Between getting into a tangle with a corrupt local judge, and discovering a disturbing black-market business, Dr. Siri and Inspector Phosy have their hands full in the thirteenth installment of Colin Cotterill's quirky, critically acclaimed series. Dr. Siri Paiboun, the 75-year-old ex-national coroner of Laos, may have more experience dissecting bodies than making art, but now that he’s managed to smuggle a fancy movie camera into the country, he devises a plan to shoot a Lao adaptation of War and Peace with his friend Civilai. The only problem? The Ministry of Culture must approve the script before they can get rolling. That, and they can’t figure out how to turn on the camera. Meanwhile, the skeleton of a woman has appeared under the Anusawari Arch in the middle of the night. Siri puts his directorial debut on hold and assists his friend Phosy, the newly promoted Senior Police Inspector, with the ensuing investigation. Though the death of the unknown woman seems to be recent, the flesh on her corpse has been picked off in places as if something--or someone--has been gnawing on the bones. The plot Siri and his friends uncover involves much more than a single set of skeletal remains.

**Praise for Don't Eat Me
**
"This is one of the best Dr. Siri's yet."
—The Globe and Mail

"Delightful."
—The Seattle Times

"Fans of Alexander McCall Smith and Boris Akunin will enjoy this gently ironic series. Definitely recommended for its inclusive characters, humor, and a thought-provoking ending."
—Library Journal, Starred Review

"Expands the boundaries of mystery fiction into a heady brew of Communist-oppressive noir and magical realism."
—Booklist, Starred Review

"Excellent . . . The eccentric Siri continues to stand out as a unique and endearing series sleuth."
—Publishers Weekly, Starred Review

"Grisly and hilarious in equal measure."
—BookPage, Top Pick

"Written at times with tongue-in-cheek, but always with sureness."
—Crimespree Magazine

"Cotterill's long-running series, now on its 13th installment, runs on the chemistry of his quirky comic characters, who once again deliver delightfully. Tart chapter titles like 'Enough Perverts to Keep Us All Busy' add another layer of ironic humor."
—Kirkus Reviews

"Cotterill writes effortlessly, with an excellent sense of timing and a constant undercurrent of humor." 
—New York Journal of Books 

"Cotterill combines serious issues with a charming and frequently amusing tale."
—Crime Review UK

"The characters are lovable, exasperating, noble, and above all hilarious . . . The grand finale is satisfying and glorious. Highly recommended."
—Over My Dead Body

"Cotterill knows his characters inside and out."
—Reviewing the Evidence

"Colin Cotterill's Dr. Siri books are always a delight. Don't Eat Me may be one of the most memorable in the series. And it's almost sure to send you back to the earlier titles, whether for the first time or the third (or more)."
—Kingdom Books

"Great writing, smooth style, writing that keeps a smile on your lips, and even a very tense period towards the end of the book where he keeps you in a suspense."
—Bookgasm

Praise for the Dr. Siri mysteries
 
“Hilarious.” 
**—*The New York Times Book Review **

"[Siri] is the most wonderfully human of heroes."
—The Christian Science Monitor*
**
“Cotterill has a gift for tempering bad stuff—specifically, the baffling and chaotic political climate of communism circa 1980—with gently ironic humor and frequent doses of slightly kooky occultism. His books are thus a welcome balm for our own current baffling and chaotic political climate.” 
—The Seattle Times 

“The book ends with a rat-catching competition that is as bizarre as Dr. Siri’s wacky sense of humor. This is a unique series.” 
—Dayton Daily News 

“The Dr. Siri books are by turns laugh-out-loud funny, sobering, convoluted, historical and endlessly entertaining . . . This series will have you reading (and laughing) well after most people in your household are sound asleep.” 
**—BookPage, Top Pick 

"Filled with magic and quirkiness . . . A madcap and international caper."
—Ellery Queen Mystery Magazine

"Cotterill's twisty mystery plot will entertain readers while his cast of eccentric characters charms."
—Shelf-Awareness
**
"Highly unusual and immensely appealing." **
—Alfred Hitchcock Mystery Magazine

“Stunning . . . This series offers unfailingly satisfying reading, especially so for the glimpses we get into the still-revolutionary characters of Siri and Madame Daeng, both bursting with caustic wit and adventurous spirit.”
—Booklist, Starred Review**

Autorentext

Colin Cotterill

Leseprobe
Chapter One
Nineteen Eyes
 
This whole thing started and finished with her. She was in a crate. A compact coconut wood coffin with narrow slits for air. She’d screamed over and over to no avail. She’d tried to make sense of it. She’d counted the unblinking eyes. Nineteen of them. One eye too many or one too few, but nineteen by every reckoning. And even though there was no light beneath the thick tarpaulin those eyes glowed deep yellow like dying stars.
      When she came around that last time she thought she was still in the nightmare and in a way she was. Her knees were tucked up tightly against her chest and there was no more than a shoebox of space at the foot of the crate, but the creatures—the nineteen-eyed creatures—had contracted somehow and packed themselves together so closely there would be no contact with her. Not yet. She could feel their hot breaths against her bare toes. She could hear the wheezing in their throats. But they stared at her, unmoving, waiting for her to lose consciousness again because it was inevitable she would. They would bide their time until she had no more fight in her. Then, and only then, they would devour her.
 
 
 
Chapter Two
The Smugglers
 
Life sped by in Vientiane like a Volkswagen van on blocks. The streets were crusty with red dust, the uneven sidewalks sprouted half-hearted weeds, and the people neither smiled nor raised their voices for fear of drawing attention to themselves. You could never be sure who was listening. They all knew of someone who’d fled the country and at least one person who’d disappeared. Many had relatives in refugee camps on the Thai side of the border. Many more had ambitions or dreams or plans to join them but lacked the spunk.
      This was year five of a socialist experiment that had failed the People’s Democratic Republic of Laos in many ways. The Communist vessel was holed and on its way down. The rice collectives program had collapsed. Government workers went unpaid for months. And Thailand had once more closed its Mekhong border due to pissy spats over trespassing and accusations of insurgencies, and, never forget, good old historical animosity. The river guard patrols on both banks had been doubled, but it was a vast river and still the midnight rafts of smuggled Thai goods floated diagonally north on the current, crisscrossing disgruntled Lao heading south on their rubber inner tubes.
      So it was a surprise to many on one humid night in August when two elderly Lao gentlemen were spotted padd…