"We don't wear pins in the field," I kept my tone matter-of-fact.

Pak's breathing had become dangerously slow. One of his standard warnings to me, repeated endlessly, was, "Never call the small picture of the Leader a pin." But every time I put the little round badge on, it pricked my finger. Same place, every time. As far as I was concerned it was a nuisance, a sharp point in my life I didn't need, a pin. I shrugged.

"I haven't been home in three days. It's in my top drawer, on the left.

Actually, the top drawer is my only drawer." I could not resist what came next. "But you probably already know that."

"Inspector, this is Deputy Director Kang from the Investigations Department." Pak was back with us. His eyelids flew open, and he put a smile on his face, though his lips didn't take part. "We rarely get a Central Committee visitor to our small office. This is an honor."

Kang smiled in return, not to be friendly but to show me his teeth.

He had on civilian clothes. His trousers were a little too long and wrinkled; the white shirt, open necked, looked like it was worn for a week at a time. His belt and his shoes were from overseas. Carefully chosen, not too stylish. The shoes were nicely scuffed, almost in deliberate counterpoint to Kim's boots. "I asked a question," he said evenly. "I'm still waiting for an answer."

"What I said was, the bastard honked."

Captain Kim broke in. "Who did? You mean the driver?"

This caught my attention. I had assumed the two of them were cooperating, until Kim interrupted. Even in a session as informal as this, interrupting threw off the rhythm. Questions weren't the key to an interrogation; it was the rhythm. Lose that, you lose everything. Then you have to start all over again. Good teams wouldn't do that. Even bad teams observed basic rules.