of Sarit on the dance floor, moving stiffly on his one good leg, reluctant and dignified.

  He was too tired to resist. He tucked his shirt into his trousers before following her, raising his hands at Sarit in a gesture of surrender before turning his wrists in imitation of the dancers around him. Sarit gave him a smile that seemed to imply that all would be right in the end.

  The woman in the red dress grabbed his hand and he shuffled along, feeling foolish at first and very drunk. But once he got going, he found it required little effort. Around and around he went. He was aware, gradually, of a loosening up, a feeling of release. He stepped in time to the music, moving with the others around the crowded dance floor, in an ever-recurring circle.

  THIRTY-FOUR

  Adam rolled over to his side and let out a big, contented sigh. He turned to Kate, who was lying on her back, lighting a cigarette.

  ‘That was good.’

  ‘You’re welcome.’

  ‘I’m glad we decided to be friends.’

  She poked him in the ribs. ‘Just because we like to have sex doesn’t make us friends.’

  ‘It’ll do for now.’

  He leaned over and started kissing her breasts. She pushed him aside and then sat up.

  ‘I have to go.’

  ‘Really?’

  He had hoped she would stay. ‘I thought we could talk about work,’ he said.

  ‘Seriously?’ She looked at him with disbelief.

  ‘Seriously. We haven’t had a chance to talk. There are a few things I want to run past you.’

  She looked at his alarm clock and back at him. ‘All right,’ she said. ‘I’ll stay a while.’

  He nuzzled her neck.

  ‘Work,’ she warned. ‘Nothing else.’

  ‘Absolutely.’

  ‘What are you going to do? Long-term, I mean. Will you stay in Phnom Penh?’

  ‘For now,’ Adam said. He ran his hand across her dimpled thighs. ‘I seem to have lost some of my enthusiasm for it all.’

  ‘Me too,’ Kate said. ‘But it’ll come back, it will.’

  The work discussion had lasted less than ten minutes before Adam suggested rolling a joint. They’d smoked half of it and ended up having sex again. Now she was sitting naked on Adam’s bed, and they were passing the remaining half back and forth.

  ‘Won’t they be wondering why you aren’t in the office?’ Adam said.

  ‘Right now I couldn’t care less.’

  She took what was left of the joint from him. Held it carefull
y so she wouldn’t burn her fingertips.

  ‘Why do you think Hugo was looking into the land seizures,’ Kate asked, ‘instead of putting all that time and energy into Kids at Risk? You saw what was in that folder, right? He went out of his way for this. Literally. Drove hundreds of kilometres just to talk to people. How many trips did he make? He must have devoted a fair share of his spare time to this.’

  ‘And maybe he got killed for it.’

  Kate’s eyes widened. ‘Is that what you think?’

  ‘I don’t know what I think. I can’t come up with a better explanation. Hugo was smart. He might have dug up one or two things that made him a liability.’

  ‘I just don’t understand it,’ she said, shaking her head.

  ‘Maybe he was after the prestige,’ Adam said thoughtfully.

  ‘You don’t really think that, do you? Hugo wasn’t interested in prestige. He cared about the work.’

  ‘Yeah, but maybe it seemed more glamorous to score points in an area that is on the radar at the moment.’ Adam didn’t think it, not really. Or maybe he did. He wasn’t sure anymore.

  ‘I don’t believe it. Though I’m struggling to make sense of it.’

  ‘You’re just pissed off because he never shared this with you.’

  ‘Of course I’m pissed off. Why the hell didn’t he tell me?’

  ‘Maybe he didn’t want to put you in any danger,’ Adam said. The weed made him feel generous.

  ‘Why? Because I’m a woman?’ She glared at him, and looking at her sitting there angry and naked, he laughed.

  ‘No, you fool. Because you were his friend and he cared about you.’

  Kate pondered this. ‘I don’t buy it.’

  ‘Look, this is Hugo we’re talking about. He never did anything by halves, right? He might have got talking to someone about it and decided he could do more. How do I know? Anyway, what does it matter now?’

  He stopped. Kate was crying. Her large breasts shook as she wept. He sensed she wouldn’t want empty words of comfort and he stayed quiet, waiting for it to pass.

  Finally, she ran the back of her left hand across her face and then squashed the remains of the joint in the ashtray.

  ‘What an idiot,’ she said. He thought she meant Hugo, but her next sentence surprised him. ‘What a bloody fool I was.’ She shook her head. ‘I loved him, you know. I convinced myself I didn’t. But the truth is, I fell for him hard. I think because he didn’t seem to need anyone. That’s the sort of guy you fall for, because deep down you think you might be the one he needs, only he doesn’t know it yet. Pathetic, isn’t it?’ she said, looking at Adam.

  ‘Definitely pathetic.’

  They both laughed at that, stoned and glad to be here together, instead of alone in their miserable rooms.

  ‘He could convert you, couldn’t he?’ Adam reflected. ‘Convince you of anything he felt passionately about.’

  ‘He sure could. But he was no Mother Teresa.’

  Kate sniffed loudly and Adam handed her a tissue from the box on his bedside table.

  ‘I’ve been thinking,’ she added. ‘Hugo’s intense involvement in things, his zealous nature. Maybe it was more about Hugo than about the work he was doing.’

  ‘Does it matter either way?’ Adam asked. He wished they could change the subject now. He realized he wanted Hugo’s image preserved intact.

  ‘It does. Because maybe Hugo should have spent more time with the people he claimed to care about, and less time on his work. On himself. What do you think?’ she said, watching Adam through red-rimmed eyes.

  Adam started to say something, but nothing emerged. All he could think about was the first thing he’d felt in that hotel room, standing over Hugo’s slumped body, before panic elbowed its way in and pushed every other feeling aside.

  Relief. He’d felt an overwhelming sense of relief. Because it had been hard, living in Hugo’s shadow.

  Mariko heard Paul come home. He walked into the bathroom and turned on the tap. She heard him clear his throat before brushing his teeth. Minutes later, he slid into bed next to her. Mariko sat up and looked at him.

  ‘What time is it?’ she asked. She was surprised that she had fallen asleep, despite her anxiety about her daughter.

  ‘Just past midnight.’

  ‘Nora?’ she asked.

  ‘Nothing,’ Paul said. ‘Not since the afternoon.’

  ‘Did she get in touch, then?’

  ‘She sent me a text to say she was OK and not to worry.’

  ‘I got the same,’ Mariko said. ‘Did she tell you where she was?’

  ‘No.’ Paul turned to her. ‘Did she tell you?’

  ‘No. I called her friend Lydia. I’ve called everyone I can think of.’

  Paul looked preoccupied. Mariko reached out and touched his hand.

  ‘She is OK, right?’

  ‘I’m sure she is,’ he said.

  He kissed her cheek. ‘Do you want me to get you anything? A drink maybe?’

  ‘Nothing. Where have you been, anyway?’ she asked.

  ‘At the hotel. You’re right, I’ve let things slide. But it’ll be all right from now on, I promise. I’m going to get back to work.’

  ‘Oh Paul. That’s great.’

  She hugged him and felt his arms tighten around her. He didn’t seem to want to let go and so they stayed there for a long time, until she had to pull away.

  She searched his face. He looked terribly tired. She wondered whether he was ill.

  ‘Are you sure you’re OK?’

  ‘Yes, really.’ He gave a tight, unconvincing smile. ‘You can stop worrying about me.’

  He moved close to her and she turned off the light. The slow, even pace of his breathing told her he was asleep. It took seconds.

  She lay awake for a while, staring into the darkness. Eventually she got up and went over to his phone, charging on his bedside table. She had no idea why; it wasn’t something she had done before. She looked at his messages. What she saw made her pause and look searchingly at her husband, lying with his back to her.

  The most recent text was a missed call from one of Paul’s hotel employees, sent a day earlier. Since then, there had been nothing. Not a single message between him and Nora.

  The woman in the red dress followed Morel back to the hotel. He knew, even as they sat in the back of a tuk-tuk heading towards the opposite end of town, that it was a mistake. But he was too tired and drunk to do anything except sit by her side and clasp the hand that had wedged itself in his.

  When they got to his room, she started kissing him and he felt the tip of her tongue against his, moist and agile. She began to undress and he sat on the bed watching her. When she took off the dress, the stiff, sparkling material fell to her feet with a hiss. He reached out for her and she took a step back, giggling.

  ‘That dress! It was making me itchy,’ she said.

  He tried again and she swiped at his hand.

  ‘I take a shower. OK?’ she asked in English.

  Morel nodded, too tired to speak. He watched her go, naked and quick on her feet, as if she was aware of him looking at her and felt suddenly shy.

  While she was in the bathroom, he made himself a cup of instant coffee and drank it like it was medicine, wincing at the taste. A necessary evil, if he wanted to stay awake. It would be bad form if she came back and found him fast asleep. She had made her intentions clear and stayed close to him all evening, gazing up at him with bright, squirrelly eyes.

  Morel finished his coffee and waited. His eyes were closing and he yawned several times. Any longer and the night would be ruined. He got up from the bed and undressed, before walking into the bathroom unannounced. He could barely see her through the steam.

  ‘Finally! What took you so long?’ she said in Khmer.

  He stepped into the scalding water while she made room for him, laughing when he flinched at the water’s temperature. His head throbbed and his legs felt wobbly. When she moved closer and their naked bodies tou
ched, he felt a jolt of pleasure. He moved away, so that his back touched the side of the cubicle, and gazed at her. She was in her late twenties perhaps, and for a moment he hesitated, conscious that he might be taking advantage of this woman. They were strangers.

  His need for her, for the solace of her touch, won over his reluctance. He stepped closer again and took her in his arms. He closed his eyes, letting the water run over his head.

  After a while she took his head in her hands and began kissing him, her lips soft and wet. In no time, the tenderness he’d felt earlier gave way to something more urgent and he moved her against the back of the shower stall so she could wrap her legs around his hips. As soon as he was inside her, he forgot the pain in his head and the unsteadiness in his legs. He was aware only of her nails digging into his shoulder blades and the tide of pleasure rising so swiftly that he had to gather all his strength and hold back, hold fast, in order to wait for her.

  PART 5

  FRIDAY 30 SEPTEMBER

  THIRTY-FIVE

  Thierry pushed open the door to the beauty salon and stepped inside. The man behind the counter looked up from his newspaper and greeted him. He called out to one of the girls, squatting on a low stool and applying black nail polish to a client’s toenails.

  ‘Five minutes,’ she said in English.

  Thierry waved a hand in the air. ‘No hurry.’

  He leafed through one of the magazines. They were the same ones he had looked at the week before and his eyes flicked across the pages without seeing. No one had bothered to check what it was he wanted done. It was always a manicure, as well as a shoulder and scalp massage. Always on a Friday, at the same time.

  It had been unpleasant, having the French detective come to his house. But Thierry felt he’d done a good job remaining calm and not letting the man see how upset he was. Convincing Marlene that it was nothing to worry about had taken some time. Above all else, Thierry was angry with Morel for that. She had a way of letting you know that she wasn’t happy. A sullen silence built around her like a moat.

  He’d been unsettled by Morel’s comment about his arm. Thierry hadn’t known at the time that his attacker was Hugo Quercy. He’d only realized it later, when he’d seen his picture in the paper. The man’s death was a blessing in disguise.