Shallow Graves

select an inside line on the switchboard, murmur something into it, and nod to herself. She stood and beckoned.
    “Larry Shin’s in the conference room, but he told me to bring you by.“
    I said, “Thank you“ to the back of her head as she led me down a hall, knocked once on a closed door, and smiled as a good-bye.
    I heard, “Come on in.“
    Behind the door were Shinkawa and two middle-aged Caucasian males. All three were hovering over a go-fish array of photos that nearly covered a conference table.
    Shinkawa lifted his horn-rims up and onto his hah, like sunglasses. “This one with the Scotch bottle, and this one with the noodles coming out of the carton.“ He looked at me with the yearbook smile. “John, good to see you.“ To the Caucasian males, he said, “Be right back, but maybe the one with just Mariel and the ice bucket, too.“
    The two men nearly trampled each other saying, “Same here, Larry.“
    Shinkawa came out and past me, speaking back over his shoulder. “Good to see you, John.“
    Following him down the hall, I wondered if he realized he’d said the same thing to me twice.
    At his office, I took the black leather and chrome sling chair I’d used the last time, Shinkawa preferring its mate to going around behind his desk. He wore the slacks to a suit and another pin-striped shirt and expensive de, but the collar button was undone and the sleeves turned up.
    The advertising man brought the glasses back down onto his nose. “What’s up?“
    “I’m sorry to trouble you again.“
    “Hey, no trouble. We’re just working on a new campaign. Planning stages for targeting the A-A community.“
    “The...?“
    “The Asian-American community. They’ve been doing it for years on the West Coast. You commission some market studies to get an idea of what a Japanese-American or Chinese-American looks for in booze, cars, or clothes. Then you target some of your advertising to print media the given group reads. It’s done all the time with your Blacks and Hispanics.“
    “And now for Asian-Americans.“
    The big smile. “There’ll be ten million of us in this country by the year 2000.“
    “How about Vietnamese-Americans?“
    Shinkawa realigned his horn-rims. “Does this have something to do with Mau Tim?“
    “I’m wondering whether she would have been used in this effort.“
    “Oh. Oh, probably, but not because we’d be targeting Vietnamese consumers. They’re not big enough/rich enough yet. But would I have found a place for Mau in the campaign? You bet I would. This or any other campaign except for whole milk or Girl Scout cookies. Now, what can I do for you?“
    “I’ve been out to the apartment house on Falmouth. I wonder if I could go over some of what you told me last time.“
    “Sure.“
    “You said that as you and Oz Puriefoy and Sinead Fagan came through the door of Mau Tim’s apartment, you heard somebody on the fire escape?“
    “Right.“
    “Did you actually hear a person on it?“
    A confused expression. “A person?“
    “Yes.“
    “Well, no. I mean, I didn’t hear a voice or anything like that. Just sort of a... clang, like I told you last time.“
    I thought about the last, retractable flight. “Not a squealing or grinding, metal-on-metal sound?“
    “No. It was... Gee, ‘clang’ really does it, John. You know, like somebody walking across a grate in the sidewalk?“
    “So like somebody taking a step on the fire escape.“
    “Yes. Yes, in fact it was still vibradng.“
    I stopped. “What?“
    “When I got to the window in Mau’s bedroom. I stuck my head out and put my hand on the bannister of the fire escape, like to steady myself? It was still vibrating a little.“
    “The fire escape itself was still moving?“
    “Yeah. I even remember pulling my hand back from it, like it could maybe hurt me. Stupid, I know, but it was kind of scary up there. Like stumbling into a nightmare.“
    “And you didn’t see anybody in the yard by the garbage cans?“
    “No. No place really to hide down there either, John.“
    “Right.“
    “I mean, the guy must have been quick, to get all the way down the alley and around the corner before the escape stopped moving.“
    I watched him. A hell of a story to commit yourself to if it weren’t true.
    “John, you all right?“
    “Fine. You said you never met any of Mau Tim’s family?“
    “No.“ The big smile again. “Maybe I’m not the type to bring home to Mom and Dad, huh?“
    “You knew her mother was