Maybe it was an accident. Maybe, somehow, in a city with a suicide barrier on every causeway, Calliope had fallen down into the water and gotten herself chopped up by a propeller. It had happened—usually if someone went down below the causeways themselves. The trolls—the people under the bridges—they died that way. But why would she go down there?
“And, of course, they’re saying it’s a suicide,” Eileen said, as though having read Hwa’s mind. “The NAPS, I mean. They said they put it through the Matchmaker and that’s what it said, and so that’s how they’re investigating it.”
Hwa found the footage. They had identified her by her tattoo. That was what had drawn the botfly’s eye. A Greek cross, floating on the waves. From a distance it looked like some sort of flag. Or maybe a jersey. But it was Calliope’s skin. The skin of her breasts, ragged at the edges, the cross still clear despite the bloating and damage.
“Christ,” Hwa said. “Eileen, give me your log-in. Your BDJ log-in.”
There was a long pause. Too long. “Hwa, I shouldn’t do that…”
And then Hwa knew that she knew. That what Andrea had said was real. That Hwa had an appointment to look after Calliope, and it hadn’t been filled when Hwa took the job with Lynch. Her lips felt hot. Her eyes burned.
“Change the log-in in an hour,” Hwa said, forcing some iron into her voice. “One hour. Just give me one hour. I just need to see where she was.”
“The police are looking into it—”
“The police aren’t me.”
8
Exit Wound
“What’s your mum at?” Eileen whispered.
Hwa looked back over her shoulder at Sunny. Her mother was circulating through the narthex of St. Brigid’s, making small talk and dabbing carefully at her eyes with a monogrammed handkerchief.
“Networking,” Hwa said, and turned to face the altar.
It was a closed casket. Obviously. Hwa wasn’t even sure why they’d bothered with a full casket, when the bits and pieces that were left of Calliope would’ve left extra space in a child-size model.
“Did you find anything?” Eileen asked. “I mean, with the…”
“No,” Hwa said. “Everything’s clean. Normal.”
Which was the problem. She’d downloaded all of Calliope’s calendars, reviews, metrics, notes, and forum posts. Nothing looked out of the ordinary. No complaints about past clients. No bad reviews from them, either. She showed up on time, always checked in, followed protocol, and filed complete reports after every encounter. A model member of the organization, really. There was nothing to indicate that she’d either had a problem with someone, or had a personal problem that would drive her to throw herself into the dark, frigid waters of the North Atlantic.
She needed more information. The hot list. Surveillance data. Prefect’s data.
“What about the appointment?”
Hwa shook her head. “He cancelled, last week. Emergency firmware upgrade on a spinal implant. Even if he could kill someone with a slipped disc, he was at the hospital during the time slot. That’s why he cancelled. He left a nice note and everything. Even sent a gift card, to say sorry for bailing. Cops cleared him straightaway.”
“So she never told Andrea he cancelled?”
“I guess not.” Hwa sank down further in the pew. “Maybe she didn’t want her knowing she was going off-book.”
“And without a bodyguard, too,” Eileen said. “Why would she do something like that?”
Hwa watched as mourners streamed into the sanctuary. A host of sparkling flies hovered near the lectern. Occasionally, one would buzz past the arrangements of lilies and wreaths to scan a card. Calliope’s people, whoever they were, were prepared to drop some bandwidth on a remote live stream.
“Maybe it was short notice,” Hwa said. “Maybe she just couldn’t find somebody in enough time.”
Eileen fidgeted a little. She kept scrolling through the funeral programme, up and down, back and forth. It took her a moment to speak. She touched the valve in Hwa’s arm gently. “You won’t do something like that again, will you?”
“Something like what?”
Eileen’s right hand landed on her left. Hwa turned to look at her. Eileen’s eyes were wet. Her lips trembled. “Something really fucking stupid,” Eileen said. “Like go up against a psycho with a shotgun all by yourself.”
Hwa’s mouth worked. She didn’t know what to say. Eileen pointed up at the casket. “That could be you, Hwa. You could be dead, right now, and it’s like you don’t even care.”
I don’t, she wanted to say. Because she didn’t. In the grand scheme, the loss of Go Jung-hwa from the world wouldn’t be too remarkable or noteworthy. It wasn’t like she provided some special service to the world. She was hired muscle. That was all. If she died, she could be replaced.
“It’s not that big a deal,” Hwa said. “And anyway, I quit.”
Eileen looked absurdly hopeful. She wiped her eyes. “You did?”
“Yeah. They were assholes.”