The Three Above and One Below, Part 3
The next day, as we emerged from the hotel breakfast, the police uncle who'd arrived ahead of us greeted us warmly. The case had been shelved long ago—probably assuming she'd returned to China—with no new leads to speak of. But there had been one odd incident around the time of her disappearance.
"Not sure if it's related, but right around the day she vanished, there was this fire. Three guys died in it."
He handed over a neatly organized sheet with photos and text. The blaze had happened at an address not far from the house where she'd lived back then. These days, with the industrial complex moving in, outsiders had flooded the area, and it had been upgraded to city status. But in those days, it was just the outskirts of a county.
"Fire started in the corner, and the smoke got to these three idiots passed out drunk. They inhaled it and that was that."
"People die from a fire this small?"
"They were construction workers, so they'd piled up materials in the corner. Turned into a big deal—or so they said. Who knows."
The human body was tough enough to survive catastrophic accidents, yet fragile enough to succumb to smoke from a minor blaze. He'd seen all sorts of bizarre deaths on the job, he said. Like how some survive falling off the same Han River bridge while others don't.
"These three who died—two Chinese guys and one Korean?"
"Nothing else happened around then."
"The building's still standing, right?"
"Owner was broke, so he just did a shaman ritual and minor remodel. Probably still there."
"Can't hurt to check it out first."
I tweaked our plan slightly. Instead of chasing down her old acquaintances from the factory records—which might waste days on dead ends—I'd follow my instincts. They rarely steered me wrong.
"Boss, what about yesterday's plan?"
"In this line of work, sometimes you gotta trust your gut and move first."
"Reeeally?"
Hyeon-a stretched dramatically, acting wiped out even though I'd done all the driving the day before. She fiddled with her camera, indifferent to our first stop. No guarantee we'd find the woman, and tracking traces could take time anyway. The guy who'd scarfed down the hotel breakfast seemed to agree. It'd been ten years, after all.
"Hop in the car. I'll call the owner and head straight there."
"Sure, I'll make the call."
We piled into the taxi with the uncle and headed to the address. The area had boomed into a city, but the neighborhood around it lagged behind, frozen in time. The fire had changed hands a few times since, and now an elderly couple lived there alone—no tenants. They didn't want the hassle of renters amid all the redevelopment rumors every election cycle. Made sense for folks their age.
"So why're you here at our place?"
"Looking for someone, sir!"
"Someone? Only us live here. Come on in."
We wouldn't have gotten far without the uncle trailing behind flashing his badge. They swung the gate open, figuring it was official business.
The moment my foot hit the courtyard, a sharp line jumped out at me. More distinct than the others, it snaked down the stairs to the semi-basement.
"Sir, anyone living down there?"
"Semi-basement's been storage forever. As long as no mold, we're good."
"Mind if we check it out...?"
"Go ahead."
No time for tea in the main house. I headed straight down the stairs. Farm tools and fertilizer bags cluttered the space right by the steps and below. A storage spot, plain and simple—or so it seemed. But that line connected straight to the back of the stairs.
"Boss, find something? We skipped the house—why here?"
"Hmm... Feels like we should bust open under these stairs. Got a pickaxe or anything?"
"Could borrow a cement breaker nearby, but the owner's the issue."
"We'll ask permission, obviously."
Up top, the old man chatted with the uncle, then looked startled at the mention of the missing person. The uncle must've briefed him on my "unique senses," and he seemed willing to roll the dice. Cops relied on gut feelings more than profiler tricks anyway, from his experience. With another body potentially dropping tomorrow, we couldn't waste time waiting for the perp to announce themselves at the scene.
"Drill's in the semi-basement—use that. Extension cord's inside."
"Thanks."
"No problem. Gotta help the badges. Heh."
The owner's straightforward vibe let us glove up and hook up power without fuss.
"Right here—awkward dead space under the stairs. Break through."
"Bottom step?"
It looked like a spot they'd sealed on purpose—tough to clean, dust piled up from the last few steps. Not suspicious at all. The uncle grabbed the drill himself. Experience told him what might be inside; he gauged the layout and bored in.
"Boss..."
"Call the cops, cordon off—no one's getting in. Don't want property values tanking."
"On it."
He'd sensed something the moment I bee-lined downstairs with that grim look, barking orders. His face fell too. Pacing the yard, expressions shifting wildly, he clutched a steaming cup from the lady of the house. I could guess his thoughts from the gritted teeth.
—Drrrrt!
Not reinforced like the rest—it peeled away in layers. They'd slapped together a form, poured hasty concrete to set quick, then finished it. Maybe that's why the corner fire—to cure it faster?
"Door's locked, cops called. What'd you find?"
"Not yet."
I set up the camera. Dust billowed as time passed, and something emerged. The solid resistance vanished; I yanked the drill.
The hole was small, but with the debris cleared, it was clear enough.
"Looks like it'll take a week to excavate and wrap this up proper."
"Good thing the client's here."
"How'd you know she was down there, miss? Sharp instincts."
"Haha..."
Better they think shaman than spin some unbelievable tale. Too much hassle to explain.
I filmed the uncle setting down the drill, then cut the camera politely. Up the stairs, I approached the man slumped on the steps to the upper floor.
"Looks like it'll take longer than planned to head back."
"...Expected as much. Mind if I check the IDs on those three who burned?"
"Of course."
In China, forgiveness wasn't virtue—repayment in kind was duty, filial piety. The ancients hammered it home, toning down the old clan-wiping savagery to something more human. Face meant everything; grudges ran deep. A Korean was one thing, but the other two... I memorized their details.
I left him be and turned away. Cops arrived soon after.
"Lieutenant Park, thanks for the hard work."
"Yeah, you too."
A cop nodded to the uncle smoking by the gate—visiting a corpse on vacation wasn't ideal—then grilled us inside. Standard for a mummified body cemented under household stairs. Lucky part: quick ID meant no wild goose chase. We had suspects in mind too, so swift wrap-up.
They strung police tape, called for backup—but the uncle's presence kept it low-key.
"Might call you to the station later for statements. Heads up."
"Got it. Can I post the footage separately?"
"Hmm... With the principal's okay, sure. Blur out the investigation if you can."
"Will do."
I dumped the hassle on Hyeon-a. With her brother ex-cop, she naturally handled procedures and next steps. I scratched my chin, reviewing the old file on the three indoor deaths.
Cause: lungs full of gas, slow suffocation. But passing out from booze smell alone? Fishy. Two asleep in the room, one collapsed by the door.
"Thank you for finding my mother...!"
"No need. Not how anyone hoped. Feels... sorry, somehow."
His recovered gratitude snapped my thoughts. Best case, she'd been an unclaimed body buried somewhere. Getting brained like a '70s yakuza bystander? Unexpected.