“Yang Sun-hwa said that?”
At those words, recalled from memory, Jung Yoon’s gaze quickly shifted to the man who looked like he might collapse at any moment.
The man kept wiping his wrinkled face with a handkerchief.
His hands trembled, and his eyes, red-rimmed and swollen, darted around as if searching for an escape from his own grief.
The small, cramped room felt heavy with unspoken sorrow, the air thick with the scent of stale tears and desperation.
“Yes… it was right before she left. The night before, actually. We were lying down to sleep, and she said she saw Yong-jun. Said he was with a man in a suit. Well, if it’s a man in a suit hanging around with that guy, it could only be Yong-baek, right?”
The man’s voice cracked, each word a fragile lament, laced with a mix of resignation and bewilderment.
He looked utterly defeated, a puppet with severed strings, left to sag under the weight of an unbearable truth.
His shoulders slumped, and he drew in a shaky breath, attempting to regain some semblance of composure, but failing miserably.
The handkerchief, now damp and crumpled, was discarded onto the floor as he wrung his hands, his knuckles white.
Jung Yoon couldn’t say a word, only watching the man’s condition with concern.
A knot tightened in his stomach, a feeling of helplessness washing over him.
He wanted to offer comfort, to say something, anything, but the words eluded him, caught in his throat.
The raw pain emanating from the man was almost palpable, a silent scream that resonated deep within Jung Yoon’s own being.
He felt a profound sense of empathy, a shared burden of sorrow, even though he was an outsider to this particular tragedy.
That’s when Jung-rok, who had been silently observing, cautiously opened his mouth.
His voice was calm, almost detached, a stark contrast to the emotional maelstrom swirling around them.
He understood the delicate balance between compassion and duty, the need for facts even in the face of profound suffering.
Regardless of how unfortunate the situation was, confirmation was necessary.
The truth, however painful, had to be unearthed.
“By any chance… did she not get a clear look at the face? Did she specifically say it was Jung Yong-baek?”
Jung-rok’s tone was gentle yet firm, his gaze steady, reflecting the gravity of his questions.
He knew the importance of precise details in an investigation, the subtle nuances that could alter the entire course of their understanding.
He was fishing for specifics, for anything that could solidify or refute the man’s assumption.
“No. I don’t think she saw his face clearly. She didn’t say it was Yong-baek, just said it seemed like it. That was it. But well, knowing those two, I can understand.”
The man sighed, a long, weary sound that seemed to carry the weight of years of unspoken anxieties.
His explanation, though lacking definitive proof, hinted at a deeper, unspoken history between the brothers, a complex relationship known only to those intimately involved.
He spoke of a shared understanding, a silent code that existed between Yong-jun and Yong-baek, suggesting a pattern of behavior that made his assumption plausible, even without a clear identification.
“Why’s that?”
Jung-rok pressed, his curiosity piqued.
He sensed an undercurrent of something significant, a hidden narrative beneath the surface of the man’s words.
He knew that sometimes, the most crucial clues lay in the unspoken, in the implicit knowledge shared between people.
“They’re always careful, you know. Like they’d risk being spotted by the villagers. I bet nobody in the village even knows they came and went. Even then, when I just casually asked my brother if he came by, man… He kept bowing his head, saying he’d be careful. I was more embarrassed than anything else.”
The man recounted, a faint, melancholic smile playing on his lips.
His words painted a picture of two individuals living on the fringes, always wary, always cautious, their movements shrouded in secrecy.
It suggested a life lived under the constant threat of exposure, a quiet existence meticulously guarded from the prying eyes of their community.
This secrecy, he implied, was a known characteristic of the brothers, lending credence to the idea that they would indeed move stealthily, almost invisibly, within the village.
Jung Yoon’s eyes, now clouded with confusion from the unexpected story, turned to Jung-rok.
The new information had introduced a ripple in his understanding, a twist in the narrative he hadn’t anticipated.
He was trying to reconcile the image of the careful, secretive brothers with the brutal events that had transpired.
Jung-rok, however, remained composed, almost like he had known all along, his expression unreadable.
When their eyes met, the older man let out a quiet sigh and murmured softly.
“It’s such a nice village… I don’t know why things like this keep happening.”
His voice was a lament, a deep sadness reflecting in his eyes as he looked out at the tranquil village landscape beyond the wall.
His face, looking down at the village landscape beyond the wall, was sincere, a genuine ache for the disrupted peace of this once idyllic place.
It was a place that had seemed immune to such horrors, a sanctuary now tainted by an unspeakable act.
Jung Yoon, quietly watching him, turned his head away, unable to suppress the rising anger.
A surge of indignation coursed through him.
Someone’s trace—someone who had cruelly shattered the gentle, innocent daily lives of these people—was still lingering somewhere in the mountains behind.
The thought gnawed at him, a festering wound on the fabric of their peace.
He felt a fierce protective instinct towards the villagers, a burning desire to find the perpetrator and restore the shattered harmony.
Jung Yoon’s eyes grew cold as he stared in that direction, his gaze sharp and determined.
The idyllic scenery now seemed to mock him, a stark contrast to the darkness that had descended upon it.
He pictured the elusive figure, a phantom in the shadows, leaving a trail of devastation in their wake.
His jaw tightened, a silent vow to bring justice to this quiet corner of the world.
Unaware silence weighed down the narrow yard, a heavy blanket that seemed to absorb all sound, all hope.
The air itself felt thick, suffocating, as if the village held its breath, waiting.
Then, from some indeterminable distance, a dog’s bark rang out, low and ominous, a chilling reminder of the lingering presence of something unsettling, a primal warning echoing through the quietude.
It was a sound that seemed to pierce the stillness, a harbinger of something yet to be revealed, a raw, unsettling cry in the deepening twilight.
“Because I know what that brother’s been through… I told her not to go blabbing about it. Just to keep quiet. Poor kid, isn’t she?”
The man’s voice, now a strained whisper, carried a note of quiet desperation.
He spoke of a secret burden, a silent struggle that had shaped his actions, his decision to shield his daughter from further entanglement in the brothers’ complicated lives.
He looked at Jung Yoon and Jung-rok with pleading eyes, seeking understanding, if not absolution, for his silence.
The streetlamp cast a faint, almost ethereal light over the dim alley.
The rain had intensified, the sound a constant drumming on the car roof, a rhythmic backdrop to their thoughts.
From the outside, the parked car looked empty, a dark, unassuming silhouette against the glow of the distant city lights. But inside was a different story.
In the silent car, both the driver’s and passenger’s seats were reclined at nearly the same angle.
Two people lay on top of them, not saying a word, letting time pass.
The rhythmic drumming of the rain against the roof and windows created a cocoon of sound, isolating them from the world outside, inviting introspection.
The sudden afternoon rain had trapped them in the car, an unexpected reprieve from the relentless pace of their investigation.
They simply stared up quietly through the soaked sunroof, watching the spectacle above.
Raindrops, like spilled glitter, looked as if they melted into streams of falling stars, tracing intricate patterns on the glass before disappearing into the night.
It was a mesmerizing, almost hypnotic display, a fleeting moment of beauty amidst the grim reality of their work.
Jung Yoon, lost in thought at the breathtaking sight, the intricate dance of light and water on the glass, snapped out of it when a voice like molten metal reached his ears.
It was Jung-rok’s voice, low and resonant, cutting through the stillness.
“Detective Woo.”
It was hard to tell how much time had passed.
The sky had darkened rapidly, deepening to an inky blackness that swallowed the last vestiges of daylight. It was a time when no one would question if you had fallen asleep, a quiet lull in the night. AM 02:05.
The illuminated digits of the car clock blinked persistently, a stark reminder of the late hour, of the time slipping away.
Jung Yoon lowered his head and glanced at the blinking clock, then turned to the side.
Jung-rok, his arm folded to support his head, slowly ran his index finger down the fogged driver’s side window.
A clear trail appeared where the moisture split, a stark, deliberate line against the misty surface.
Without replying, Jung Yoon just stared at the long mark, his gaze contemplative, trying to decipher the unspoken message within the simple gesture.
Jung-rok tapped on the window as if knocking, a soft, almost absentminded gesture.
Then he let out a deep breath, a sigh that carried a hint of fatigue, perhaps even frustration.
“Do you think it was Jung Yong-jun?”
His question hung in the air, suspended between them, loaded with implications.
His finger moved in the opposite direction across the window, then drew a long downward line.
The shape became clear: an X. A stark, unequivocal symbol of negation.
Jung Yoon stared blankly at the mark, his mind churning, trying to unravel the meaning behind Jung-rok’s silent communication.
He didn’t know what meaning Jung-rok intended with that symbol, whether it was a definitive rejection of the idea or simply a question mark.
Turning to look at Jung-rok with a thoughtful expression, he saw rain pouring mercilessly behind him, a relentless curtain of water that seemed to emphasize the weight of their discussion.
Looking past the face urging an answer, Jung Yoon focused on the fading symbol and finally spoke, his voice quiet, thoughtful.
“So you don’t think it was him, Team Leader.”
The look in his eyes as he asked why was quite defiant, a subtle challenge to Jung-rok’s unspoken conclusion.
He wanted to understand the reasoning behind the definitive ‘X’.
Jung-rok abruptly pulled his hand away from where it had been supporting his head and crossed his arms, his posture shifting, becoming more rigid, as if preparing for a debate.
“Hm,” he hummed low, the sound as deep as the weight of his thoughts and as heavy as the burden he carried.
It was a sound that conveyed a deep consideration, a struggle with complex ideas.
“If it was something that developed suddenly, sure, there’d be room for suspicion. But do you really think someone with a congenital condition could carry out everything so cleanly? I don’t.”
Jung-rok’s argument was precise, logical.
He was questioning the capability, the level of intricate planning and execution that would be required for such a crime, given Yong-jun’s known medical history.
He was laying out his skepticism, suggesting that the complexity of the crime didn’t align with their current understanding of the suspect’s abilities.
“We do need to closely examine the treatment records. But his intelligence is at a level where repetitive learning is possible. He’s slow to pick things up, not incapable of understanding.”
Jung Yoon countered, defending his initial line of inquiry.
He acknowledged the need for further medical data but emphasized that a developmental delay didn’t necessarily equate to an inability to grasp or execute complex actions, especially with repeated exposure.
He believed that repetitive learning could bridge the gap, allowing for a methodical approach, even if unconventional.
“You’ve seen the case files. I’m not saying to ignore his physical ability, but the method used—tying it all to a lower-grade level of intelligence, the kind of meticulousness that doesn’t even leave fingerprints. I’m saying: is someone like that really capable of grasping the situation well enough to throw off a police investigation?”
Jung-rok finally voiced the unease he’d been holding in, his core reservation.
He was highlighting the discrepancy between the apparent simplicity of the perpetrator’s intelligence (as implied by the “lower-grade level”) and the sophisticated, almost clinical precision of the crime itself.
The lack of fingerprints, the clean execution—these were not the hallmarks of someone with limited cognitive function acting alone and haphazardly.
He was suggesting a level of forethought and cunning that seemed to contradict the general perception of Yong-jun’s capabilities.
Jung Yoon, who had been listening quietly, let out a sigh and asked him back, his voice steady.
“So, you’re saying it’s not Jung Yong-jun?”
He was seeking a direct confirmation, a clear statement of Jung-rok’s position, to understand the extent of his doubt.
“I’m not saying it’s confirmed. I’m just saying, Detective Woo shouldn’t get too fixated.”
Jung-rok, frowning in frustration, scratched under his cheekbone.
He wasn’t definitively ruling out Yong-jun, but he was cautioning Jung Yoon against tunnel vision, against allowing a single suspect to dominate their investigation, especially when inconsistencies arose.
He wanted Jung Yoon to keep an open mind, to consider alternative possibilities.
Jung Yoon stared at his complicated expression for a long moment before speaking again, calmly.
“I think there may be an accomplice involved.”
His voice was low, almost a murmur, but carried a conviction that seemed to cut through the heavy atmosphere.
The idea of an accomplice provided a logical bridge between Jung-rok’s concerns about Yong-jun’s capabilities and the meticulous nature of the crime.
It explained the sophistication without solely attributing it to Yong-jun.
Just as his fingers, which had been lingering near his cheek, reached under his chin, Jung-rok instinctively went to touch beneath his jaw but stopped himself and turned his head.
The slight hesitation, the aborted gesture, indicated a momentary surprise, a sudden shift in his internal landscape.
In the darkness that enveloped them, the two locked eyes, a silent exchange passing between them.
Jet-black pupils stared steadily at Jung Yoon.
Then, one eyebrow lifted before the corners of his eyes curved gently, forming a subtle, almost imperceptible smirk.
It was a knowing look, one that suggested an uncanny insight into Jung Yoon’s thought process.
At the same time, Jung Yoon’s gaze chilled, a flicker of annoyance passing through his eyes.
What’s the smirking about?
With a scowl, Jung Yoon glared at him and curled his lip, his irritation evident.
“I knew it.”
Jung-rok finally broke the silence, his voice laced with an almost smug satisfaction.
“Knew what?”
Jung Yoon snapped, his patience wearing thin with Jung-rok’s cryptic pronouncements.
“That you’d think that. You think like a tree.”
Jung-rok elaborated, his analogy adding another layer of mystification to his words.
Jung Yoon frowned at the cryptic comment, utterly perplexed.
He searched his mind, trying to understand the bizarre comparison.
“When have I ever?”
He challenged, genuinely bewildered.
“You do. Like a tree with too many branches—your thoughts go everywhere. The problem is, you actually act on all of them.”
Jung-rok muttered in a tone of self-mockery, yet there was a warmth in his eyes, a fond exasperation.
His low voice, filled with a strange certainty, left Jung Yoon feeling unsettled.
It was unnerving, almost unsettling, how accurately Jung-rok seemed to perceive his internal workings, his often sprawling and unpredictable investigative approach.
“You are talking about me just now, right?”
Jung Yoon asked, his voice laced with incredulity, a mix of annoyance and a grudging respect for Jung-rok’s insight.
He couldn’t understand how someone could speak like they knew him so well, how they could pinpoint his character with such unnerving precision.
Had they really bonded that much?
How long had they even been on the same team?
The thought sent a slight shiver down his spine.
At Jung Yoon’s incredulous expression, Jung-rok sighed with a slightly hurt look, as if genuinely wounded by the implication that he would be speaking about anyone else.
“Who else would I be talking about?”
He asked, a hint of genuine disappointment in his tone.
“Are you sure there’s nothing wrong with your head? That line wouldn’t have worked in the ‘90s. If you’re trying to set a mood, save it for when you’re with a woman. And come up with a better line, while you’re at it.”
Jung Yoon grimaced in disgust, a genuine look of revulsion on his face as he dismissed Jung-rok’s attempt at profound observation as outdated and unromantic.
As Jung Yoon grimaced in disgust, Jung-rok’s eyebrows twitched, a faint amusement playing on his lips.
“What’s wrong with a tree?”
Jung-rok asked, feigning innocence, a twinkle in his eye.
“Are you some kind of fortune teller?”
Jung Yoon shot back, still annoyed by the unsettling accuracy of Jung-rok’s assessment.
“You really are… utterly unromantic.”
Jung-rok sighed, a theatrical expression of disappointment on his face.
The middle-aged uncle’s tone made Jung Yoon recoil as if repulsed, a shudder running down his spine.
He then noticed Jung-rok’s lips twitching as if he were about to laugh and responded with an exasperated voice.
“What are two guys going to do with romance? Instead of waxing poetic, how about finding a clue, senior?”
Jung Yoon retorted, a hint of desperation in his voice.
He was ready to move on from Jung-rok’s philosophical musings and back to the practicalities of their case.
After speaking, Jung Yoon shuddered and vigorously rubbed his arms as if he’d gotten goosebumps, further emphasizing his discomfort with the topic of romance.
Jung-rok sat up, chuckling, and pulled out a towel from below.
With an uninterested hand, he wiped down the window, the mundane action contrasting sharply with their earlier, more abstract conversation.
“Not even a single damn ant out there.”
Jung-rok mused, looking out at the deserted, rain-soaked landscape.
“Tch, how boring,” Jung-rok clicked his tongue, a sound of mild disappointment, and rested one arm on the steering wheel, leaning his chin on it while stretching out the hand holding the towel.
He was playing up the stereotype, the cinematic expectation.
“You know how in dramas, something always happens right around now—like a case breaking or a call coming in…”, Jung-rok began, his voice trailing off dramatically, setting up a familiar trope.
Before Jung-rok could even finish his sentence, Jung Yoon’s phone vibrated, a sudden, jarring buzz in the quiet car.
Eyes wide with surprise, Jung-rok was immediately met with a glare from Jung Yoon that could have killed.
The irony was almost unbearable, the immediate manifestation of Jung-rok’s playful prediction.
He pulled out the phone, which wouldn’t stop vibrating, and a familiar name flashed across the screen.
[Seo Han-gyeol]
In the dimly lit space, Jung Yoon stared down at the glowing phone screen with a displeased expression.
“The team leader is great and all, but his mouth just won’t quit.”
Jung Yoon muttered, a mixture of exasperation and grudging admiration for Jung-rok’s uncanny timing.
“Oh… So you did like it, huh.”
Jung-rok teased, a knowing smirk on his face.
“That’s not what I—ugh, forget it.”
Jung Yoon groaned, running a hand over his face in frustration.
He tapped the call button and switched it to the speaker.
[Detective Woo? It’s me.]
Seo Han-gyeol’s voice crackled through the car’s speakers, clear and professional.
“Yeah, go ahead. Team Leader Moon’s listening too.”
Jung Yoon held out the phone.
Jung-rok leaned forward naturally to get closer to it, his expression now serious, all traces of his earlier levity gone.
[Right. So… the hospital wouldn’t release the patient’s personal records without a warrant. They only gave a brief look at his hospitalization, outings, and leave records. Turns out he spent a pretty long time in the hospital. But the timing’s a little… off.]
Seo Han-gyeol’s voice was concise, delivering the crucial information with a measured tone, hinting at a new piece of the puzzle that might change everything.