Chapter 3 — Calls are not allowed to be hung up

The phone rang exactly one and a half hours later. Dan picked up the phone and pressed the call button so fast that the screen didn't even have time to display the subscriber number.

— Switchboard, listen here.

There was no greeting. There was only breathing, rapid and shallow, and behind that layer of breathing, very softly, a man's voice was shouting, each word could not be heard clearly but enough to recognize the deep angry tone. Dan held her breath, keeping her voice as low as possible but still clear, as if she were sitting right next to the caller, not miles away.

— This is Dan. I heard what you said just now, don't be afraid, just whisper, I can hear you clearly.

— Miss...

The child's voice trembled, but this time he did not hang up immediately. Dan looked at his watch, it was eleven thirty-five, exactly forty-eight minutes after the first call. She quickly typed a command line, activated continuous recording mode and sent a real-time positioning priority signal to the system, even though she knew that with a call this short, the possibility of results was almost zero.

— You don't need to say it out loud. Just talk softly like you're talking to your stuffed animal.

A very small sob rang out, then the child's voice continued to whisper, slower, as if trying to hold back each word:

— There was a shout... outside my room...

— Who is shouting?

Silence for a second. Dan did not urge, just waited, counting his own breathing so as not to break that silence with adult impatience.

— It's my uncle. My uncle often yells at my mother.

The three words "uncle" fell into Dan's ears like a stone thrown into calm water, ripples spreading throughout her chest. Not a theft, not a fire, not some bored child's play in the middle of the night. A terrifyingly familiar pattern was gradually emerging, and Dan knew exactly that she had stood in this position once in her life, five years ago, with a different voice, a different situation, but the same fear.

— Is your mother near you?

— Your mother is out there... with my uncle...

— Are you in your own room?

— Yes...

Dan glanced quickly at the screen, opened a new notes window, quickly typed what she had just heard, her left hand still holding the headset close. She tried to listen for the sounds behind the child's voice: something clicked steadily, like an old ceiling fan spinning, and a little further away, vaguely as if coming from the house next door, a snippet of karaoke music with the pounding of electronic drums.

— You're great, you're doing very well. What's your name so I can call you familiar?

A silence longer than the previous ones, as if the child was pondering something beyond the capacity of an eight-year-old.

— I don't dare say my name, miss. My uncle told me not to talk to strangers.

— That's it, you don't need to tell me your name, I can still help you normally. I just want to ask you one more question: Is my house near any noisy place, like a karaoke bar?

— Yes... Ms. Bay's family sings karaoke all the time, I often listen through the wall.

— Is Ms. Bay your neighbor?

— Yes, downstairs.

The word "downstairs" made Dan stand up straight. So the child's house is located on a higher floor, in a multi-storey building, not a ground floor house as she initially surmised when thinking about the small commercial alley neighborhood in the navigation circle. She underlined that phrase in her notes, her heart beating faster but her voice still maintaining the familiar steadyness.

— Son, do you know what floor your house is on?

There was a short silence, then a child's voice whispered:

— I don't remember the number... I just know it takes a long time to get there by taking the stairs.

— It's okay, there's no need to remember the number. You did very well.

Dan had just finished speaking when he heard a new sound enter the line: the sound of footsteps, heavy and slow, like those of an adult walking on a wooden floor or an old cement floor, each step spaced evenly apart, approaching. The child's voice immediately choked up, his breathing quickened.

— Aunt, my uncle is here...

— Hide your phone, I won't hang up, I'm still here.

But before the sentence could finish, the line went dead, leaving a sudden silence in the noisy space of the duty room around Dan, as if someone had just unplugged the entire room from the electrical outlet in the blink of an eye.

Dan placed the headphones on the table gently, unusually slowly compared to the pounding heartbeat in her chest. She looked at the navigation screen, the orange circle remained as before, not shrinking any more meters, but in her mind, the picture began to have new strokes: a multi-storey building with stairs, an apartment on the upper floor of Ms. Bay's house who often sings karaoke, a man called "uncle", shouts echoing from the living room.

She opened the notebook and wrote quickly, in italics faster than usual:

Call 2, 11:35 p.m., lasted twenty-two seconds. Caller: little girl, calling herself "child", mentioning "uncle" shouting at "your mother". The house is on the upper floor of a building with stairs (no elevator or no elevator), the downstairs neighbor named "Miss Bay" often sings karaoke. Background sound: old ceiling fan, karaoke music echoing through the wall. It ended because of the sound of adult footsteps approaching.

She underlined the last line, then sat quietly for a few seconds, her eyes looking through the screen in front of her as if trying to see that room, that door, the small face hiding under the blanket to hide the phone light.

She remembered the child's words, "my uncle told me not to talk to strangers", and realized that was not just a normal safety rule that all parents teach their children. The way the child said that sentence, with a bit of hesitation mixed with fear, made Dan think of a rule imposed for isolation, so that no one outside would know what was happening inside those four walls. She once read through training materials on signs of children living in violent families, including a line she remembered very clearly: silence was not evidence of peace, sometimes it was evidence of trained fear.

Bao Ky glanced over from the next table and saw Dan's unusual expression. He was about to ask but was interrupted by another call. He had to turn back to his screen, only having time to throw a questioning look at her.

At eleven forty, Dan stood up, carrying his notebook, and walked quickly towards the team leader's desk. Anh Tuyet had just finished another call, took off her headphones, saw Dan coming and immediately understood what was going on.

— Second match, right?

— Yes, sister. This time I can say more. There was mention of "uncle", mention of shouting, and my house is on the upper floor of a building with stairs, and the downstairs neighbor named Ms. Bay often sings karaoke.

Anh Tuyet took the notebook and skimmed through the notes. Her face gradually became more serious, her eyebrows furrowed into a familiar deep fold every time she faced something that was no longer a guess.

— Domestic violence, likely happening right now.

— I think so. And the child is the only one who still has the phone to call out.

Anh Tuyet nodded slowly, looking towards the small office at the end of the duty room, where Vuong Dac Long's desk lamp was still on even though it was nearly midnight. He still had the habit of staying late to review shift reported before briefings, a habit that his subordinates both respect and fear, because it means that any unusual decisions made during the night were difficult to escape him.

— Then I have to report to boss Long right now, before the third call comes. But prepare yourself first, with two calls totaling less than half a minute, he will ask you a lot of questions that you may not have the answers to.

Dan tightened the notebook in her hand, looking towards the office door as if looking towards a conversation that she knew would not be easy, but had no other choice but to step forward.

— I'll go with you. — Anh Tuyet stood up, straightened the hem of her uniform, her voice was light but firm. — Not because I need someone to defend me, but because two people presenting the same thing are always more complete than one person.

Dan nodded, the feeling of relief passing as quickly as it came. She glanced back at her desk screen one last time before leaving her seat, the phone was still silent, the orange positioning circle still covered the Dong Lam area like a giant unanswered question, and somewhere inside that circle, a child might be huddled in the dark, waiting for a footstep to leave.