by James Church
“You need any help, tidying up?”
“Thank you, I can handle it.” She gave me another smile, this one a little more positive, but she still didn’t put everything she had into it. She was concentrating on the shredding. “I’ve realized this isn’t my future, not here.”
“You’re leaving?”
“On tomorrow’s plane.”
I considered this. “You need a ride to the airport? I could swing by and pick you up.”
“That’s kind of you, but it’s all arranged. Too bad we didn’t have a chance to get to know each other better, Inspector.” This time there was no smile. “I was hoping we would. I had the feeling you were interesting, somehow. When you agreed to come to my apartment, I thought we would comfort each other.” She looked away.
“Me?” I felt combustible all of a sudden. Then the image of Pang’s body floated into my mind. She was down to one pile of papers. I didn’t think she should be shredding anything; on the other hand, Min had told me that we had been ordered to stay away from the bank, which meant I had no jurisdiction here.
7
“SSD has completely taken over the case, Inspector,” Min had said before I drove to the bank to see Miss Chon. “What’s left of it. The good part is that the whole thing is such a mess, the Minister was glad to let it go.” He got up and started to pace. I’d never seen him do that in his own office.
“There’s a bad part?” I thought that on the truck up to the mountains, I’d prefer to stand and have the wind on my face, if that was possible. Min wouldn’t care; he probably wouldn’t speak for the whole trip.
“The bad part is, this goes on SSD’s tally for cases solved.”
“I thought there wouldn’t be any record at all. They didn’t solve anything.”
“Neither did you.”
I looked out the window at the gingko trees. Their branches were brushing against the side of the Operations Building in the breeze. Then again, perhaps it would be better to sit in the back of the truck.
“Okay, I stay away from the bank,” I said to be agreeable. Nothing ever changed. This had been a case we never should have touched; now the only trace of it would be an inflated number in SSD’s annual report. The details wouldn’t be in the files, except on some piece of paper with a vaguely worded entry justifying extra expenses to clean up the cemetery. Not my problem. I turned to walk out the door. “I’ve got other places to visit. There’s a new club in my sector, I’m told.”
When I came through the entrance of the terminal building, I heard the announcement for passengers to proceed to immigration. I ran up the stairs into the waiting hall. She wasn’t there, not in the restaurant, not at the counter buying a last-minute souvenir. I forced myself to relax and began a careful survey, sweeping the room degree by degree. I spotted her talking to a foreigner, a tall man, laughing and resting his hand lightly on her arm. They moved easily into the line to go through the final document check. At the last minute, she turned and looked straight at me, as if she knew where I had been the whole time. She didn’t change expression; she may have nodded slightly, unless that was my imagination.
I wanted to walk over to her, to say good-bye; instead, I turned away. Standing across the room, in front of the big window overlooking the tarmac, was a man wearing a brown cloth cap. Somehow, it wasn’t a surprise. The man ignored me but watched Miss Chon closely, with a faraway smile on his lips. A burst of laughter rose above announcements and the talking and the farewells. The Italian group was going through the line. The cape-man hung back; he hugged a Korean woman and kissed her on both cheeks. It must have been their guide. She waved sadly until they were out of sight. Nothing to do with her or them, just an ancient bond between the traveler and the one left behind. I wondered why Miss Chon hadn’t waved, or was I the one who should have? When I looked back at the window, the man in the brown cap was gone.
I waited until all the passengers were loaded onto the bus, then showed my ID to a girl in a blue uniform and pushed my way past to the door that led out to the planes. The bus had just pulled up to the only aircraft with any activity around it—a fuel truck, a black sedan, a few officials standing under the wings with big hats and walkie-talkies. The passengers climbed the stairs; two or three turned for a last look before disappearing inside. The doors closed; the plane rolled slowly down the long taxiway, turned the corner, and was out of sight. A minute later, there was a far-off rumble of the engines. As it rose above the trees, I spotted the plane in the distance, climbing into the sky. It banked away to the west; the sun flashed against the wings. I stood and watched for a long time, longer than necessary, long past the point there was anything left to see.
Table of Contents
PART I
PART II
PART III
