Chapter 3 — Music Without Chorus

An did not tell Khai Nam the death message. She knew that if she spoke up too soon, he would turn her fear into a decision for her. The next morning, she went to Mach Nuoc before the appointment time, opened the data drive and made three copies. One copy is on the main computer, one copy is on the hard drive not connected to the network, the remaining copy is sent to Vy to keep. She named the folder "Don't trust anyone", then laughed because she was starting to look like a character in a cheap investigative movie.

Vy arrived ten minutes later, bringing two cups of coffee and a roll of paper maps. "I asked the theater manager. The old Hoa Binh had a prop warehouse, but the tapes area was sealed since last year."

"Why?"

"They said there was a problem with the electrical system. But the manager changed his tone when he heard Le Chi's name."

An received a cup of coffee. “I want to see the property list.”

“What rights do you have?”

“Not yet. But you have a recorder.”

Vy laughed. “That's why I came with you.”

Old Hoa Binh used to be the largest theater in the central area. After being closed, the facade was kept because people could not agree on its dismantling. Faded posters are still stuck on the pillars, the names of old shows are under new advertising paper. An walked through the lobby and noticed that the stone floor made the footsteps echo in discrete circles. She liked this place immediately, even without telling Vy.

The manager's name is Mrs. Sau, short-cut silver hair, and a large key on her waist. She did not ask which company they were from. When An said she wanted to find Le Chi's tape, she put her hand on the counter.

“That girl once spent a night here.”

“Do you remember what day it was?”

"Remember because that day he had an argument with the people of the Milky Way. He told them not to cut the transfer."

“Which part?”

Mrs. Sau looked over An's shoulder, as if afraid of someone standing in the hallway. "A passage without words. He said that passage was an answer to his younger brother."

An asked who her younger brother was, but she didn't say. She led them through a narrow hallway to the warehouse door. New lock, metal face brighter than everything around. Vy used a recorder to capture the key number.

“I can't open it,” Ms. Sau said. "But the list of assets has the gang's name on it. If you two want to see it, please ask for the management board's signature."

“Who manages?”

“Milky Way rents warehouse.”

An and Vy looked at each other. The company kept the theater's inventory, and the anonymous email told them not to come. This coincidence does not make An feel smart; it made her feel like she was entering a door that had already been opened by someone.

In the hallway, Nam called. “Where are you?”

“I have personal matters.”

“I know you live in Hoa Binh.”

An looked at the old camera on the ceiling. “Are you following me?”

"No. Mrs. Sau called me."

“So you know her?”

“I once recorded an album there.”

“Le Chi's album?”

Nam was silent for two seconds. “I will come.”

"No need."

“An, if you open the warehouse without knowing what you're looking for, you'll lose it.”

“And if I had you, I might lose my ownership.”

Nam exhaled. “I didn't come to get anything.”

“I signed a contract with the label on the day I created track seven.”

"I know."

“Since when do you know?”

“Since the day I stopped working there.”

The call ended. Vy raised her eyebrows. “You still don't believe him?”

“I'm trying not to believe myself.”

Mrs. Sau took the two people into the small storage room next to the stage. No tapes, just paper books and a filing cabinet. An wears gloves and reads the list of assets. The section “Le Chi tapes — 12 rolls” is at the bottom of the page, next to the note: “Transferred to the warehouse center at the request of the sponsor.” The transfer date was ten years ago, one week after Le Chi withdrew from the public.

Vy took a photo of the page. An discovered that on the bottom edge there was a series of scratched numbers. She used a flashlight to tilt it. The remaining ink appears: “Harmony K.N.”

Nam arrived as they were leaving the room. He wore a gray shirt and did not have a computer bag in his hand. Mrs. Sau looked at him for a long time, then said: "You still haven't returned the key."

Nam was a bit stunned. “I thought you gave it to the company.”

“I delivered one. You keep one.”

An turned. “Do you have a warehouse key?”

Nam did not answer immediately. He took out a small, jagged piece of metal from his wallet. “I keep it to get the record when Le Chi needs it. After that, the lock on the warehouse was changed.”

“I never said.”

“Because it can't open anything anymore.”

“But I know where the warehouse is.”

“I know the company renting this place. I didn't know the ice was still here.”

Mrs. Sau looked at the key. “You've lost a lot of things, Nam.”

Nam bowed his head. “I know.”

An didn't like the way that statement made Nam look like he had confessed before she asked. She wanted to be angry, but the data in her head was falling into too many pieces. Le Chi, track seven, contract signing date, key, warning about someone losing their life.

“Who is Le Chi's younger brother?” An asked Mrs. Sau.

Mrs. Sau looked at Nam, not at her. “Ask him.”

Nam walks out onto the empty stage. An followed. Light from the glass roof falls in streaks on the wooden floor. There was no music, but the sound of the air conditioner upstairs provided a steady background beat. Nam stood next to the front row, his hands clasped together.

“Le Chi has a younger brother named Lam,” he said. “Lam is an ice technician. He discovered that the company took a demo recording of his sister's and put it in the registration file under the name Milky Way. Lam plans to publish evidence.”

“So what?”

“He died in a car accident on the way home.”

"Accident?"

“According to police records.”

“Still following you?”

Nam looked up at the row of stage lights that had turned off. “I heard Lam say that the car's brakes were tampered with. I have no proof. I was scared. I chose to stay silent to protect my album and contract.”

An heard the sound of his blood running in his left ear, a heavy and steady buzzing sound. “What did you do with the record?”

“I copied part of it to my personal computer. But the device was recalled by the company after I left.”

“You let them keep it?”

“I don't know how to fight back.”

“So now you know?”

Nam looked straight at her. “Now I know silence is also an option.”

An wanted to say he was late. She wants to force him away from the project. But if he leaves, the only person who can open the old data layers will also disappear. She hates that dependence.

Mrs. Sau's phone rings from the storage room. She ran in, then called An's name loudly. On the floor, right in front of the new locker door, there was a small tape box that had just been pushed out from the slot below. No one heard the door open.

On the box was scrawled: “Translation — not to be repeated.”

Men do not touch. An put on gloves and bent down to pick it up. When she turned it over, she saw a number written in red ink: 07.

An did not leave the stage immediately. She walked along the rows of dusty chairs, placing her hand on the wooden chair armrest. The theater holds sound in a way that new buildings cannot: a cough from the upper floor falls in layers, the sound of a car on the street slips through the door and then fades away. What could Le Chi have heard of this place?

Nam stands near the music pit, watching her try each wooden surface.

“What are you looking for?”

“The space of the recording.”

“The recording was recorded in room B.”

"But Le Chi said the transition part requires the sound of water. Maybe she brought the idea here."

Nam bent down to the floor and picked up a broken piece of wood. "Lam once said that this theater has its own reputation. He wanted to record the entire version without editing."

“Can you help?”

"I helped set up the microphone. Then the company said the cost was too high."

“And I agree.”

“I don't know how to fight a number on a budget sheet.”

“A number only has power when people believe it is final.”

Nam smiled faintly. “You talk like someone who has never been short of money.”

An looked at him. "I used to be short of money. So I know what a person can sell when he needs to save his family. But I also know that after selling, the price does not disappear."

Mrs. Sau called them back to the storage room. In the small cabinet there was a guest book, the page dated August 16 was torn off. She said at that time someone from the company came to change the lock, bringing two boxes of equipment. A person named Duc Minh asked her to sign to confirm that the warehouse was empty.

“The warehouse is not empty,” Ms. Sau said. “I see ice.”

“Do you remember who was with him?” An asked.

“A young girl, short hair. She cried.”

Nam was stunned. “Le Chi?”

“No. Le Chi's hair is longer.”

An took notes. The woman could be an assistant, a witness or a member of the Lam family. Ms. Sau doesn't remember her name, she only remembers that she was holding a bag with the hospital logo.

When they left the warehouse, An saw a red string stuck to the door handle. Tie a small piece of paper with an incomplete phone number. Vy used her camera to take pictures, then gave An a magnifying glass. On the edge of the paper is a faint stamp of the district hospital.

“The short-haired girl has a family member at the hospital?” Vy asked.

“Or she works there.”

Nam said: "The day Lam had an accident, his mother was in the hospital."

“Which hospital do you know?”

“District Seven Hospital.”

An immediately called Tung and asked to check the list of hospital archives that year. Tung can't promise he can find it because medical data is protected, but he knows someone who used to work in administration.

Mrs. Sau looked at Nam before they left. “You should return that key to the person who needs it.”

“You know it can still be opened?”

“I know the person who changes the lock doesn't change everything.”

An returned. “So the warehouse can still be opened with the old key?”

Ms. Sau did not answer, just walked towards the stage. Nam put the metal piece in his wallet, his face tense.

On the way home, An asked him to give him the key. Nam hesitated then placed it on her palm. The key tooth has a V-shaped scratch, similar to the one on the table in the company's studio.

“When was the last time you used it?”

“The day before leaving the company.”

“Do you open the warehouse?”

"I opened the small room next to the warehouse. Inside there was a backup machine and a box of tapes. The box was gone."

“I didn't tell you.”

“I'm afraid it's more about me.”

An put the key in the evidence bag. “From now on, fear is not a reason to hide.”

Nam looked through the car window. “You said that easier than me.”

“I'm also studying.”

When he returned to Mach Nuoc, An heard four seconds of anonymous sound again. The sound of an industrial fan has a pulsating rhythm like the old Hoa Binh's air intake system, but the metallic sound at the end sounds like a Milky Way warehouse door. Someone moved the tape from one place to another, or intentionally mixed the two locations.

An sent a question to an anonymous person: "Who is the short-haired woman?"

Response to come later ten minutes: "She's the one who took the original out of the theater. She's still alive, but doesn't want to remember her name."

The next message had only one word: “Linh.”

An looked at the Milky Way's personnel list. Gia Linh is twenty-six this year, she cannot be the girl at the theater eleven years ago. There is another Linh, one whose name has not yet been called by them.