“Why is the timing off?”
Jung Yoon pressed, his voice sharp with renewed focus.
Han-gyeol’s voice crackled through the speaker, carrying the weight of significant new details.
“The day they inquired about his treatment at the hospital was one day before Seo Jun-shim was reported missing. He was admitted immediately after his examination. Since then, the hospital director has changed once, and his attending physician has changed three times, and he’s still hospitalized to this day. That’s for a good 20 years.”
The implications of such a long, continuous hospitalization, immediately preceding and coinciding with such a crucial event, were staggering.
Jung-rok, who had been listening intently to Han-gyeol’s words, slowly straightened up from his hunched position on the passenger seat.
The cramped interior of the car, still heavy with the scent of damp earth and the lingering tension of their earlier conversation, seemed to shrink further around them.
He sat back against the window, his gaze distant, processing the information.
Jung Yoon subtly glanced at Jung-rok, trying to gauge his reaction.
After a long, pensive silence, Jung-rok finally spoke, his voice low and deliberate.
“Yang Sun-hwa’s husband is correct. There’s a record of Yang Sun-hwa leaving the hospital two days before her estimated time of death. Initially, she was supposed to return the same day, but suddenly, they received a call saying she’d be staying home for a few more days. She got permission after a phone consultation with her attending physician.”
“If it was two days before, then it’s confirmed that it was Jung Yong-jun she saw,” Jung Yoon stated, a flicker of certainty in his eyes.
The pieces of the puzzle, disjointed until now, were beginning to align, albeit in a disquieting manner.
“I asked for the reason, but the nurse didn’t know the details. She just said his brother visited after a long time, so they assumed the family was spending time together.”
Han-gyeol’s voice was clear, but the casual nature of the nurse’s assumption struck Jung Yoon.
Jung Yoon’s brow furrowed, a deepening crease appearing between his eyebrows as soon as Han-gyeol finished speaking.
The seemingly innocuous detail of a brother’s visit suddenly held immense weight.
“Jung Yong-baek came?” Jung Yoon’s question was sharp, tinged with a growing suspicion.
The name of the other brother, the one shrouded in secrecy and suspicion from their earlier interview, now resonated with renewed significance.
“Yes. They apparently thought nothing of it since it happened occasionally. Just in case, I asked about Jung Yong-baek’s company. They said they couldn’t disclose the reason, but he did use vacation days at that time. But the next part is a bit unsettling.”
Han-gyeol’s tone shifted, a subtle hint of apprehension in his voice.
He was careful, precise in his delivery, aware of the gravity of what he was about to reveal.
“What is it?”
Jung Yoon prompted, leaning forward, his attention fully captured.
Jung-rok, too, had turned his head slightly, his gaze fixed on the phone.
“Initially, he submitted a request for a single vacation day. It was approved, and he didn’t come to work. But suddenly, right before closing, he called and requested two more days. He said it was urgent, so they discussed it verbally, and processed it the next day. They said they remembered it because such a thing was rare.”
The words hung in the humid air of the car, each detail painting a clearer, yet more disturbing, picture.
|A planned absence, a sudden extension, and the unusual nature of the request – it all pointed to something out of the ordinary, something beyond a simple family visit.
A question, sharp and urgent, appeared on Jung Yoon’s face as he listened.
The details, innocuous on their own, formed a pattern when laid out sequentially.
Jung-rok seemed to feel the same, his expression mirroring Jung Yoon’s growing unease.
“But the dates…”
Han-gyeol paused, letting the suspense build, a subtle theatricality in his delivery that was characteristic of his younger, more eager self.
“Both of you, it overlaps with the day you first went on your initial investigation.”
The voice from the phone faded, the impact of the revelation sinking in.
Jung Yoon’s eyes widened, speechless, a sudden, chilling realization dawning on him.
The world outside the car, shrouded in the continuing rain, seemed to recede, leaving him isolated in the quiet space, grappling with this unexpected twist.
Regardless of Jung Yoon’s stunned silence, Han-gyeol continued, his voice a steady stream of information.
“Jung Yong-jun’s overnight leave schedule is the same. The hospital said they couldn’t give detailed information over the phone without a warrant, so I can’t confirm it yet.”
This further complicated the narrative, intertwining the two brothers in a way that Jung Yoon hadn’t fully considered until now.
“The warrant?”
Jung Yoon asked, his voice low, almost a whisper, as if speaking too loudly might break the fragile understanding he was trying to build.
“I contacted the warrant department; it’s difficult today, but they’ll process it first thing tomorrow morning, as quickly as possible. They said they can’t move without a warrant.”
Han-gyeol’s efficiency was commendable, even in the late hours.
Jung Yoon, who had been listening quietly, his eyes narrowed, a sharp glint appearing in their depths.
The information was swirling, connecting in unexpected ways.
A fleeting expression of surprise crossed his face, then vanished, as he replayed the conversation he had with Yang Sun-hwa’s husband that afternoon.
The man’s dismissive tone, his insistence that Yong-baek wouldn’t visit, now resonated with an unsettling new meaning.
“…How could busy Yong-baek, who works at a large company, come here?”
The man’s voice, sitting alone on the flat bench, seemed to suddenly flash through Jung Yoon’s mind, a phantom whisper in the car.
He repeated the man’s words aloud, the unsettling tone of the villager conveying itself to both Jung-rok and Han-gyeol on the phone.
The casual dismissal, the implied impossibility of Yong-baek’s presence, now felt like a deliberate misdirection, a subtle weaving of deception.
“That’s what he said. Earlier.”
Jung Yoon’s gaze, sharp and questioning, sought Jung-rok’s memory, seeking confirmation of the subtle discrepancy.
He needed to know if Jung-rok had also picked up on that lingering, unsettling note.
In response, Jung-rok slowly nodded, his eyes fixed on Jung Yoon, a silent acknowledgment of their shared suspicion.
He then added, his voice a low murmur, “He also said that guy hasn’t been here in quite a while.”
The confirmation from Jung-rok solidified Jung Yoon’s growing conviction that something was amiss.
The casual remark of the villager, seemingly harmless at the time, now felt like a calculated lie, designed to deflect attention.
“That’s right. He said it’s been a long time…”
Jung Yoon repeated, his voice trailing off as he mentally connected the dots.
The pieces of the puzzle were now forming a coherent, albeit sinister, image.
“But then… it could really be that he just went to see Jung Yong-jun. And simply overlapping vacation days isn’t enough to link him to Jung Yong-baek… there doesn’t seem to be any other suspicious activity.”
Han-gyeol, ever the pragmatic analyst, offered a counter-argument, a cautious attempt to prevent premature conclusions.
He was trying to bring them back to objective facts, to avoid jumping to conclusions based on circumstantial evidence.
Clack, tap.
The continuous sound of a keyboard clattering came through the speaker, a distant reminder of Han-gyeol’s persistent work.
“Both of them went through a lot during the last investigation when they were implicated as suspects. Because of that, Jung Yong-jun’s condition worsened, and the investigating officer was even sued. Honestly, I’m wondering how this is any different from last time; it feels a bit off.”
Han-gyeol’s voice, though professional, carried a subtle note of frustration, a weariness born from past mistakes and the lingering shadow of public scrutiny.
He was reminding them of the very real consequences of unchecked suspicion, of the need for absolute certainty before casting blame.
Jung Yoon fell silent, the uncomfortable truth of Han-gyeol’s words sinking in.
It wasn’t wrong.
Mistakes easily made when fixating on a suspect always began this way—with a premature conviction, a narrowing of perspective that excluded other possibilities. Jung Yoon closed his eyes tightly, a brief, silent struggle against the inherent human tendency to seek easy answers.
He quickly pulled himself out of the swamp of prejudice, his resolve hardening.
He would not repeat past errors.
“Can we see Jung Yong-baek’s full vacation record since he joined the company?” Jung Yoon asked, his voice decisive, a clear shift in his investigative strategy.
He wanted a complete picture, a comprehensive overview that might reveal patterns or anomalies beyond the immediate incident.
“I’ll request an additional warrant,” Han-gyeol responded promptly, his efficiency a welcome contrast to the swirling uncertainties.
“Once you get it, compare it immediately with Jung Yong-jun’s overnight leave records. If there are any overlapping dates, mark them separately.”
Jung Yoon instructed, laying out the next steps with precision.
He was now operating with a clear, methodical approach, determined to uncover any hidden connections between the brothers.
“Yes. Oh, and about those scissors—the tool used for body mutilation. It’s quite commonly used. It’s inexpensive, so the village bought them in bulk, and every household apparently has one. So, it will be difficult to identify it by that.”
Han-gyeol delivered the information with a slight sigh of disappointment, acknowledging the dead end this particular line of inquiry had become.
It was a common tool, readily available, offering no unique identifier.
“How many left-handed people are there?”
Jung Yoon’s mind, ever analytical, moved to another potential identifier.
The method of the crime, the precision of the mutilation, might hint at a specific hand dominance.
“That… wouldn’t it be better for you seniors to check directly? It’s not something that would be recorded, anyway.”
Han-gyeol’s response was practical, acknowledging the limitations of his desk-bound investigation.
Jung Yoon readily agreed to Han-gyeol’s answer, nodding his head.
It was a valid point; some details required direct observation, a personal touch.
He decided he needed to confirm with the Yong-jun and Yong-baek brothers first.
Just as he was about to hang up, thinking their call had concluded, Han-gyeol’s voice came through the speaker, which had only been emitting keyboard sounds.
“Ah, right. But… Jung Yong-jun doesn’t seem to be left-handed.”
Han-gyeol exclaimed, as if he’d just remembered something important, his voice rising in pitch.
The seemingly minor detail, delivered with a casual urgency, struck Jung Yoon like a bolt of lightning.
Jung Yoon’s eyes widened, a sudden shock rippling through him.
He froze, eyes wide, as if he’d been hit over the head, momentarily stunned by the unexpected revelation.
This was a crucial piece of information, a potential game-changer.
“I received a report mid-call and immediately rang the nurse. She said she saw him eat with his right hand. And he held a pen with his right hand during examinations. …Of course, she said this was also a fragmented memory and not definitive. And some people write with their right hand but use scissors or other things with their left. Still, I thought it might be useful information, just in case.”
Han-gyeol explained, his voice more cautious now, adding the necessary caveats.
While not definitive, it was a strong lead, a potential key to narrowing their suspect pool.
“She didn’t see him use his left hand at all?”
Jung Yoon’s voice was strained, the implications of this detail weighing heavily on him.
If Yong-jun was indeed right-handed, it cast serious doubt on his ability to commit certain aspects of the crime, particularly the meticulous mutilation, if it required a left-handed perpetrator.
At Jung Yoon’s question, Han-gyeol let out a short click of his tongue, a sound of mild exasperation at the limitations of indirect inquiry.
“No. She doesn’t remember him doing so. As for the rest of the people, well, it seems you’ll have to check directly. My opinion is that it would be best for you to observe them in person. It’s not something that would be recorded, so I have limitations in finding that out.”
Han-gyeol’s pragmatic advice resonated with Jung Yoon.
This wasn’t a detail they could find in official records; it required first hand observation.
“Understood. Good work.”
Jung Yoon concluded, a new sense of urgency propelling him.
***
“Well, all I do is sit here, type on the keyboard, and make calls. You two on the field are the ones working hard. Our section chief says to eat whatever you want and send the receipts. But is there anything to eat there?”
Han-gyeol chuckled, his voice echoing in the confined space of the car, a lighthearted counterpoint to the grim details they’d been discussing.
The continuous tapping of keys could be heard, a rhythmic underscore to Han-gyeol’s words.
Jung Yoon clicked his tongue, a faint smile touching his lips despite himself, thinking he should hang up, sensing Han-gyeol’s busy movements and the need to let him return to his tasks.
“Barely anything. We’d be lucky if they don’t sprinkle salt on it. …Now, let’s hang up. You should take a break while you work too.”
Jung Yoon said, a genuine concern for Han-gyeol well-being coloring his voice.
He knew the relentless nature of their work, and the importance of self-care.
“Yes, you two as well. Hanging up.”
Han-gyeol’s polite farewell was followed by a click.
The screen went dark, and silence once again filled the car, a profound stillness settling after the buzz of the phone call.
Jung Yoon subtly looked up at Jung-rok, who remained quiet, his profile stark against the rain-streaked window.
Jung-rok, leaning back against the glass with his arms crossed, his posture rigid and unyielding, scoffed the moment their eyes met, a fleeting, almost imperceptible smirk playing on his lips.
Jung Yoon’s brow furrowed simultaneously, a familiar annoyance bubbling up.
“Why? What are you trying to pick a fight about now?”
Jung Yoon challenged, anticipating Jung-rok’s teasing.
“Take a break while you work? How thoughtful of you.”
Jung-rok mimicked Jung Yoon’s tone, his voice laced with a subtle sarcasm, a playful jab at Jung Yoon’s perceived sentimentality.
“I think that’s a polite thing to say to a colleague,” Jung Yoon defended, a hint of exasperation in his voice.
He genuinely believed his words to Han-gyeol were simply professional courtesy.
“Why don’t you say it to me?”
Jung-rok pressed, his eyes twinkling with mischief.
“Are you a baby? What do you mean, ‘say it to me or not say it to me’? If you don’t like it, just take a permanent break then.”
Jung Yoon snapped back, a flash of irritation in his eyes.
He found Jung-rok’s playful taunting to be an unwelcome distraction.
“Ah, so I’m not even a colleague, is that it?”
Jung-rok’s tone was laced with exaggerated hurt, a dramatic sigh accompanying his words.
Jung Yoon flinched, a flicker of guilt crossing his face at the overly sarcastic tone.
Was it like that?
He lowered his gaze, his eyes darting around, internally reviewing his interactions with Jung-rok. It felt like it…
Jung Yoon, feeling a prick of guilt, subtly raised his evasive gaze.
“Indeed.”
Jung-rok leaned completely to the side, his posture casual, almost defiant, wearing a terribly unruly expression.
Jung Yoon scratched his forehead in embarrassment, trying to think of an excuse, to articulate the nuance of his feelings.
It’s not like that…
He sighed, feeling tired, and Jung-rok interrupted him in that very moment, sensing his internal struggle.
“Because we’re not just any ordinary acquaintances. I couldn’t see you as just a colleague. I understand why you might feel that way, but I’m still a little hurt.”
Jung-rok’s voice was softer now, tinged with a surprising vulnerability, a playful acknowledgment of their evolving bond.
Jung-rok, feigning innocence as if he hadn’t just been sarcastic, lowered his eyes demurely and placed both hands over his chest, adopting a mock-sincere pose.
He pouted his lips slightly, tilting his head. It was an over-the-top display of mock hurt, a caricature of a newlywed expressing disappointment, yet it was delivered with such charming audacity that Jung Yoon couldn’t help but crack a faint, amused smile.
The absurdity of the situation, the unexpected shift in Jung-rok’s demeanor, momentarily broke the tension.
“Team Leader, have you ever had such curiosity?”
Jung Yoon asked, a mischievous glint in his eye, a subtle deflection from their personal banter.
“What are you talking about?”
Jung-rok’s expression quickly changed, his eyes sharpening as he looked at Jung Yoon, sensing a new, intriguing direction in the conversation.
Thud.
That’s when the sound of bones cracking could be heard from somewhere, a subtle pop as Jung-rok adjusted his posture, his body language shifting to one of renewed attention.
“Like, ‘If you hit someone on a rainy day, will there really be no dust?’ Or, ‘Will it really be like that regardless of the location?’ – those classic curiosities, you know?”
Jung Yoon said with a faint smile, his eyes sparkling with a playful challenge. He was testing Jung-rok, drawing him into a game of wits.
“Well. No, I haven’t, and I don’t think I ever will.”
Jung-rok replied, a dry amusement in his voice, attempting to feign disinterest.
“No? I think you have, though?”
Jung Yoon retorted with a knowing smile as soon as he finished speaking, his confidence unwavering.
Jung-rok also smiled back at Jung Yoon, a genuine grin spreading across his face, acknowledging Jung Yoon’s keen perception.
Then, without a moment’s pause, he replied firmly, his voice devoid of any pretense.
“No, I was raised properly.”
“I have no idea what being raised properly has to do with that,” Jung Yoon stated, genuinely perplexed by the sudden non sequitur.
“I was taught that hitting and such things are bad. As you know, my father is a police officer.”
Jung-rok explained, his voice taking on a serious tone, a subtle shift from their playful banter.
He blinked deeply, as if to say, “You know that, right?” a subtle reminder of his background and upbringing.
“Team Leader, I heard all about how you were disciplined for beating up a gangster in Gangnam right before you came to the cold case team. They say that the gangster is still hospitalized, right? There are also rumors that you took on the cold case team to make up for that incident.”
Jung Yoon countered, a smirk playing on his lips, revealing that he was well aware of Jung-rok’s less-than-pristine past.
The rumor mill, it seemed, had been quite effective.
“Beat them up? What beat them up? That was discipline. I taught him. The right way to live… well. And I didn’t create the cold case team for such impure reasons. This is the truth.”
Jung-rok protested, his voice a mix of indignation and a touch of defensiveness.
He attempted to reframe the incident as a moral lesson, a subtle attempt to justify his actions, and vigorously denied the rumors about his motivations for joining the cold case team.