He had picked up a morning newspaper on the way in and sat down at his desk to see if anything of interest had occurred overnight. President Kwak dominated the front page as usual. He was preparing to meet with a delegation from the North later in the week. A limited amount of travel through the former dead-end road at Panmunjom in the Demilitarized Zone was being allowed, mostly people desiring to visit family members in the other half of the peninsula. Arrangements had been made for mail delivery between North and South. Yun was happy to see the changes. The country should never have been split up to start with.
As he leafed through the pages, a headline caught his eye, something about a brawl at the American Embassy. He read the story with interest. There were two photographs accompanying the article, one a Korean named Ko Pong-hak, the other a black American named Damon Mansfield. According to the account, the men had gotten into an argument during a press reception at the Embassy, where Mansfield served as cultural attaché. Ko, an information officer with the Ministry of Culture and Information, said they were discussing a disagreement about the source of Korean-American friction when Mansfield called President Kwak "a stooped, lying, stupid gook." Gook was the unflattering term GI's had begun using for Koreans back in the 1950's war. Some laughed it off, like whites in the U.S. who took no offense at being called "honkies." To others it was a despicable, degrading insult. But regardless of how you took that, Yun thought, calling the president a liar and stupid, and making light of his physical disability, was unforgivable.
He read on how Ko said the tall American was staggering drunk and had attempted to throw a drink at him, then shoved him into the floor so hard it stunned him. The story related that Mansfield had played basketball at Georgetown University in Washington, D.C. Yun remembered the Georgetown area from his stay in the United States. He vaguely recalled something about the university being noted for studies in the field of foreign relations. Mansfield, according the story, had been suspended at one time for fighting with another player.
The newspaper said it had not been able to interview the diplomat. However, the Embassy issued a statement saying Mansfield denied having insulted the president or having attacked Ko. Ambassador Shearing said it appeared to be an unfortunate misunderstanding between the two men. He said in the confused aftermath, charges had been made which evidently resulted from a misinterpretation of what had happened. The government of the United States and the ambassador personally regretted the incident and apologized for any distress it might have caused President Kwak or the people of the Republic of Korea. Mansfield was being transferred back to the United States immediately.
Yun looked at the picture of the Korean again, then at his name. They were both familiar. Then he remembered. Yun was an avid follower of the Asian Games and had helped with security at the 1988 Olympics. He recalled that Ko was a member of the Korean Taekwondo team. They were involved in medal competition at the Asian Games and a demonstration event at the Olympics. As best he could recall, Ko had been identified as a construction worker. If he were now a government information officer, he must have taken a crash course in journalism. Reading the account again, he had to shake his head. There was no way Ko could have been decked like that by a drunken man, even one as tall and rangy as the American. With his ability, Ko should have had this Mansfield on the floor before he knew what hit him. The whole episode had begun to smell. But it was not any of his concern. Yun tossed the newspaper aside and began to go through his files in preparation for the trip to the prosecutor's office.
He had just finished getting everything in order when his phone rang. It was Superintendent So, the head of his division.
"I realize you're probably overloaded, Captain, but I have no one else available at the moment to send on this. We have an apparent homicide at a residence over on the edge of Namsan, not far from Sookmyung Women's University. The victim is a Dr. Lee Yo-ku. The officers on the scene will be expecting you. I trust it will be somewhat less complicated than the Yi and Yang cases."
Not to mention Mr. Chon, Yun thought. Probably sooner than later he would be forced to reckon with his police superiors in addition to Prosecutor Park. He twisted his face in a display of frustration and glared at his watch. He should have begged off with the excuse that he was to meet Prosecutor Park at nine. But Yun's work ethic did not allow him the luxury of refusal. When his superiors called on him to do a job, if there were any way possible to accomplish it, he would. In this case, should it prove to be a simple, uncomplicated family matter, as most homicides were, he just might have time to get the initial investigation out of the way before his appointment with Park.
The area was hardly more than five minutes away, along the edge of the big mountain that housed the Seoul Tower and loomed over the central business district. Like so many sections of the capital, it contained a jumble of houses, ranging from the more ornate dwellings of the well-to-do to the modest one or two-room hovels of the down and out. Yun spotted the blue and white police car parked beside the brick wall of the Lee compound. It appeared to be one of the nicer structures, located on the corner of a small roadway that branched off toward more modest homes. He pressed the bell at the courtyard entrance and was greeted by a fresh-faced young patrolman who eyed him uncertainly and inquired, "Captain Yun?"
"Yes. What's the situation here?"
"I'm Patrolman Han. Sergeant Kim is in the bedroom with the body of Dr. Lee. His son found him around eight, said he was normally up well before then. Looks like a robbery. He says several items are missing."
"Where's the son now?"
"Out in the kitchen with two ajumma-tul. He's pretty well shaken. He was asleep in another bedroom and heard nothing."
The house was traditionally designed. Large steps led into the living room. The kitchen was located across the way. Also opening off the courtyard were several smaller rooms, including bedrooms. Sliding doors of light-colored wood with glass panes led into the rooms. Each had a peaked red tile roof, curved upward at the ends, creating a rambling roofline that snaked about the compound.
Captain Yun followed the patrolman into the living room. It was furnished in a mixture of Korean and Western styles. A group of polished wood chests, elaborately decorated with brass, lined one wall. There was also a sofa and two high-backed chairs, along with an entertainment center that housed a TV set and stereo components.
"Did the pakssa teach at Sookmyung?" Yun asked as they continued on toward Dr. Lee's bedroom. The term pakssa, which referred to a Ph.D., was spoken with great respect.
"He was a history professor at Seoul National University."
Yun nodded silently. As they entered the bedroom, he saw the body of a gray-haired man dressed in blue pajamas lying partially on a sleeping mat, face down, one leg pulled up, looking for the world like someone sleeping. However, the splotches of red that spread out on either side left no doubt that the professor's dreams had been turned into the ultimate nightmare. The Captain squatted beside him and lifted a shoulder. The blood-soaked pajamas had been slashed open in the front and a nasty gash showed in Dr. Lee's chest, just below the sternum.
Yun stood and looked around the room. Bookshelves covered two walls. A large painting of a tiger on a silk scroll hung above one shelf. A smaller piece of art featuring Taoist ideographs — the Chinese characters Su, longevity, and Pok, happiness — was displayed nearby. Those blessings probably best described the ultimate goal of the Korean quest for peace and harmony, Yun thought. Marks showed on the wall where another frame had been hung, but he saw only an empty hook now. He stared back at the body.