Joker (2)
The first thing that assaulted our eyes upon opening the door wasn't the brutally sprawled corpse or the shattered household items scattered everywhere. Every wall except the ceiling was smeared with red handprints, like the work of some modern abstract artist. At the end of dozens of bloodstained prints trailed a young woman slumped forward, head bowed. Her skin had already turned a bluish hue—no need to check; she'd been dead for hours.
"Wh-what the hell happened here? And all these bloody handprints..."
Lee Gyu-cheol bit his lip, swallowing a groan that threatened to escape.
Stepping further into the room, the metallic tang of blood thick in the air stung our noses. The victim appeared to be in her late twenties to early thirties. She lay there in her underwear, her body bearing stab and slash wounds in over ten places. Wounds like writhing earthworms scarred her shoulders and thighs, etched like graffiti. Beside the body, its owner's white nightgown lay pitifully crumpled.
"This is horrific. It's like the killer was... what, playing around?"
"Yeah. Exactly like the bastard was toying with her."
The beat cops and Lee Gyu-cheol stared at me in shock, unable to find the right word. Ignoring their gazes, I bent down toward the body. Pressing lightly on the corpse's muscles with gloved hands, they were rigid. Rigor mortis had set in at least six hours ago. The body's half-turned eyes were squeezed shut, as if desperately refusing to see something, with a bloodied towel discarded in front.
I straightened up with a low sigh.
"Hyungnim... what do you mean, 'toying'?"
"This fucker could've killed her in one go but instead carved her up slowly with the knife, watching the whole process. Like a kid plucking wings off a dragonfly and giggling about it."
"...What?!"
The single bed still bore the imprint of where someone had lain.
"Locks on these multi-family units are shit. The perp picked the door easy and woke the sleeping victim. Then gagged her screaming mouth and herded her toward the wall."
Lee Gyu-cheol's eyes flicked to the blood-soaked towel on the floor and the wall splattered with especially heavy droplets.
"Gagged her to stifle screams, then stripped her. At that point, she probably sensed something awful coming but not death. Or more precisely, she fought desperately because she didn't want to die."
"...What do you mean?"
Through the victim's half-exposed face, her tightly shut eyes were visible. The muscles around them were still contracted, clenched so hard.
"About 40% of people die with their eyes open. Even those who close them relax post-mortem before rigor sets in, so eyelids often lift. But this body..."
Everyone's eyes turned to the corpse.
"She kept them shut right up to the end, refusing to look at the killer's face."
"...That means!"
"Autopsy will confirm, but it looks like instantaneous rigor. She was signaling to the end she had no intention of reporting him. ...See the bruising around her eyes?"
"Yes."
"...The bastard pried her eyes open by force, making her look at his face."
"Why the fuck would he do that?!"
Lee Gyu-cheol's breath came in harsh bursts.
"To instill perfect terror. No matter if you report or not, fight or whatever—you're dying today. He wanted her to feel that dread."
"That psycho fuck!"
The victim's dozen slashes, drained of blood now, stabbed painfully at our eyes.
"Gagged and blind, she crawled away on her belly, and he chased, swinging leisurely. Normal folks never experience knife wounds in a lifetime. Instinctively clutching her spurting blood, those handprints smeared everywhere are from that. ...And look at the window over there?"
The semi-basement multi-family unit's lone window stood half-open. The chill we'd felt entering might've been wind from there. Even the cheap aluminum window bars were caked in blood.
"Eyes shut, she groped her way to that window. Desperate to get away from him. She knew the bars were there normally, but in that shock, probably didn't register. By then, he'd removed the gag. She couldn't scream anymore, and he was curious what she'd say facing death."
A blood-soaked towel lay under the window, with long streaks of handprints below.
I pictured him pressing his ear to her dying lips.
"Blood on the bars shows she spent considerable time there before death. He watched and enjoyed it. Then for some reason—maybe wary of passersby—he dragged her back here, to where he first struck."
I tried to stay detached, but my voice cracked.
"Or maybe he just wanted to see her worm toward the window again."
"...!"
After a stunned silence, pale-faced Lee Gyu-cheol spoke.
"Grudge from a lovers' quarrel? Nothing else explains this cruelty!"
"Could be. Keep all possibilities open."
I said it to him—and myself. This case wasn't in my memories, so a fresh perspective was essential.
I clapped the slack-jawed beat cop on the shoulder.
"Time of first discovery?"
"Uh? Oh, yes! Today at 1:16 p.m., and the 112 call at 1:28 p.m."
He snapped to, checking his notepad.
"Who reported?"
"Lady from the second floor. We've secured her, but statements look tough. Severe trauma."
Now I recalled the middle-aged woman in the ambulance upon arrival, pupils dilated under a blanket, breathing ragged. No wonder—for a cop, it was shocking; for her, first witness...
"Forensics notified?"
"Yes, right after Gangcheon Station report."
"They should be here soon..."
Checking my watch, a black van with KCSI markings pulled up outside the window. Through the half-basement glass, I saw forensics in coveralls, cameras, and scanners.
"We're done here. Gyu-cheol, got enough scene photos?"
"Yes."
His face still stiff, he murmured.
* * *
"That girl worked at a bar, sure, but she wasn't the type to have enemies."
"You said you went to her room that afternoon—what for?"
The middle-aged woman's face, still ashen, twisted in horror at the memory, breaths coming short. Lee Gyu-cheol beside me hit record.
My usual partner was Detective Kim Gwang-il, but for this, I brought Gyu-cheol. We'd done initial scene together, and his cool, calm nature might yield clues.
"Sir, you see these places—everyone's scraping by. Day labor, so rest days mean worrying about dinner. We lend and borrow a few tens of thousands to get by. That day, I went to borrow about fifty thousand."
Her shoulders shuddered as memory resurfaced.
"Door handle was busted. Thought it odd, called out—no answer. So I went in... I remember hitting 112, but after that, blank."
"Any idea about Na Su-mi's relationships? Men visiting?"
She tilted her head, then waved it off.
"No. She worked the bar but was surprisingly clean about that. No boyfriend, always saving money. After divorce, obsessed with finding her taken kid—lived frantically for it."
"Hear any screams that day?"
"No."
"Thanks. Call if anything comes up."
Heading out after the reporter chat.
"...Hyungnim. Doesn't seem grudge, affair, or robbery—her wallet had 520,000 won untouched."
"Brief what we have so far."
Leaning against B03's door, eyes closed.
"Victim: Na Su-mi, 32, female. Bar hostess, not full-time—called as needed. Off-call, odd jobs at local eateries. Has a 6-year-old; ex-husband has custody. No regular men besides customers. No visible sexual assault; autopsy pending."
No grudge, affair, money—yet savagely killed, savoring her death? First thought: psychopathic thrill kill. But no such cases in Gangcheon-gu.
"Footprints?"
"Forensics checked—no match in database. Probably sanded the soles."
He sighed, eyeing the room where white tape outlined the body.
"Limits here. Let's go."
"Where to?"
"National Forensic Service. Someone to meet."
* * *
The black Jeep roared down the road toward Sangcheon-gu. Quiet for Seoul, lined with old poles at the end.
"Hyungnim, body's already there—why visit in person?"
"Their backlog's chronic. Waiting for report? Who knows."
"But barging without formal request?"
"Hell no. That's why I got this bribe."
"What's that?"
I dangled the black convenience store bag before him.
That deep malice left on the body—this wasn't ordinary murder. Needed that forensic pathologist's knowledge.
* * *
"You know how many bodies come through daily? Not refusing—just in line! Can't cut just because you hassle!"
"I get it, but this is crucial!"
"Every body here has a story; every case matters."
Lee Gyu-cheol had been pleading with the early-30s wire-rimmed researcher for 30 minutes. Dark circles deep, he buried in files, avoiding eyes.
Gyu-cheol sighed long, glaring daggers at me—do something.
Should be time. Peering at the shut First Autopsy Room, the door cracked open.
"Do cops these days ignore procedure entirely?!"
A white-haired elderly man fixed us with cold eyes.