A HUNCH

She barely had time to savor what could only be called a victory of detection, when she heard a soft, almost apologetic knock on her door. She rose to open the door, a maneuver she’d often noticed could be accomplished—almost—without leaving her chair. Such were the modest dimensions of her little closet of an office.

When the door opened, though, she could only stare at Dr. Jainukul standing there. He offered her an overly polite wai and waited impatiently to be invited in. In that moment, he seemed like a lost child. One hand was fidgeting nervously with the stethoscope in the right pocket of his white coat, and the other was clicking nervously on a pen in his left pocket. Click. Click. Click. Click.

“Ah,” was all she could think of to say as she stepped aside to let him in. She gestured to the chair in front of her desk and sat quickly, facing him. This, she thought, would be very interesting. What could be important enough that the director couldn’t have mentioned it when they were together an hour ago? And what on earth could be so important that he couldn’t simply have called her? This would be interesting indeed.

“Khun,” he began. “You know I’ve tried to be very patient in the matter of the man in the waiting room.”

Ladarat nodded. Yes, she supposed he had been patient. And she supposed that she had not made much progress. She waited.

“But you see, the inspectors will be here soon, and…”

“Yes?”

“This man—he has just… defecated in the garden outside the hospital reception area! I heard the security guards talking.” He shook his head. “Can you imagine what the inspectors will think if they see this? The health implications alone are enough to get a serious citation. And if we get a citation…”

He didn’t need to explain what would happen if their hospital received a citation. It would be a tremendous loss of face for everyone. Everyone in a hospital would feel that, from the director down to the janitors. Everyone would be embarrassed. And of course, the other hospitals in Chiang Mai would know… It would be very bad. Very, very bad.

“Ah, I see,” she said. “Yes, that would be very bad. But I believe there has been… a development.”

“A development?”

She couldn’t say more. It was still only a hypothesis. But Ladarat was fairly certain that she was correct. It was a strong hunch. Or maybe instinct. Regardless, she was almost certain that she would be able to resolve the case of the strange wandering man today.

The director nodded and stood, offering her a deep wai as he did. “I know you can resolve this problem, Khun. I have no doubt. Thank you.” And he wai’d again as he turned to leave.

That, Ladarat thought, was mysterious. The way that he seemed to trust her. Strange, indeed.

Of course, he was desperate. And when we’re desperate, we trust anyone who offers an answer.

As Professor Dalrymple said, even the most incompetent nurse looks like a hero to a patient who is truly in need.

And yet… he really seemed to think that she could solve this problem for him. He trusted her. And she had inspired confidence. Imagine that.

But could she solve this problem? Yes, she could. At least, she hoped so.