JULY, 1989
“Police Officer Shin.” Superintendent Yoon’s voice was always just barely too loud, the sort of sound that after too much exposure could be equated to the ever familiar sound of Police Officer Cho’s chair dragging across the floor.
Sang-Hoon turned in his seat, tilting his head back so he could stare up at Superintendent Yoon. “Yes, sir?”
Superintendent Yoon looked haggard. His shoulders were slumped and the circles under his eyes were so dark they looked as if someone had painted them on. When Sang-Hoon had come into work this morning, Officer Lee had been seated at the front desk. He’d spent several minutes trying to engage Sang-Hoon in a seed-round of gossip about the man that the Superintendent and several high rank officers had spent all night interrogating. Sang-Hoon hadn’t said anything in response. He wasn’t entirely sure, even after years of seeing awful things, that there was a way to explain to someone that a man in the same building as them might have murdered a fourteen year old.
“He confessed,” Superintendent Yoon said. His tone was grim, but there was relief in the wrinkles around his eyes and the way the corner of his mouth twitched ever so slightly. “At around three in the morning last night.”
“Oh.” Sang-Hoon let out a sigh. “But he has an alibi for several of the previous murders, doesn’t he?”
Superintendent Yoon moved to collapse into the chair across the desk from Sang-Hoon. “Yes,” he said. “But that’s okay. We suspect he’s a copycat of the Gwanghae killer. At the very least, we caught the person who killed Kim Sun-Young. That’s enough, for now.”
It wasn’t enough, Sang-Hoon wanted to argue. It would never be enough, not when there were seven women whose killer still hadn’t been found.
He didn’t say anything.
“That is good,” Sang-Hoon agreed. “Was there something you needed from me, sir?”
“Ah, yes.” Superintendent Yoon looked sheepish. Sang-Hoon’s stomach was in knots. “We need to wait for Police Officers Yoo and Lim to come in to transfer him to the nearest prison. In the meantime, someone will need to guard the interrogation room that he’s in.”
Sang-Hoon shoved his hands into his lap, so that Superintendent Yoon wouldn’t see them shake.
“You want me to do that, then?”
“It would be appreciated.” Superintendent Yoon stood up, pushing the seat he had been in forward until it hit the side of the desk. “I’m going to go home and sleep. Just keep an eye on him, Police Officer Shin.”
“Right.” Sang-Hoon didn’t move until Superintendent Yoon had turned the corner. He took two deep breaths to calm himself and, in a moment of mind-numbing panic, fumbled around in his desk drawer until he found his nikka juzu. Sang-Hoon stared at the interconnected rings for a short moment before he shoved the beads in his pocket and stood.
The walk to the interrogation room was, at most, the length of five desks from where he normally sat, but it felt as if it took twenty minutes for Sang-Hoon to reach his destination.
In the end, he opened the door and stepped inside. The sound the metal frame made as it met with the door was a low screech that seemed to echo the feeling of panic climbing into Sang-Hoon’s throat.
The man seated at the table barely reacted. He stared at the wall, swaying ever so slightly back and forth.
Sang-Hoon clenched a hand around the beads in his pocket.
“Mister Yu?” He said. His voice shook. He cleared his throat. “Do you need water?”
Yu Sung-Ho turned to look at him, then. His eyes were blank. There was blood on his mouth.
“Mister Yu.” Sang-Hoon took a step closer before remembering what this man had done and took three steps back, until he was pressed against the door. The metal was cold. “You’re bleeding.”
“I didn’t.” Yu Sung-Ho’s voice seemed to come from far away. His face was directed towards Sang-Hoon, but his eyes looked through him, as if he were preparing himself for something that might follow Sang-Hoon through the door. “I didn’t.”
Sang-Hoon felt that he might regret asking, but the words, “you didn’t what?” tumbled out of him anyway.
“I didn’t kill her,” Yu Sung-Ho said. “I would never… I would never do that.”
If he weren’t already pressed against the door, Sang-Hoon would have backed up further. “You already confessed, Mister Yu. Four hours ago.”
“I didn’t,” Yu Sung-Ho said again. He stared at nothing. The blood on his lips cracked as he spoke, flaking red onto the chrome table he was handcuffed to. “I didn’t.”
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