Hidden Moon

5

An hour later, I was sitting on a bench near the river, listening to the water go by. In a nearby tree, a bird was singing to itself against darkness broken only by the hesitant light of a half-hidden moon. The night breeze had swept the sky clear of all but a few clouds. Someone walked up behind me, slow, thoughtful steps that barely sounded on the pavement. “You want to meet here, in the open?”

“Just sit down, will you? Maybe you noticed, it’s the dead of night. Even if anyone sees us, they’ll think you’re trying to bribe me to leave you alone.”

“Shall I offer to sleep with you, to complete the picture?”

“Forget it. I don’t sleep with street agents.”

She sat down. We’d worked together for many years. Nice woman, very smart, excellent instincts, brave as a tiger. But the first time we met I thought something about her face was wrong, and that was the first thing I thought of every time we sat together. Her face was almost round, but not quite, and that sometimes seemed to me the root of the problem. If she had a perfectly round face, more like Chief Inspector Min’s, you wouldn’t have noticed her eyes were not on the same line; if you didn’t notice her eyes, it wouldn’t occur to you that her cheeks were too high; if her cheeks hadn’t been so high, her lips wouldn’t have looked so full, and with different lips, there is no way you would have noticed that her nose was a little too flat. And yet, altogether it fit, it was all perfect, somehow. My palms started to sweat every time I saw her.

“You want a report, or should we stare at the moon? It looks constipated tonight.” That was normal for her, a hard edge, as if she had to get back at me for something.

“Romantic to the core, as always. Well, you called the meeting,” I said. “Anytime you’re ready.” I noticed she wasn’t looking at the moon; she was staring into the black water.

“A German man hurried by the stall three nights ago just before I closed. He ran back and asked for directions. There were drops of blood on his shirt cuff. When I reached for the pen in his breast pocket to draw a map, he nearly went berserk.”

“Tall or short?” A German, how many could there be? Dieter was shorter. Or was it Jurgen? I hadn’t looked closely at either one. Neither had been standing; what I remembered best was the way they winced.

“Short. Late middle aged. I’d say he was about your age, or maybe a little younger.” She waited a fraction of a second, but she knew I wouldn’t give her the satisfaction of reacting, so she resumed. “Atrocious accent, I could barely understand him. Actually, that was a good thing. He did a lot of gesturing to try to make me understand. So I got a good look at his sleeves. It was a white shirt. The collar was frayed. The right cuff had the blood. It hadn’t been there long.”

“What about the pen?”

“I don’t know. I had the feeling it was special, almost life or death.”

“Ever seen him before?”

“No.”

“Ever heard of a place called Club Blue?”

“Once or twice. You want to take me there?”

“Not your style. Anyway, I’m too old for places like that.” I stretched my arm along the back of the bench; someone looking might have thought I had my hand on her shoulder. “Good job, though a report a little earlier might have helped. Anything else?”

“Don’t patronize me, Inspector.” She stood up. “You know your trouble?”

“No, but I guess you’re about to tell me.”

“You want people to think you’re April, but you’re actually August.”

The moon had come out from behind the lingering clouds, and I could see her face in profile. She was looking at the stars. My palms were sweating.

“I’ve got a few other tidbits, but they go to the highest bidder. And you”-she looked good in pale moonlight, I noticed-“don’t even come close. Good night.” The sound of her footsteps faded quickly. I listened to the river for a while, heard the murmur of a couple sitting nearby, gentle laughter, like music, then wondered what life would be like if I paid less attention to details.