"Ethnicity is not an identification." The woman wore a white lab coat like armor plating. "No identification, no autopsy. I already told you that."
"His name is Gustav." I'd left my notebook in the office, which was a mistake. Taking notes makes it look like you're in charge; that's what they taught us in training class. Asking this iron lady for a piece of paper would just give her the advantage. I put my hands in my pockets and rocked back on my heels. Maybe she'd think I had total recall.
Maybe she had an aspirin.
She sneered. "Gustav is a Swedish name. You lose, Inspector. I'm busy. Get me an ID, and it better be quick. The refrigeration is uneven at best in the summer, and these bodies don't keep too long. And find yourself a notebook, while you're at it. Good night."
"Wait a minute. I need to see the effects."
"They're bagged. You'll have to sign a form. And then I need to make a phone call." She looked at me coolly. "The bag is in that desk.
When I get back with permission from Military Security, if I get permission, you can go through it." There was a phone on her desk, but I figured she knew that.
"I don't suppose you have a pot of tea."
"Tea is bad for you, Inspector. People drink entirely too much of it."
"Maybe some people do," I muttered as the door closed. As soon as I heard her footsteps receding down the corridor, I started going through the drawers. The bag was in the bottom one. Behind the first bag was a second, tagged car accident/hi. On a hunch, I opened it and quickly rummaged through. It was from the body in the car Kang had told me about, the one with the smashed side window. The car might not have been there when I went by, but something bad had happened to someone.
There was plenty of blood on the clothing, which looked like the uniform of a Military Security colonel. It was new, good quality. Even for a colonel's uniform, it was well tailored. The stitching was neat and tight, the buttons were imported and fastened with strong thread; they were black, which was standard, but I looked twice in the dim light of the room just to make sure. There were two sets of keys in the trousers.
I pocketed them both. There was a black leather wallet, real soft, obviously foreign, made out of some poor calf. It was most likely European, but it had never been stamped or embossed with a brand or country of origin. I ran my fingers along the inside edge to make sure. The wallet was practically empty. All identification had been stripped out. At one time, though, the wallet must have been bulging, because it was badly misshapen. An overstuffed wallet didn't match the trim look of the uniform. Sitting in a back pocket or even inside a coat, it must have ruined the tailored lines something awful. There was not much hope of finding what had been taken from the wallet; it could have been emptied by whoever killed him, maybe by a passing farmer, maybe by security people here in the morgue.
I went into the other bag, marked koryo. The clothing was not of the same quality as the uniform, not even close, and wasn't as clean, but there was no blood on the clothes. No blood on the clothing, no mess on the carpet in the hotel. Maybe the guy had no brains. In the trouser cuffs I found some pine needles, which I pocketed. The labels on the clothes all said made in Austria, but every one of them had been sewn in after the clothing was bought and worn. The thread was wrong and the stitching was off, though not by much. The wallet was new, nothing special, maybe a gift just before his trip, or purchased at an airport store en route. On the inside bottom edge were tiny gold embossed letters, made in Spain. Like the other wallet, this one had also been stripped, though it didn't look like there had ever been much in it.
Most of the plastic sleeves for credit cards had never been opened. The wallet didn't show any signs of having sat in someone's back pocket during a long plane ride. It was in perfect shape. Maybe he carried it in his coat. So, where was the coat?
I heard footsteps down the hall, put both bags back in the drawer, and moved over to gaze at a chart of the human skeleton.
"The answer is no. I can't give you permission to see the bag."
"Too bad. Has the stuff at least been logged, so I can be sure it's all here when I come back with a procurator's order?"
A procurator's order would impress Military Security like pork fat impressed a hot frying pan, and even she knew that. She folded her arms. It didn't soften her overall appearance. "I'm a doctor, Inspector, not a clerk. I don't log things, I keep track of people's health. Or I do when I'm not being harassed. It's past midnight, I have patients who need help. And with what am I supposed to help them, Inspector?
Procurator's orders? Find me some medicine. Especially aspirin for the children."
I gave an imitation bow. "Excuse my intrusion. Thanks for your time."
As I walked towards the door she called after me. "You walk so musically, Inspector."
"I do?" I turned and saw that her face had dropped its mask.
"Your keys, Inspector. They are jangling."