Chapter 24 — The Journey of the Missing Bronze Drum

The interrogation room was small, with a steel table, two chairs facing each other, and a one-way mirror on the wall where Hai and another investigator stood watching from the next room. Vu Bach Long sat there, still handcuffed, but his appearance was completely different from the morning — no longer the calm and proud look, but the fatigue of someone who had been on the run long enough to understand that the escape must eventually stop.

Diem sat down opposite him, placed a file on the table but did not open it immediately, just looked straight at him, waiting for him to speak himself like she had waited for Ta Bach Son not long ago.

Before entering the room, Hai gave her careful instructions: any testimony Long gave during this private conversation would not be valid as official evidence in court without his defense lawyer present — but it could open up new lines of investigation, guiding the legal team to know what type of evidence to look for to consolidate later. Diem understands that clearly, and she also understands that, for herself, this talk has a meaning that goes beyond mere legal value.

"I want to ask about that night," Vu Bach Long said, without her asking first, his voice had lost most of its coldness, replaced by a naked fatigue he rarely showed to anyone.

"That's right," Diem replied, trying to keep her voice calm even though her heart was beating faster than at any other moment in the entire project.

He was silent for a long moment, looking down at his handcuffed hands on the table, as if trying to find words for something that had been buried for so long that he had almost forgotten how to put it into words.

"He didn't mean to cause me any trouble that night," he began, his voice slow. "He only went into yard number 4 to check, as I said. I stopped him, explaining that the area was under maintenance and should not be entered. But he realized I was lying — perhaps he saw a few containers being unloaded in the middle of the night, which did not match the reason I gave for 'maintenance'."

Diem held his breath, not daring to move, afraid that even a small sound would be enough to make him stop. Through the one-way mirror, she knew Hai was standing on the other side, recording the entire conversation, even though they both clearly understood its legal limits. But right now, legal value was not what Diem was looking for. She was looking for something else, something that could only come from the mouth of the person who had been there, that night, twelve years ago.

"He asked me directly, what I was hiding. I panicked - at that time I was very young, only twenty-two years old, had been involved in this ring for more than a year, extremely scared that if I was discovered I would lose everything, including my freedom. I tried to stop him, intending to keep him still in place while calling the person to handle the unfinished container. We struggled." His voice trembled for the first time since Diem met him. "He slipped on the wet concrete, fell back, and hit his head on the cable anchor structure near the water's edge. I... I panicked, not knowing what to do. I called my supervisor at the time, the actual operator of the line at that time, not me. He came, looked at the situation, then ordered me to leave immediately, so he could 'handle it'."

"How to handle it?" Diem asked, her voice quiet but sharp.

"I don't know the details," Vu Bach Long said, his eyes averted for the first time. "I only know that the next morning, the camera in that area was reported as 'damaged due to weather', the autopsy report concluded that it was an accident, and none of us ever mentioned it again. I did not kill him on purpose, Ms. Diem. It was an accident that happened during a struggle, an accident I have had to live with for the past twelve years, more severe than anyone could imagine."

Diem sat quietly, emotions rising so intensely that she had to clench her hands under the table to keep her voice from shaking. This was what she had been waiting to hear for twelve years—not a perfect confession, not an answer that completely resolved every question, but a fragment of the truth, incomplete, full of corners, but still the truth, spoken out loud for the first time.

"Who is that upper management?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Vu Bach Long shook his head. "He died five years ago, of cancer. I inherited his position after that, not because I was chosen, but because I was the only one who still knew enough about the entire system to take over without everything collapsing."

Diem felt a strange sense of disappointment and relief rising at the same time—disappointment that the person who ordered the cover-up, perhaps the person most responsible in the entire chain of events, could never be brought to justice; relieved that at least she had an answer, even though it wasn't perfect, even though it wasn't enough to close all the question marks.

"I won't be able to prove everything you just said in court," she said, her voice regaining professional composure. "There are no other witnesses, the person who ordered the cover-up is dead, and his testimony, although I believe it to be largely true, is still only a one-sided testimony from a person seeking to alleviate his own criminal liability."

"I understand that," he replied, without protest. "But there is one detail you can verify, if you want." He hesitated, then continued, his voice slow as if he was trying to remember exactly. "The superior manager at that time, before ordering me to leave, called someone else and spoke very briefly, I only heard a few words: 'Resolve it internally, don't let the file go to a higher level.' I always suspected that some official, at a higher level than my manager, knew about the story and helped suppress it, possibly by influencing the person in charge of the crime scene at the time. But I have no proof, just a hunch from many years."

Diem quickly wrote down that detail in the file, her heart beating fast again. This could be a clue to expand the investigation even further, beyond the scope of what she had dared to hope for when entering this room. "Do you remember any other details about that call? The tone of voice, the way you addressed yourself?"

“Not much,” he said, shaking his head. "I just remember him calling the person on the other end of the line 'brother', in a respectful tone that was completely different from the way he usually spoke to his subordinates. That's all I can give you."

"I know," Vu Bach Long replied, not protesting. "But that's the truth I can give you, Miss Diem. I owe you that at least, after twelve years."

Diem stood up, packed up the files that had never been opened during the interrogation, and prepared to leave the room. Before reaching the door, she stopped and turned to look at him one last time.

"My teacher once taught me that every antique pattern is a story that needs people to be patient long enough to hear it," she said, her voice both tough and filled with a deep sadness. "I have been patient for twelve years to listen to your story today. I hope that, for the rest of your life, wherever you are, you will learn to face the truth you just told, instead of continuing to bury it again."

She walked out of the room, closing the door behind her, leaving Vu Bach Long sitting alone under the cold fluorescent light, face bowed, for the first time in twelve years no longer having to play any role.

Hai welcomed her right out the hallway, his face full of worry and curiosity. "Are you okay? I heard most of the conversation through my headphones."

"I'm fine," Diem replied, although her voice still trembled slightly. "The details of the 'internal resolution' call — we need to track it down, even though it's very tenuous. If it's true that a higher-ranking official intervened to help cover up the case, that would be a completely new chapter in this entire case."

"We'll follow," Hai said, his voice firm. "But not today. You need to rest, Diem. You've been awake for nearly thirty-six hours."

Diem nodded, suddenly feeling the exhaustion weighing heavily on every muscle in her body, as if her body was just waiting for the moment her spirit was allowed to relax before collapsing completely.

But before leaving the headquarters to go home to rest, she had one last thing to do today, an important thing she promised herself last night, right when her hand touched the nine-winged bird pattern for the first time after twelve long years of waiting.