The stale air of the interrogation room seemed to thicken as Jung Yoon locked eyes with Park Chang-gyu.
An almost imperceptible smirk played on Park Chang-gyu’s lips, a testament to his perceived invincibility.
He straightened his tie, a practiced gesture of nonchalance, as if the weighty accusation hanging in the air was nothing more than a bothersome fly.
“Jung Yong-baek and I were, naturally, not in an intimate relationship,” Park Chang-gyu began, his voice smooth, almost melodic, “because Jung Yong-baek was a victim of sexual assault.”
He delivered the words with an unsettling calm, a disturbing detachment that chilled Jung Yoon to the bone.
It was a calculated deflection, a subtle manipulation designed to distance himself from any wrongdoing, to paint himself as an observer rather than a participant.
Jung Yoon’s gaze remained steady, unwavering, dissecting every nuance of Park Chang-gyu’s demeanor, searching for the cracks in his carefully constructed facade.
The initial dismissal, the casual chuckle, was a fleeting shield, a desperate attempt to maintain an illusion of control.
But Jung Yoon was prepared to shatter that illusion.
He leaned forward, his voice dropping to a near whisper, a stark contrast to Park Chang-gyu’s earlier pronouncements.
“Park Chang-gyu, your father, he cleaned up after you in various ways, didn’t he?”
The question hung in the air, a silent predator stalking its prey.
The effect was instantaneous, devastating. Park Chang-gyu’s carefully cultivated composure crumbled, his face contorting in a raw, unadulterated despair.
The mask of indifference shattered, revealing the raw vulnerability beneath.
It was a profoundly unsettling transformation, a stark reminder that even the most hardened individuals harbored hidden depths of pain.
Jung Yoon observed this dramatic shift, a strange mix of relief and disappointment washing over him.
The realization that Park Chang-gyu wasn’t a psychopath, that he possessed a conscience capable of experiencing such anguish, was, in a twisted way, a small victory.
It meant there was hope, however faint, for some semblance of justice.
The confession, the full, unadulterated truth, remained elusive, but the seed of doubt had been planted, the carefully constructed edifice of his denial had been irrevocably shaken.
With a silent nod, Jung Yoon rose, the echo of his whispered truth reverberating in the suddenly silent room.
The interview was over, but the pursuit of justice was far from it.
***
Outside the interrogation room, the fluorescent lights hummed with a monotonous drone, casting a sterile glow on the anxious faces gathered there.
Jung Rok, a figure of stoic patience, stood waiting, his hands casually tucked into his pockets.
As Jung Yoon emerged, the weight of the confrontation still heavy on his shoulders, he immediately turned to Jung Rok.
“That task I asked you about before I went in?” he queried, a subtle urgency in his voice.
Jung Rok, ever the pragmatist, responded with a weary sigh, a hint of exasperation lacing his tone.
“Do you think warrants are like coffee from a vending machine, Jung Yoon?” he quipped, the sarcasm heavy in the air.
Jung Yoon, unfazed by the playful jab, clarified his request.
“I need a warrant,” he explained, his gaze intense, “to check something marked in Jung Yong-baek’s notebook.”
He then opened the small notebook, its pages filled with a lifetime of thoughts and observations.
There, at the very end, was a crude, almost childlike drawing, accompanied by a cryptic hint, written in a faint, almost illegible hand.
It was a clue, a whisper from the past, that held the potential to unlock the secrets of a devastating crime.
Recognizing the complex bureaucratic hurdles involved in obtaining a warrant, Jung Yoon bypassed Jung Rok and turned his attention to Gi Gyeong-wi, (Investigator Gi) who was nearby.
“Investigator Gi, could you help me with this request?” he asked, a respectful deference in his tone. Gi Gyeong-wi, a seasoned veteran of countless investigations, nodded curtly.
“It’s just work, Detective Jung, not a favor,” he responded, his voice gruff but not unkind.
He then turned to Seo Hyeong-sa, a mischievous glint in his eye, and added, “Seo Hyeong-sa, you coming along? You’re easily manipulated, so you’ll be good company.”
A ripple of muted laughter spread through the small group, momentarily breaking the tension that permeated the precinct.
The wheels of justice, slow and deliberate, were finally beginning to turn.
Later, amidst the muted hum of the police station, Jung Yoon found himself reflecting on his encounter with Park Chang-gyu.
A sliver of disappointment lingered, a quiet ache that he hadn’t managed to extract a full, unreserved confession.
Yet, a peculiar solace settled over him.
If Park Chang-gyu possessed a conscience, however deeply buried, then the whisper of his father’s involvement, the knowledge that he had been protected by a network of lies, would undoubtedly gnaw at him, inflicting a profound, agonizing pain.
And that, Jung Yoon mused, was enough.
He hadn’t harbored any naive illusions of genuine remorse from a man who had remained stubbornly silent in the face of such profound suffering.
The battle for a confession might have been lost, but a different kind of justice, a moral reckoning, was now well underway.
A heavy heart weighed on Jung Yoon as he considered Jung Yong-baek’s family.
Had he fulfilled their wish?
Had he truly conveyed the depths of their son’s suffering to Park Chang-gyu?
He had consulted with them, seeking their consent to reveal certain painful truths, but he had been unable to seek the consent of the deceased, Jung Yong-baek himself, for potentially “defaming” him to provoke Park Chang-gyu.
The ethical dilemma gnawed at him, a constant reminder of the delicate balance between pursuing justice and respecting the dignity of the deceased.
Jung Rok, ever the pillar of unwavering support, sensing Jung Yoon’s internal struggle, offered a reassuring voice. “You did enough,” he said, his voice gentle yet firm.
“Further pushing wouldn’t have helped our case.”
His words were a balm, a quiet affirmation that Jung Yoon had done all he could within the confines of his professional duty.
The weight of the encounter, the raw emotions it had stirred, became almost unbearable.
Jung Yoon found himself confessing the difficulty of speaking such “ugly truths,” the sheer effort it had taken to endure the discomfort for what he believed was his responsibility.
And then, something unexpected happened.
As his gaze met Jung Rok’s, a strange phenomenon occurred.
His pent-up emotions, held captive for so long, surged forth like a burst dam, a torrent of unexpressed feelings pouring out.
It was a peculiar sensation, a break in his usual self-control.
He usually viewed Jung Rok as distinct from his romantic partner, a professional colleague with whom he maintained a clear boundary.
Yet, in moments of profound vulnerability, in the face of shared burdens, that professional guard seemed to dissipate, revealing a deeper connection, a comforting intimacy that transcended their professional relationship.
Jung Rok, with an intuitive understanding that went beyond words, sensed Jung Yoon’s exhaustion.
He didn’t press for further details, didn’t demand a more articulate explanation for the sudden emotional outpouring.
Instead, with a playful tenderness that belied the seriousness of their work, he ruffled Jung Yoon’s hair, a small, comforting gesture.
Then, with a casual ease, he slung an arm over Jung Yoon’s shoulder, gently steering him away from the oppressive atmosphere of the interrogation room.
“The warrant validity review schedule is out,” he announced, his tone matter-of-fact, yet with an underlying current of shared responsibility.
The news, while expected, brought with it a fresh wave of weariness.
Jung Yoon grumbled, a low, guttural sound of frustration. He wished Park Chang-gyu would just confess, sparing them the tedious, arduous process of further legal battles.
The upcoming review meant a mountain of preparations, a deluge of reports to write, all designed to ensure the evidence they had painstakingly gathered would be deemed useful, admissible in court.
His mind, a whirlwind of legal jargon and strategic calculations, raced ahead, already anticipating the endless hours of work that lay ahead.
Suddenly, Jung Rok’s voice cut through Jung Yoon’s racing thoughts, a nonsensical suggestion that momentarily stunned him into silence.
“They say everyone has to gather… should we just run away?” he quipped, a mischievous twinkle in his eye.
Jung Yoon stared at him, unblinking, his expression unreadable. Jung Rok, momentarily flustered by the unexpected silence, awkwardly forced a smile, muttering, “Just a joke.”
But then, to Jung Rok’s surprise, Jung Yoon responded, his voice flat, devoid of emotion.
“Should we?”
The unexpected reply made Jung Rok stop in his tracks, his eyes widening in disbelief.
Jung Yoon, witnessing Jung Rok’s bewildered expression, clarified, “I was just saying that.”
A faint, emotionless laugh escaped Jung Yoon’s lips. Jung Rok, recovering from his surprise, replied, “I know,” a hint of amusement returning to his voice.
Jung Rok, now fully embracing his playful demeanor, dramatically clung to Jung Yoon, feigning exaggerated shock.
“You surprised me so much! I thought you’d become a completely different person!” he whined, rubbing his cheek against Jung Yoon’s head, then clinging to his back.
The brief moment of emotional release, the fleeting sense of connection, instantly vanished, replaced by a renewed wave of exhaustion.
Jung Yoon regretted his comment, his earlier vulnerability now replaced by a lingering sense of weariness, tripled by Jung Rok’s exasperating antics.
He trudged back to the office, the image of Jung Rok’s playfully clinging form still vivid in his mind, the brief respite from his burdens now a distant memory.
Any feeling of Jung Rok being helpful vanished instantly.
Back at his desk, the quiet hum of the fluorescent lights provided a stark contrast to the storm brewing within Jung Yoon’s mind.
He pulled out the crime scene photos, laying them out meticulously, each image a haunting reminder of the brutality they were investigating.
He then spread out the printouts detailing Park Chang-gyu’s movements, a intricate web of timestamps and locations.
Finally, he brought out the DNA information from the National Forensic Service, a testament to the meticulous work of the forensic team.
He knew Park Chang-gyu was clever, a master manipulator, and that they needed to be prepared, thoroughly, for every possible contingency.
He gritted his teeth, a phantom image of Park Chang-gyu’s smug smile from earlier flashing before his eyes, fueling his resolve.
As daylight faded, giving way to the artificial glow of the overhead lights, a creeping anxiety began to settle over Jung Yoon.
They hadn’t found sufficient evidence, not yet, to truly corner Park Chang-gyu.
Without it, there was a high chance he could be released without detention, a grim possibility fueled by concerns about flight risk or his considerable social standing.
Even arguing for evidence destruction, a formidable challenge in itself, was unlikely to sway a judge when dealing with a lawyer from a major law firm, a man with powerful connections and a network of highly skilled legal professionals at his disposal.
The mounting anxiety was a heavy weight on his chest, a constant reminder of the ticking clock.
All they could do now was wait, agonizingly, for the fingerprint results from the scissors and the notebook, those crucial pieces of evidence they had entrusted to the forensic team.
They also awaited the bloodstain analysis from the National Forensic Service, the final puzzle piece that could definitively link Park Chang-gyu to the heinous crime.
Just then, the silence of the office was shattered by the shrill ring of Jung Rok’s desk phone.
Jung Rok, who had been sitting intently at his desk, engrossed in reviewing case files, immediately picked up the receiver, his movements swift and decisive.
Jung Yoon, his nerves frayed, rose so quickly that his chair nearly toppled over, a testament to his heightened anticipation.
Jung Rok, holding the phone to his ear, extended his free hand, a silent command to stop Jung Yoon’s impulsive movement.
“Yes? Okay. Fax it over right away. Good work.”
His words, though clipped and professional, held a subtle undercurrent of excitement, a hint of something significant.
Jung Rok tossed the phone down, the clatter echoing in the suddenly expectant silence of the office.
Jung Yoon, his gaze fixed on Jung Rok, waited with bated breath.
Jung Rok, a wide grin spreading across his face, snapped his fingers in front of Jung Yoon, the sound sharp and attention-grabbing.
“From Jung Yong-baek’s notebook, we only found Jung Yong-baek, Jung Yong-jun, and Jung Yong-gil,” he announced, his voice tinged with a mix of disappointment and triumph.
“There’s nothing useful to extract since those are the only ones that could be analyzed.”
Jung Yoon, who had instinctively turned towards the fax machine like Pavlov’s dog, a conditioned response to the mention of incoming information, looked back at Jung Rok with a bewildered expression.
The news, though not entirely unexpected, still left him with a sense of anti-climax.
Jung Rok, having followed Jung Yoon’s gaze, watched his sudden solemnity with a flicker of interest, then settled comfortably into Han Gyeol’s empty chair, a picture of relaxed confidence.
“But,” Jung Rok continued, a theatrical pause before delivering the bombshell, “from the scissors, we found one ambiguous fingerprint.”
He then turned on Han Gyeol’s computer, his fingers flying across the keyboard, naturally entering the password, a testament to his familiarity with the office equipment.
Jung Yoon let out a wry chuckle at the familiar, almost habitual action, a small moment of levity amidst the escalating tension.
Jung Rok, pulling up a screen, looked at Jung Yoon, his expression screaming excitement, a contagious energy radiating from him.
“It’s an exact match with the fingerprint found here.”
The screen Jung Rok displayed showed photos of an unidentified fingerprint, a ghost of a mark collected from the vicinity when Kang Sang-ho and other victims had been discovered in the past.
At the time, it had been a frustrating dead end, difficult to analyze, and even when analyzed, no matches had been found, rendering the crucial evidence useless.
Jung Yoon felt as if his heart had stopped, his gaze fixed blankly on the screen, the implications of Jung Rok’s words slowly sinking in, a cold dread washing over him.
Just then, the fax machine let out a sharp “beep” sound, a jarring intrusion into the charged silence.
Then, the familiar whirring of the machine could be heard, and the blank paper, inserted moments before, was slowly pulled into the fax machine’s hungry maw.
Jung Yoon and Jung Rok’s eyes were fixed on the machine, their gazes unwavering, a shared anticipation crackling in the air.
After a moment, the blank paper emerged, no longer blank, but densely filled with black ink, a mosaic of forensic data.
“It wasn’t just due to technology that their identities couldn’t be determined back then, huh… How can the senior officers even sleep, feeling this wronged?”
Jung Rok feigned a deeply regretful expression, his theatricality a stark contrast to the gravity of the situation.
Jung Yoon scoffed in response, a dry, humorless sound, then turned his gaze to the printout, his eyes scanning the lines of text.
As he examined the document, his eyes sharpened, his brain working furiously to process the information.
His wildly thumping heart, which had been pounding in rhythm with the sound of the fax machine, remarkably calmed as he reached the final period of the sentence, a sense of grim satisfaction settling over him.
“It wasn’t that they couldn’t find it; it was that it didn’t exist.”
He read aloud, his voice low, almost a whisper.
“Because it was before he got his ID card.”
A new layer of understanding clicked into place, a horrifying realization of the depth of the deception.
“And after he got it, he exploited Jung Yong-jun.”
The final words were a hammer blow, solidifying the sickening truth.
Jung Yoon moved from his spot, a renewed sense of purpose propelling him forward.
There wasn’t much time left, a precious few hours before the case was handed over to the prosecution.
Before that happened, there were things he absolutely wanted to hear with his own ears, answers he needed to extract directly from Park Chang-gyu.
He calculated the remaining time he had to confront Park Chang-gyu, the minutes ticking by like precious grains of sand, and then, with a newfound resolve, he stood up.
Just then, as if on cue, Jun-hyeok and Han Gyeol opened the office door and appeared, their faces bright despite their obvious exhaustion.
“Did anything come up?”
Jun-hyeok asked, his voice eager, his eyes searching Jung Yoon’s face for a sign of progress.
“Yeah, Detective Woo was right,” Han Gyeol chimed in, a triumphant grin spreading across his face.
“Ta-da!”
From the chief’s office in the back, Hyun-cheol, the chief of detectives, opened the door and came out, his face etched with urgency.
“What happened? Did anything come up?” he pressed, his gaze sweeping over the scene.
Jun-hyeok, avoiding Hyun-cheol’s insistent questions, pulled a ziplock bag from his pocket and raised it above his head, the transparent plastic catching the artificial light.
Jung Yoon’s gaze, drawn by the movement, naturally followed.
“That Park Chang-gyu bastard is a complete perverted maniac,” Jun-hyeok declared, his voice laced with disgust.
Something inside the transparent ziplock bag glimmered, reflecting the light in a disconcerting way.
Jung Yoon squinted slightly, then slowly lifted his eyelids, trying to discern the object.
The object inside the ziplock bag reflected again, sparkling, a chilling luminescence.
Jung Yoon closed and opened his eyes once more, now clearly focusing on the piece of evidence held before his face.
The name, slightly obscured by dried blood, was stark, undeniable: Jung Yong-baek.