Sophie emerged from the lift to the smell of burned toast. The school’s director of studies ran past her and down the corridor. She noted he wore a yellow fire warden’s hat.

‘Don’t worry, there’s no major emergency.’ Chuck smiled, falling into step with Sophie on the way to the staffroom. ‘The police were in early with Pete and he decided to eat breakfast here. Somebody should teach the guy how to use the grill.’

In the prep room, people worked without the usual pre-class chatter. Teachers perched quietly behind their desks, correcting papers, assembling files, avoiding eye contact and conversation. The burnt toast had tripped the heating system. The air clung, cold and damp. Motion fell in time to the photocopier’s slow, grinding beat. Sophie’s lips prickled from dehydration and nervous energy. She walked slowly to her desk at the back of the room.

Lenny, Sophie’s desk companion, cleared his throat. He wiped a grain of rice from the corner of his mouth. ‘They don’t know how to deal with this,’ he muttered, his voice laden with contempt.

Sophie looked around the room. Several teachers sought to share her gaze, severity in their glances. ‘Deal with what?’

‘Life,’ spat Lenny. ‘This is the real world. Teaching English in a Japanese cram school can’t prepare you for it.’

Sophie unloaded her shoulder bag. At sixty-eight, Lenny looked better than most men did at forty. He’d lived in seven countries. He spoke four languages and had forty-five years of teaching experience. And didn’t everyone else know about it.

‘Look at them,’ Lenny continued, between mouthfuls of California roll. ‘Shocked into silence for once in their lives. Oh, for this peace and quiet every day of the week.’

Sophie opened her lesson plan and tried to concentrate. But all she could think of was Wendy. Her face on the concrete. A pink and red mash.

‘Lenny, did you know her?’

He finished his breakfast and snapped his lunchbox shut. ‘Who?’

‘Wendy. The girl who died.’

He stood up. ‘To tell you the truth,’ he said, opening his arms wide in a stretch, ‘I’m not interested in trying to remember.’

Sophie watched him walk to his locker and stash the lunchbox.

‘Talk about losing it,’ whispered Chuck, sitting opposite. ‘The guy helps Pete with the timetables but he doesn’t know one student from the next.’

Pete entered the prep room still wearing his fire warden’s helmet. Beside him stood an older man in a well-cut wool suit. The two of them scanned the room. From his chair at the front, Tim made a face and pointed at Pete’s head. Pete snatched the helmet away.

‘Some important information,’ Pete said. Sophie strained to hear. It sounded less like an announcement and more like the second part of a sentence. Pete spoke softly at the best of times; frailly, like an older person who’s lost their sense of self. More than once she had wondered how a bloke like Pete – shy, disorganised, unable to delegate – had made it so far in this business. Teachers like him usually got demolished in their first month in the classroom. But perhaps that’s why Pete had succeeded as an administrator: his job meant he didn’t often have to engage with people.

He cleared his throat. ‘Firstly I’d like to introduce you all to a visitor,’ he said, indicating the man in the suit. ‘This is Michael Disney, from the Association of English Language Centres. He’ll be with us for the next few days, running an audit of the school’s attendance records.’ He paused. ‘I trust you’ll make him feel very much at home.’

It sounded like an order.

Disney raised his hand in a wave. ‘I’ll do my best to keep out of your way,’ he said, his voice booming.

‘Which brings us to the matter of the day,’ said Pete. ‘The apparent suicide – and the police are calling it that until they’ve had a chance to finish their inquiries – is a matter of great concern.’ He spoke louder now, his confidence returning. ‘Of greater concern is the revelation that Wendy…’ Pete faltered, glancing around the room.

From his position by the lockers, Lenny exhaled. ‘We can’t bear the suspense, Pete,’ he drawled.

‘Wendy was not who we thought she was,’ Pete said, his glare falling on Lenny.

Sophie registered a collective intake of breath as the staff processed Pete’s words. Her mind replayed the final images it had captured before the screen went up around Wendy’s body – that pale, lifeless arm. Needle marks, brown and definite, like a snakeskin tattoo.

‘Actually, we don’t know who the girl on the footpath was,’ Pete said. ‘What we do know is that she wasn’t Wendy Chan.’

A confused murmur rose above the sound of the photocopier as people turned to colleagues, concern and confusion etched on their faces.

‘Let me make this clear,’ Pete said, his voice raised above the din. ‘The girl on the footpath yesterday attended this school and some of you may have taught her. She went by the name of Wendy and she was enrolled here under that name. But the police have, this morning, informed me that what we have is a case of mistaken identity.’

‘Hence the audit,’ muttered Lenny.

‘How have they established that?’ Sophie’s voice carried above the chatter.

Pete paused, ran a thin tongue across his lips. ‘The police have their methods,’ he said. ‘I’m not an investigator.’

Sophie sat back in her seat, rocked. What other secrets had ‘Wendy’ been hiding? And where was the real Wendy Chan?

Pete’s voice drilled into Sophie’s thoughts.

‘…a very serious matter and I need each staff member to exercise extra vigilance when it comes to the roll. I shouldn’t need to remind anyone that these are legal documents. Should you note inconsistencies in student attendance this week, please draw them to my or Michael’s attention immediately. We’ll pass the information on to the police.’

Pete glanced across at his companion. ‘Did you want to say a few words?’

Michael Disney cleared his throat. ‘I’ll be interviewing each of you individually over the course of the next week as part of my investigation into visa regulation adherence among the language schools in the city,’ he said. ‘This is nothing for you as teachers to worry yourselves about – we haven’t singled your school out specifically – but because of Wendy Chan’s disappearance, it was decided that United English is a good place to start.’

A few mumbled questions. Pete held up a hand, pleading for quiet. ‘There’ll be time for questions over the course of the week. Feel free to bail Michael up in the staffroom or by the coffee machine or wherever you happen to catch him. He doesn’t bite.’

Pete nodded and the two men backed out the door. Sophie felt the tension lift as she watched her colleagues shake their heads and discuss Pete’s announcement, making jokes, again beginning to jostle in the queue for the photocopier.

Across from her, Chuck had noted the change in atmosphere as well. ‘Hear that?’ he asked Sophie.

‘What?’

‘The chatter.’

‘People talking, yeah.’

‘It’s relief.’

Sophie stared at Chuck. ‘Relief from what?’

‘From thinking she was somebody we knew.’

A hoot of laughter sounded from the corner of the room. Chuck leaned forward, beckoning Sophie closer. ‘I know it’s sick, but somehow it doesn’t seem so awful now. Don’t you think?’

Sophie swallowed the bile rising to her throat. ‘I’m sorry, Chuck,’ she said, pushing back her chair. ‘I absolutely disagree.’

Over in student administration, Sophie found the intake officer, Maria, eating banana bread with her morning coffee.

‘Want some?’ Maria held out a thick slab of the stuff, its surface glistening with butter.

‘Pass,’ Sophie said.

‘You’re too skinny,’ complained Maria, licking a finger and then wiping it on her pants. ‘But if you won’t let me put some meat on those bones, what else can I help you with?’

Sophie handed her a slip of paper. She’d written Tae Hun’s name on it in black pen. ‘I think this guy is a student at our school,’ she said. ‘I need to talk to him.’

Maria took the paper. ‘Not ringing any bells but it’s a fairly uncommon Korean name, Sophie.’ She shook awake her computer. ‘You must know that, though. Being Asian.’

Right.

‘Pretty sure my birth certificate says I’m an Aussie.’

Maria smiled, like Sophie had told a joke. ‘Got a family name too?’

‘Nuh uh.’

Squinting as she pushed her spectacles up her nose, Maria typed the name into her database. Her forehead furrowed into a frown.

‘What do you know,’ she said.

Sophie moved behind the desk to peer over Maria’s shoulder. ‘Tell me.’

‘We’ve had two Tae Huns enrolled in the past six months,’ said Maria, pointing to the screen. ‘One is currently a student in lower elementary…’

‘That’s not him,’ said Sophie. ‘This guy’s English is stronger.’

‘The other guy…’ Maria scrolled the cursor down the computer screen. Sophie saw a panel on the right side of the screen flash red.

‘…here it is.’ Maria highlighted the information. ‘He left the school a couple of months back. It says he fell behind in fees.’

Sophie rocked back on her heels. ‘Any idea where he went?’

Maria studied the computer screen. ‘We don’t keep records of the competition, Sophie,’ she said. ‘But here’s something that might help. He’s down as working at Seoul Cafe in Haymarket. If he’s still in Sydney, you might find him there.’

Sophie grabbed a piece of paper and scribbled down the name of the restaurant.

Maria reached for her banana bread. ‘What’s this guy done? Broken some girl’s heart?’

Sophie smiled. ‘Maybe,’ she said. ‘That’s what I want to find out.’