What You Can’t See Still Exists
“The detective who cuffs the criminal’s hands will be up for a special promotion on the spot.”
At those words, the atmosphere in the conference room changed in an instant.
There had been no sign of annoyance, but there hadn’t been any blood heating the air either; the moment the bait of a special promotion appeared, the team’s enthusiasm flared to life.
The veteran detective who had been lounging with one leg hooked over the chair straightened his back. The detectives who had been listening with their arms crossed all at once let them fall.
For police, promotion was that important. It was tied to their livelihood. A higher rank meant a different pension in old age, and in the vertically structured police organization, rank also meant authority.
“All right. From here on, I’m going to share the materials transferred over from the Major Crimes Unit, so listen closely.”
Everyone sharpened their gaze and stared hard at the case files displayed on the screen.
“The so-called Northern Gyeonggi Homeless Serial Murder Case occurred first in Uijeongbu, then in Yangju, and third in Dongducheon. All of the victims were homeless people with no fixed residence, and the crimes mostly took place between 1:00 and 5:00 a.m., usually near sparsely populated riverbanks.”
The screen showed the victims’ mutilated bodies in naked, unflinching detail.
“The corpses don’t look great, but… weren’t they found pretty quickly?”
At one detective’s question, the chief detective nodded.
“The bodies were found in such remote places that nobody noticed them, and most of the victims had no family, or had long since cut ties with them, so no one filed proper missing-person reports.”
“The other homeless people around there probably didn’t think much of it either. Most of them are drifters anyway.”
With another nod, the chief continued the briefing.
“As you can see, most of the victims were strangled to death with some kind of cord.”
One detective studied the corpses closely.
“There aren’t any obvious signs of resistance.”
“There wouldn’t be. Most of the victims were completely drunk.”
“So he strangled people who were too drunk to fight back…”
From the corner, Song Tan, who had been sitting there with almost no presence at all, quietly raised his hand.
“Was there any sign of a hyoid bone fracture?”
“No. No fractures were found anywhere.”
Hearing that, Song Tan became certain of one thing.
This one’s used to killing.
Looking closely at the bodies in the photos, the pressure marks around the neck were staggeringly consistent, with almost no deviation at all.
He had strangled them by compressing only the carotid arteries, and there wasn’t even a hyoid fracture?
That wasn’t something just anyone could do.
“And now we come to the most infuriating part of this case.”
When the screen changed, another photo appeared.
“These are the items recovered at the scene.”
There were empty water bottles, discarded wet wipes, and some kind of transparent plastic bag whose purpose was impossible to tell.
“After killing the victims, the murderer took off their shoes and washed their feet. On top of that, he stuffed hundred-won coins into their pockets.”
“Excuse me…? He washed their feet?”
The detectives frowned and tilted their heads.
Even veteran officers had never heard of such a bizarre form of postmortem humiliation.
“The same pattern appeared in three victims… no, in all four bodies including the Pyeongtaek case. According to the profiler, this is the killer’s signature.”
A signature in a serial murder case.
In other words, a repeated act or element the perpetrator left behind to satisfy some psychological need.
“So he isn’t even after money. He just strangles them and washes their feet? What the hell is he trying to do?”
The detectives were confused.
They couldn’t make heads or tails of the killer’s intent.
“Isn’t he just some psycho who enjoys killing people?”
“Then he’d only need to kill them. Why wash their feet? He even bothered preparing wet wipes.”
“I don’t know… maybe he can’t stand foot odor?”
“You’re a damn detective. Is that really what you want to say?”
“Ahem. Sorry.”
As the room grew a little chaotic, the chief detective rapped the desk to pull everyone back into line.
“The bigger problem is that four people have already been murdered and we still haven’t identified a suspect. There are no CCTV cameras, no witnesses near the crime scenes, and he didn’t leave even a trace of DNA.”
The chief detective spread out a map marked with the dates and locations of the attacks.
“The incidents up north happened with gaps of eighteen, twenty-two, and thirty-one days between them. And this Pyeongtaek case happened twenty-five days after the third one. According to the profiler, the killer isn’t impulsive; he’s the type who carries out murders under a strictly controlled plan.”
Finishing the briefing, the chief looked around the room.
“Where’s the largest concentration of homeless people in Annam?”
One detective answered.
“Annam Station. There are a few free meal centers there, and a cluster of homeless support facilities.”
“And after that?”
“There are also quite a few around Seongrak Underground Mall. I’ve seen them near Annam Peace Park too.”
Nodding, the chief detective checked the time once.
“All right. From now on, split up and stake out the homeless-heavy areas in our jurisdiction by team. If one team comes off shift, the next goes in immediately.”
“Until when?”
“What kind of question is that? Until we catch the killer, obviously.”
“No, but we don’t even know whether he’ll show up in Annam or not…”
“And if a murder happens in our jurisdiction while we sit around? Are you going to take responsibility for that?”
At the word responsibility, the detective whose mouth had already been hanging open took one look at the chief and shrank back.
“Let me say this again: this is a special order from the commissioner. If we fail to catch this bastard, we’re all screwed. So for the time being, let’s stay on high alert. Got it?”
“Yes, sir!”
“Team leaders, get your routes mapped out and report back to me immediately. Keep the Major Crimes situation room informed in real time too.”
“Understood.”
“Good. Let’s all just suffer a little.”
At the dismissal order, the detectives shuffled out of the conference room one by one.
Violent Crimes Team 1 office.
Sighs erupted from every corner.
“Another stakeout? And no clue when it’ll end? This is insane. I’m seriously about to get kicked out of my house at this rate.”
“My kid’s due any minute now. My wife’s belly keeps getting bigger, but… I’m already sick to death of asking my mother-in-law to cover for me every time.”
As the grumbles kept pouring out, one detective snorted.
“Still, they did say they’d give us special promotions.”
“Come on. We don’t even know if the killer’s coming to Annam. Might as well buy a lottery ticket. Ugh.”
“Even if he does show up, what are we supposed to do? We don’t know if the bastard’s a man or a woman, or how old he is. How the hell are we supposed to catch him? We’d have a better chance chasing a wanted criminal.”
One detective scratched his head hard.
“Damn it, this is nuts. We already have a mountain of backlogged cases.”
“Exactly. Special order from the commissioner or whatever—if we burn all our time here and then later get chewed out for being slow, they’ll say, ‘What the hell have you idiots been doing all this time?’ I can already hear it.”
While complaints flew back and forth, Team Leader Han Byung-woo opened the door and came in.
He shrugged off his jacket and hung it over the back of a chair, then clicked his tongue when he sensed the restless mood.
“Quit making those faces. You guys look like you’ve all got something stuck in your mouths.”
“Team Leader. Isn’t this honestly a bit much? You know better than anyone that we’re short on manpower and already cutting into our sleep just to get the work done.”
“I know. That’s why I negotiated and came back with something concrete. While you’re on stakeout, your existing cases won’t be penalized in performance evaluations, and they’ll reflect the maximum amount of night-duty pay.”
That eased some of the rising frustration.
The team leader slapped a map with his palm.
“Our Team 1 will focus on the area behind the station. If you spot anyone even slightly suspicious or any odd movement, report first and act second if you can. If the situation turns urgent and you don’t have the luxury, then use your own judgment.”
“Yes, sir.”
The Team 1 detectives answered in flat, half-dead voices.
Han Byung-woo pinned a sheet of paper to the whiteboard.
“Here’s the stakeout schedule. I assigned it in order of seniority, so don’t complain.”
On today’s stakeout list, the names of Lee Joo-seok and Song Tan stood out in bold.
Lee Joo-seok made a face like he’d bitten down on something rotten, but since it was based on seniority, he couldn’t really object.
“Haa, let’s go. Being stuck here is making me feel trapped.”
Lee Joo-seok grabbed his coat and stormed out, and Song Tan followed quietly behind him.
Smoking area on the rooftop.
“Special promotion, my ass. It’s a carrot hanging out of reach, and they still act like they’re doing us some huge favor.”
Lee Joo-seok exhaled a cloud of gray smoke and flicked ash off his cigarette with a rough snap.
“Wasn’t the special promotion supposed to go to the detective who catches the killer?”
“That’s only true after the fact. Major Crimes gets information we don’t. Once they identify a suspect, all the info will pour into that side only. You think I haven’t seen this kind of bullshit before?”
He shook his head as if he’d been burned too many times to be surprised.
“Just in case I’m not being clear, don’t get dazzled by the talk of special promotions or whatever and waste your energy on the wrong thing. Pretend to do the job, if you have to, and focus on our case. It’s not going to happen anyway.”
“I don’t think so.”
“What?”
Lee Joo-seok’s eye twitched. He tossed the cigarette butt away and stared at Song Tan.
“When we heard the briefing earlier, do you remember what the similarity was in the body-discovery sites?”
“That there was a river or stream nearby?”
“Why do you think the killer deliberately chose places like that?”
“At dawn, riverbanks are usually deserted. There are hardly any CCTV cameras either, so it’s easier to secure an escape route. Probably for that reason, right?”
“That’s not wrong, but it’s not the whole story.”
Lee Joo-seok’s expression hardened as he studied Song Tan.
For his usually quiet junior partner to suddenly start talking at length meant he’d picked up on something.
“Aside from the fact that there’s a river near the crime scene, there are two more unusual things.”
“And those are?”
“One, there’s a weir there. The other is that there’s a bridge—either a stone bridge or stepping-stones.”
Lee Joo-seok thought it over for a moment, then objected.
“Aren’t you forcing it a bit too much? And there wasn’t any bridge like that near the body found in Pyeongtaek.”
He acted uninterested, but Lee Joo-seok clearly remembered it.
The Pyeongtaek case also had a river, but there hadn’t been anything resembling a bridge.
“It’s not there because you can’t see it. That doesn’t mean it doesn’t exist.”
“What?”
Lee Joo-seok froze for a second, then parted his lips slightly.
“Don’t tell me…”
“There was a heavy rainfall in Pyeongtaek the day before the body was found.”
“The water level rose and the bridge got submerged?”
“Yes. After checking, there was a stone bridge there too.”
“So?”
“A place with a river near a homeless-dense district, plus a weir and a bridge existing at the same time. The only place in all of Annam that fits every one of those conditions is the stretch behind Annam Station—Annam Stream.”
“Huh…”
As Lee Joo-seok stared in disbelief, Song Tan lowered his voice.
“Most importantly, I think I can figure out exactly what kind of man the suspect is.”
The killer’s grotesque behavior toward the dead victims.
The consistency of the crime scenes.
Song Tan—no, No. 28—had already encountered a remarkably similar strange case in the Jianghu of his past life.