I navigate through the winding streets of Seoul's outskirts, the cityscape gradually giving way to a more rural setting. The GPS guides me to a less developed area, where small, modest houses dot the landscape. As I turn onto a narrow dirt road, I spot the house I'm looking for - a shabby structure with peeling paint and a small, unkempt yard.
As I pull up, I notice a woman in the front yard, kneeling among a patch of vegetables. She's petite, with graying hair pulled back in a tight bun. This must be Lee's wife.
I take a deep breath, steeling myself for what's sure to be a difficult conversation. As I approach, the woman looks up, her face lined with weariness and suspicion.
"Excuse me," I call out softly, not wanting to startle her. "Mrs. Lee?"
She stands slowly, wiping her hands on her apron. "Yes? Who are you?"
I stop a respectful distance away and show her my badge. "I'm Detective Park Minjun from the Seoul Metropolitan Investigative Unit. I have some questions about your husband, if you don't mind."
Mrs. Lee's face hardens, a flicker of pain crossing her features. "The police again? I've already told you everything I know."
"I understand, Mrs. Lee," I say, trying to keep my voice gentle. "But I'm conducting a separate investigation, and your insights could be very valuable."
She sighs heavily, her shoulders slumping. "I suppose I don't have much choice, do I? Let me see your ID again, please."
I hand over my badge, which she inspects carefully before returning it.
"Alright, come inside," she says, gesturing towards the house. "It's not much, but it's cooler than standing out here in the sun."
I follow her into the small house. The interior is neat but worn, with faded furniture and dated appliances. Mrs. Lee leads me to a tiny kitchen and motions for me to sit at a small table.
"Would you like some tea?" she asks, more out of politeness than hospitality.
"No, thank you," I reply. "I don't want to take up too much of your time."
She nods and sits across from me, her hands folded tightly on the table. "What do you want to know that hasn't already been asked a hundred times?"
I lean forward slightly. "Mrs. Lee, I know this is difficult, but I need you to walk me through what happened the night your sister..." I trail off, not wanting to be too blunt.
Mrs. Lee's face tightens, but she nods. "It was a Friday. Miyoung - my sister - she was staying with us for the weekend. Chunsik had been drinking, more than usual. I went to bed early, but Miyoung stayed up to watch a drama."
She pauses, taking a shaky breath. I wait patiently, giving her time to collect herself.
"I woke up in the middle of the night to... to screaming. When I got to the living room, I saw... I saw..." She breaks off, her eyes filling with tears.
"It's okay," I say softly. "Take your time."
After a moment, she continues, her voice barely above a whisper. "Chunsik was on top of her. There was blood everywhere. Miyoung wasn't moving. When Chunsik saw me, he just... he just grinned.
Like he was proud of what he'd done."
I feel a chill run down my spine, remembering the grin Lee had given me as I left the interrogation room. "What did you do then?"
"I ran," Mrs. Lee says, a note of shame in her voice. "I ran to the neighbor's house and called the police. By the time they arrived, Chunsik was gone. They found him the next day, hiding in an abandoned building nearby."
I nod, taking in the information. "Mrs. Lee, in your statement, you mentioned that this behavior seemed out of character for your husband. Can you elaborate on that?"
She looks at me, confusion clear in her eyes. "Out of character? Detective, my husband brutally raped and murdered my sister. How could that be in character for anyone?"
"I understand," I say gently. "But before this incident, had you ever seen any signs of violence or aggression from your husband?"
Mrs. Lee is quiet for a long moment, her brow furrowed in thought. "Chunsik... he had his faults. The drinking, the gambling. But violent?
No. Never. That's what makes this so... so impossible to understand."
As I continue to question Mrs. Lee, a picture begins to form in my mind. A picture that doesn't quite match the profile of the serial killer Lee Chunsik is supposed to be.
As I sit across from Mrs. Lee, a moral dilemma wages war in my mind. Should I tell her about the other murders Lee is accused of, the ones he's confessed to? She seems to have no idea about them, and part of me feels she has a right to know.
But another part hesitates, wondering if it's my place to deliver such shocking news, especially when I'm starting to have doubts about the veracity of those confessions.
Before I can make a decision, Mrs. Lee speaks again, her voice tinged with a mixture of sadness and resolve. "After what happened to Miyoung, I've done my best to cut all ties with Chunsik. I haven't provided any support, haven't visited him. I just... I can't."
I nod, understanding her position. "That's completely understandable, Mrs. Lee. Can you tell me more about your husband's past? What was he like before the incident?"
Mrs. Lee's face twists with a mix of emotions - disgust, disappointment, and a hint of residual affection that she seems ashamed of. "Chunsik was... well, to be blunt, he was a social garbage. Never held down a proper job, just hopped from one part-time gig to another. He had a serious drinking problem."
She pauses, lost in memories. "Most of the time, he was just... here. Indoors. Drinking, smoking, watching TV. When he wasn't doing that, he was harassing me for money or food."
As she speaks, I can't help but feel that something doesn't add up. This description of Lee - a lazy, unmotivated alcoholic - doesn't match the profile of the meticulous, active serial killer he's supposed to be.
"Was he ever violent towards you?" I ask carefully.
Mrs. Lee shakes her head. "Not physically, no. Verbally abusive, sure, especially when he was drunk. But he never laid a hand on me. That's why what happened to Miyoung was such a shock."
I nod, making mental notes. After a few more questions, I thank Mrs. Lee for her time and prepare to leave.
As I walk back to my car, my mind is buzzing with conflicting information. Lee Chunsik, the alleged serial killer who confessed to multiple brutal murders, doesn't match the description of the man Mrs. Lee just portrayed. A man who barely left the house, who lacked the motivation to hold down a job, suddenly becomes a calculating predator?
Something definitely doesn't add up.
I need more information, and I know just who might be able to provide it: Detective Heo, the man who handled several of the cases Lee confessed to.
I pull over to the side of the road and quickly search for Heo's contact information on my laptop through the police database. It doesn't take long to find; he may be retired, but his reputation in the force still lingers.
I dial the number, listening to it ring once, twice, three times. No answer. After the beep, I leave a message:
"Detective Heo, this is Detective Park Minjun from the Seoul Metropolitan Investigative Unit. I'm looking into some of the cases you worked on involving Lee Chunsik. I'd appreciate the opportunity to speak with you. Please call me back at your earliest convenience."
I hang up, drumming my fingers on the steering wheel. Waiting for a callback isn't going to cut it. I need answers now.
Decision made, I pull up Heo's address on my GPS. It's on the other side of the city, but at this point, I'm willing to make the drive. I put the car in gear and merge back onto the road, my mind already formulating the questions I want to ask Heo.
The sun is starting to set as I finally pull up in front of Heo's modest house in a quiet suburban neighborhood. I sit in the car for a moment, gathering my thoughts. This visit could change everything. It could provide the answers I'm looking for, or it could lead me down an even more confusing path.
Taking a deep breath, I step out of the car and walk up to the front door. As I raise my hand to knock, I steel myself for whatever might come next. One way or another, I'm going to get to the bottom of this case. For my parents, for all the victims, and for the truth that seems to be slipping further away with each new piece of information.
I knock on the door, listening for any sound of movement inside.
I raise my hand and knock firmly on the door. After a moment, I hear shuffling from inside. The door opens slightly, revealing a middle-aged woman with tired eyes and graying hair.
"Yes?" she asks, her voice wary.
"Good evening, ma'am," I say, showing my badge. "I'm Detective Park Minjun from the Seoul Metropolitan Investigative Unit. I'm looking for Detective Heo. Is he available?"
The woman's expression instantly changes, her face hardening. Before I can say another word, she starts to close the door.
"Police? No, we've had enough. Go away," she says, her voice sharp with anger and fear.
"Ma'am, please," I say quickly, trying to keep the door open with my words. "I just need to ask a few questions about-"
"I said go away!" she almost shouts, cutting me off. "We don't want any more trouble. Leave us alone!"
The door slams shut in my face, the sound echoing in the quiet neighborhood. I stand there, stunned by the vehemence of her reaction.
"Ma'am?" I call out, knocking again. "I promise, I'm not here to cause any trouble. I just need to speak with Detective Heo about an old case."
There's no response from inside, just the faint sound of hurried footsteps moving away from the door.