Joker (3)
Each step felt heavy. Most forensic pathologists who spent their days cooped up in the lab had the same look: pale faces, thick glasses, slightly hunched backs.
"Since when did this National Forensic Service become a place where cops can just barge in and throw their weight around?"
But this elderly man, with his ruddy face exhaling white breath laced with fury, was wrapped in muscles like steel, defying his age.
"The NFS belongs to the Ministry of the Interior and Safety, not the National Police Agency, and we're not here to take orders—we provide assistance. What the hell have you been doing, Su-cheol, that you can't even handle these jjapsae?"
"S-Sorry, Professor Kim! I kept telling them no, but..."
The young researcher in rimless glasses bowed his head, unable to meet anyone's eyes.
Jjapsae. The classic slur for Korean cops. Almost no one dared use it to an active-duty officer's face. The professor hasn't changed a bit. My nose tingled unexpectedly.
In my past life, Kim Chan-heon had always spoken his mind bluntly to everyone, no holds barred. In his younger days, he was even more prickly and commanding. After I lost my father and was lost in grief, this NFS forensic pathologist had been like a second dad to me.
Feared as the "NFS nutjob" for his stubborn streak and total disregard for superiors, he was the one adult I, dubbed the "Gangcheon Station nutjob," truly trusted and leaned on.
"You must be Kang Cheol-gu? Heard you're hot shit everywhere you go these days, so you think the NFS is a pushover too?"
"P-Professor!"
The young researcher grabbed Kim Chan-heon, while Gyu-cheol seized my arm. Knowing my temper well, Gyu-cheol leaned in and whispered urgently in my ear.
"Hyungnim, hold it together! You said we just had questions. We can't start a fight here...!"
"Looks like you didn't sleep last night either. Hell, from that face, I'd say at least 48 hours without a bed. Work's great, but ease up or it'll wreck your health."
I stepped closer with a smile. Gyu-cheol's jaw dropped, his grip going slack.
A promising med student, he'd lost his mother to a robbery-murder case during his pre-med years. Ignoring everyone, he'd chosen forensics. The NFS was his last bastion of faith, his final pride to protect.
"I'm not here to disrespect the NFS. But the dead need a voice, and you're the only one who can give it to them. That's why I had to be rude."
I bowed 90 degrees in apology. His eyes narrowed slightly.
'You have to talk to the bodies! Treat them as mere specimens, and you'll never hear their voices.' Words Professor Kim always hammered home.
"And this... Figured your throat's parched by now."
I pulled a bottle of water from the convenience store black plastic bag and handed it over. He eyed it curiously, unscrewed the cap—and his eyebrows twitched before he burst into roaring laughter.
"Hahaha! Kang Cheol-gu, eh? Kid knows his stuff. What're you waiting for, Su-cheol? Get Na Su-mi's body over here."
"B-But Professor, there's no TIO right now. Everyone's tied up with autopsies..."
"I'll handle it solo. It's not rocket science. Move it!"
As the young researcher bolted off, Gyu-cheol peeked into the bag. An empty soju bottle lay inside. His mouth agape, he glanced between me and the professor striding ahead.
* * *
His demeanor shifted. The rough laborer vibe from the construction site, the eccentric willingness to autopsy on a whim—all vanished in an instant.
Before the body, Kim Chan-heon's eyes closed gently. His neatly clasped hands silently prayed for the departed soul.
"Now, I'll listen to your voice."
With those quiet words, the scalpel in his hand danced with precision.
"H-Hyungnim, is that even possible? Even if she's already dead, not a drop of blood!"
"Pure skill? He's the best in the country. Big hospitals kept throwing professorships at him, but he never glanced their way—stayed loyal to the NFS."
"How do you know all that, hyungnim?!"
Gyu-cheol's stunned groan echoed from behind the autopsy room glass. Had 30 minutes passed? Professor Kim approached, frowning and shaking his head.
Arms crossed, gaze downcast, his jaw trembled faintly.
"...How'd it go? Any leads on the perp?"
Gyu-cheol couldn't bear the heavy silence and asked cautiously.
"...Hmm. Better to go over the wounds together."
The professor's once-confident voice quivered faintly as he flipped through the autopsy charts.
"Seventeen lacerations total. Weapon: sharp blade—call it a knife for simplicity. Stabbed the victim 17 times, but not blood loss from those. Direct cause: see the postmortem lividity on the neck?"
His finger pointed to the mottled bruises below the throat.
"Mutilated the body first, then strangled last. Meaning the victim was alive, bleeding from 17 wounds, feeling every agony wide awake."
"......!"
With a deep breath, Professor Kim chugged the soju from the water bottle I'd given him.
"Too early to be shocked. A straight stab—you never know where the blood sprays when you pull out. But slashes like these? You can control the flow."
His pen hand mimed a stab in the air, then twisted outward.
"Look at the wounds—all radiate from inside out, following the grain of vessels and skin like water carving stone."
"...You mean!"
"Right. Can't say for the actual scene, but theoretically..."
He took another swig, a low sigh escaping.
"Not a drop splashed on the killer during those 17 wounds. And every cut? Skirts lethal arteries by a hair, uniform depth of 0.8 to 1 cm. ...Your body? Met the devil."
Ting! The emptied bottle sailed into the autopsy wall. No one dared breathe loud.
"...Not like you, Professor."
His startled eyes met mine.
'Me? I uncover gods or devils from corpses alone!' That's what he'd bellow, drunk and wild, gripping my shoulders.
His lips curved up slowly.
"Tch tch. You sure know how to poke me. Fine. Let's talk perp."
Shaking his head fiercely, he shed his jacket and stood. Blue veins bulged on his hands, defying his age, as he flipped charts.
"Physical profile first. Wound placement: killer's about 175 cm, right-handed. Blade's razor-sharp—surgical scalpel to butcher or fishing knife. Nowadays, even meat cleavers are custom-made. Psychologically..."
His words halted; eyebrows twitched.
"Hates blood splatter. Every step screams effort to stay clean. Obsession, really. If he hated it that much, why not strangle first? But the sequence says no."
"Hates getting blood on himself, but craves max terror and pain for the victim. That it?"
"Not that simple."
He shook his head at my question, grabbed a marker, and scrawled on the whiteboard like a criminology lecture.
"From what we've got: adult male. Male killers show overt violence. Started as a 'reaper type'—dismantling, stabbing—ended 'strangler.' Doesn't add up. Crimes have patterns, murders especially need consistency. Gave pain with blade, then painless end by strangling. No consistency. No..."
He rubbed his neck, setting the marker down quietly.
"Professor, what's that faint mark?"
Among the dozen-plus wounds, one oddity caught my eye. Barely visible without brighter lights—not a cut, more a trace.
"Ah, my bad—got so caught up in the dying message weirdness, forgot this."
Slapping his forehead, he enlarged the photo for me.
"Left side of the mouth, 5 cm faint trace. Not a laceration—looks like drawing with a pen or something. Like tattoo stencil or pre-op marking... Wait, you okay?"
"Cheol-gu hyungnim! You good?"
The 5 cm mouth mark and drawing. My mind blanked like a blunt blow to the head. Breath choked like strangulation. As I jerked my head back, Professor Kim and Gyu-cheol rushed over.
I'd stayed calm through devil talk, uniform wounds, deliberate prolonged suffering. But now nausea surged uncontrollably.
Exhaling long, I asked Professor Kim.
"...Professor. The most baffling part: lack of consistency, right?"
"Yeah, but you sure you're—"
"I'm fine. If this isn't the first case, can we profile the killer's psyche?"
"What? Not first...? You don't mean!"
"...Yes. If it's part of a serial killing, can we ID the pattern?"
"But this type's a first. I'd know if similar cases popped up—I'm the pathologist!"
"...Last year alone, over 60,000 missing adult reports in Korea. Over 500 unresolved."
"So you're saying."
Professor Kim swallowed hard, rising slowly. Rubbing his eyes, he sighed low.
"He targeted missings before, similar crimes. And if true, can we predict his pattern...?"
His eyes reddened in moments.
"If you're right, Korea's facing its worst serial killer ever. One that evolves through learning—the ultimate monster."