The Merry Misogynist Read Online Free PDF

You’d expect to find Crazy Rajid stark naked in the river on days like these.”
    “Hmm, now you mention it, I haven’t seen him walking aimlessly around town for a while.”
    “Me neither.”
    “I hope he’s all right.” Siri’s brow furrowed.
    “I’m not sure how you’d go about checking up on an insane homeless Indian. He might have just curled up and died and nobody would be any the wiser.”
    “I think I’ll ask around. But for a few wonky genes here, and an overdose of vodka there, it could be you or me walking endless circles around Nam Poo Fountain in our underwear.”
    “Speak for yourself. You know what Nietzsche says about madness?”
    “No.”
    “Me neither.”
    Siri laughed. “Ah, Civilai, you’re a waste of perfectly good skin and body parts.”
    He took another swig of the vindictive spirits. He detected a hint of turnip but he really didn’t want to ask what it was made of. It hurt his insides and he decided it was exactly what he needed. He decided also that it was time to tell Civilai about his morning.
     
    All Siri wanted to do after lunch was go home and sleep, but he’d arranged to meet Inspector Phosy at the morgue. Saturday was officially a half day; so when he returned, Dtui and Mr Geung had already left. He unlocked the door and went directly to the cutting room. He unfastened the freezer and pulled out the drawer. His beautiful Madonna was wrapped in a blue plastic sheet that he rolled down as far as her neck. He took a step back and looked at her pale mask of a face. She had been so lovely. What had led to this? Why could he not rub some consecrated sticks together and summon her spirit? Why was his supernatural power so ineffective when he could most make use of it? One or two answers from the beyond and he’d have the bastard who did this. He hated his own psychic impotence every bit as much as he hated the maniac who had erased this beauty’s life and stolen her dignity.
    “She must have been very pretty.”
    Siri hadn’t heard Phosy arrive. The inspector – upright, middle-aged, and muscular – looked none the worse for his seven months of marriage to Nurse Dtui. He ate like a horse, but it melted off. He had raven black hair that Dtui assured everyone didn’t come from a bottle, and a keen, curious face.
    “Did Dtui tell you everything?” Siri asked, forgetting his greeting manners.
    “Yes, she was home for lunch. She wanted me to tell you she was sorry for – ”
    “I understand. Do you have any idea who’ll be handling this case? I want to be involved.”
    “You already are,” Phosy told him. “It’s me.”
    “I thought you only handled political issues these days.”
    “It was Comrade Surachai’s idea. He’s the committee member who rode in with her this morning. He knew about me from Kham, my old boss. Surachai has some clout with my chief. The folks up at Vang Vieng are frightened there might be a killer on the loose. So let’s get to it.”
    Siri was delighted. He’d worked with Phosy on a number of cases; he thought they made a splendid team. Siri had been ramrodded into the coroner’s job, but it did give him the opportunity to vent his detective proclivities. As a penniless young medical-school student in Paris he had been deprived of the type of raunchy entertainment other men his age sought. Instead, he’d found solace in the two old-franc cinema halls and in libraries where Maurice LeBlanc, Gaston Leroux, and Stanislas-Andre Steeman took him on noir journeys through the nettle-strewn undergrowth of the criminal world. His hero, Inspector Maigret, had convinced him that there could be no better career than that of solving crimes and putting blackguards behind bars.
    There hadn’t been much detecting to be done in the jungles of Vietnam and northern Laos in his army days; so his dream, like most of the dreams men harbour, had turned to snuff and been huffed away by history. Until now.
    “Where do we start?” Phosy asked, a