Chapter 6 — The Journey of the Missing Bronze Drum

Hoai Co Duong is located in a renovated old French villa, the facade is covered with green vines, completely different from Diem's image of a place that could be related to a smuggling ring - there is no hidden look, on the contrary, everything shows a neat, restrained luxury.

Ta Bach Son personally greeted them in the lobby, a man in his fifties, neatly cropped salt-and-pepper hair, wearing a simple linen shirt but of good material, a firm handshake, and naturally warm eyes, not the forced social style.

"Hoang Thuc Diem, right? I've heard your name a few times, through the article you published in an archeology magazine last year, about the two-stage bronze casting technique in the Ma River basin. The article is very sharp." He invited them into the private living room, where a few antiques were displayed in moisture-proof glass cabinets, soft light shining at the right angle to highlight the patterns the most. "And you must be Major Hai. I heard that the Go Lang Uyen case is being investigated very intensively. How sad, such a precious artifact."

"Thank you for your time," Diem said, sitting in the chair he indicated. "We need some expertise, and you're one of the few people with enough experience to help us."

"I'm willing, within my means." He poured the tea, his hands calm, without any hesitation. "Actually, I intended to proactively contact the Department since yesterday, after reading the news in the newspaper. I wanted to propose a reward for anyone who provides information leading to the recovery of artifacts - fifty million dong, no questions asked about the background of the reporter, as long as the information is accurate. I think that can encourage those who know the story to speak up, including those in the underground trade world who are afraid of directly contacting the police."

Diem acknowledged the suggestion, nodded politely, but a small question popped up in her mind: a truly innocent person, no matter how generous, usually does not know enough to know exactly that "underground traders are afraid of direct contact with the police" - that is an internal knowledge, not something an ordinary collector naturally has.

She did not reveal that thought, instead she took out a small box from her pocket, inside was a piece of copper rust collected at the scene, and placed it on the table.

"We found this piece near the glass cabinet, probably broken during the hasty move of the artifact. Can you tell us anything more about it?"

Ta Bach Son wore a specialized magnifying glass and held up a piece of copper rust to look under the table lamp, with the skillful movements of someone who had done this thousands of times. "The composition of this alloy," he said after a few minutes of silent observation, "the percentage of tin is quite high compared to later bronzes, consistent with the early age of the Dong Son culture, perhaps about two thousand two hundred to two thousand years ago. The dark green patina stain, formed in a long-term moist clay environment, matches the geology of the northern midland region." He put down the rusty piece and looked at Diem. "But you already know these things, right? You didn't bring it here so I could confirm the date."

Diem paused for a moment, not expecting him to read her intention so quickly.

"You're right," she admitted, deciding to change tactics immediately, facing directly instead of beating around the bush. "I brought it because I wanted to see your reaction when holding a real piece of evidence from the scene of a crime under investigation."

A short silence passed. Ta Bach Son did not appear angry or confused as Diem partly expected. He just smiled, a smile that was more tired than defensive.

"I understand your job, Diem, I don't blame you at all. In the world of collecting, the more famous a person is, the easier it is to be the first to be suspected when something happens — that's the price to pay for publicity." He sat up straight, his voice still calm. "I'll tell you frankly, to save time for both parties: I once bought and sold a few items that were later discovered to have unclear origins, many years ago, when the law on the origin of antiquities was much more lax than now, when both collectors and managers were vague about the legal boundaries. I'm not proud of that, and I spent more than a decade later trying to redeem it, by donating it, by supporting free appraisals for museums. State museum. But if you ask me if I am related to the theft in Go Lang Uyen, the answer is definitely not, and I am willing to cooperate fully if you need to check anything here."

Diem looked around the living room, noticed a black and white photo hung modestly in the corner, different from the rest of the modern photo frames - a photo of an old port, a container crane silhouetted against the sunset sky, below was a small handwritten note: "Vinh Sa Port, year..." and then a number that was blurred and could not be read clearly.

"Do you have any relationship with Vinh Sa port?" she asked, trying to keep her voice as simple as a social question.

Ta Bach Son glanced in her direction and was silent for a moment before answering. "My father used to work there, many years ago, when I was a child. He passed away early, so I keep this photo as a souvenir, but it has no special meaning in my current job." His voice was still steady, but there was a very short pause before the sentence "no special meaning" that Diem, as a professional habit, could not help but note.

"Sorry if the question is a bit sudden," she said, changing the conversation. "My profession makes me curious about small details."

"It's okay, I understand." He smiled, regaining his original comfort, but Diem noticed that he poured more tea for her even though the cup was still nearly full, a small gesture to give him time to calm down that people who had undergone interrogation training often noticed.

Hai, who had been sitting quietly observing since the beginning of the meeting, spoke up for the first time. "Can you show us the transaction books for the last six months? Just a formality, to rule things out."

"Of course." Ta Bach Son stood up, without hesitation, called an employee to bring over a thick stack of documents. "I'm transparent in every transaction, even the ones I'm not proud of. That's the only way someone with a past like me can continue to do this job and still keep his head above water."

Diem flipped through a few pages of records, most of which were transactions of buying and selling paintings and ceramics of the Nguyen Dynasty, with nothing directly related to Dong Son bronzes in recent times. But when she turned to the last page, she stopped at a small detail: a certificate of origin form drafted by his gallery, used for a lacquer painting transaction three years ago.

The font, the layout, the way the serial number is placed in the upper right corner — are almost identical to the layout of the suspicious origin documents that Hai's team recently discovered in a fraudulently declared shipment, something Hai had told her about over the phone the night before but hadn't had time to show her in person.

She closed the file, keeping her face calm, but her hand, as she set the cup of tea on the table, trembled a little — not because she was afraid, but because she had just realized something she wished she hadn't.

"Thank you for your cooperation," she said, standing up to say goodbye. "If we have more questions, we'll get back to you."

Ta Bach Son saw them off to the gate, shook hands with each person, his eyes still maintaining the sincerity from the beginning of the meeting. "I hope you can find the drum again, Diem. Losing an artifact like that is losing a part of the story of the whole nation, not just archeology."

On the way to the car, Diem looked back at the small bronze sign mounted next to the Hoai Co Duong gate, engraved with the gallery's name and the words "Honorary Patronage - Red River Antiquities Museum" - a sign she had passed by countless times when she was an appraiser, never once stopping to read carefully. Now, each word on that sign seems to carry a different weight.

Coming to the car, Hai glanced at Diem and immediately realized that something was spinning in her head. "What do you see?"

Diem did not answer right away, waiting until the car door closed, far away from the view from the villa gate, before she spoke, her voice was very quiet, as if afraid that the walls of Hoai Co Duong had ears.

"The certificate of origin form in the file he just gave me," she said, "is identical to the fake form you showed me in the photo last night. It's not a coincidence. It's the same pattern."

Hai started the car engine, but was not in a hurry to start the car, his hands were still on the steering wheel, looking straight at the tree-lined street in front of the villa gate. "If you're right," he said slowly, "then we just had tea with someone who may hold the key to both cases—the bronze drum case and your teacher's death. But I still want to remind you of one thing: a duplicate pattern of documents is not enough to incriminate anyone. We need to go a few more steps before daring to knock on his door a second time with a warrant in hand."

"I know," Diem replied, her eyes still glued to the bronze sign that was disappearing behind the foliage. "But at least now we know we're looking in the right direction."