"He may have heard something and surprised the burglar," Yun speculated.
"The ajumma-tul sleep in the women's quarters next to the kitchen," said Sergeant Kim, a tall man with a bull neck and massive shoulders. "The son's bedroom is next door. No one heard anything."
Yun digested that bit of information. The thin walls provided little sound barrier. Either the killer was quite skilled, or this was, indeed, a family affair.
A chime sounded and Patrolman Han hurried out to the front entrance."
"It's probably the photographer," Captain Yun said. He turned to the sergeant. "Call for an ID unit, please. We'll need to check for prints, though I doubt we'll find any. This was either a professional or an inside job." He looked over at the chest, where a thin billfold lay among some coins and a set of keys. "What kind of items were taken?"
"The son said he carried several large bills in a money clip. It's missing. Also a few small silver figures. The main thing, though, was a glass-framed display of rare gold coins. It hung there," he said, pointing to the empty hook on the wall.
"Captain Yun," said a jovial voice from the doorway. "You keep coming up with business for me. Shall I get on with it?"
The photographer who had made the photos at Mr. Chon's market stall glanced around the room. He was a breezy, irreverent character who seemed to take nothing seriously. Yun knew it was part of a defense mechanism to compensate for all the blood and gore he was forced to concentrate on in this line of work.
"By all means," said the Captain. "Apparently you work no better hours than I do."
The young officer started setting up his lights. "Keeps kimchi in the pot," he said with a chuckle.
Chapter 25
Jerry Chan had written the directions in hangul so the taxi driver would be sure to find the proper destination. Many streets in Seoul were unnamed, so directions had to be given in relation to particular intersections, landmarks and the like. Burke was going alone since Jerry had an appointment with the real estate agent to check out prospective office space. As the cab zipped south on Sogongro, Burke thought about the disaster at the reception. He had not seen a newspaper this morning, nor found time to call the Embassy. After the brief but startling encounter between Mansfield and the Korean, most of the press people had quickly dispersed and the party collapsed of its own dead weight. He and Jerry had found themselves back at the hotel with the evening still young. They wound up at the Chosun's bistro, the Xanadu, getting a taste of night life Korean style. But it hadn't been enough to diminish the feeling of gloom.
As the driver moved slowly up the street, staring about in search of the proper house, Burke noticed police cars parked at the corner. Korea still used red flashing lights for its patrol cars, rather than the familiar blue of the U.S. Then the cab stopped just beyond them and the driver pointed, "This place you go."
Burke paid the fare, which seemed reasonable enough in comparison to Washington taxis, and stepped out. He wondered why the police were here. Maybe there had been a break-in. Or perhaps Dr. Lee was an authority on something the police were interested in. If he were busy with the officers, Burke would have no problem waiting. He stepped up to the entrance and pressed the button.
The door was opened by a uniformed officer who spoke to him in Korean.
Burke spred his palms, a perplexed look on his face. "Sorry, I don't speak Korean. I have an appointment with Dr. Lee."
The man shrugged. Obviously he didn't speak English. He turned and called out to someone inside. A few moments later, a man dressed in a blue suit, wearing round, metal-rimmed glasses, came out of the house. At first, Burke thought it must be Dr. Lee. But as he studied the stern face, the probing eyes and the way the young policeman seemed to fade into the background, he became more than a little concerned about the situation.
"I am Captain Yun Yu-sop," the man said, his face an impenetrable mask. "Seoul Metropolitan Police Bureau. Can I help you?"
Burke made no attempt to hide his concern. "Yes, Captain. I'm Burke Hill, an American businessman. I had an appointment with Dr. Lee Yo-ku. Is there some problem?"
"Yes, Mr. Hill, there is a problem. What business did you have with Dr. Lee?"
Burke took out a business card and handed it to the officer. "I just arrived Sunday night. Our company is opening an office here. We represent the American Council for Business in Korea. Mr. Mansfield at the American Embassy recommended Dr. Lee as a good person to talk to. I'm interested in background information on how Koreans feel nowadays about America, and particularly American businesses and products."
"Please come with me," Yun said and turned toward the living room.
Burke followed the Captain, removing his shoes before stepping inside.
"Have a seat, Mr. Hill." Yun turned to the two officers and spoke in Korean. They hurried off into other parts of the compound.
A police photographer came through with his equipment, said something to the Captain, and left. The detective checked his watch and frowned. Then he turned back to Burke. "Please forgive me, but I must make a telephone call first." He sat in a chair beside the phone and dialed a number.
As the Captain talked, Burke considered the situation. Three officers and a police photographer could mean only one thing. Dr. Lee was not available now, and would not likely be in the future. He had been around enough homicide cases to sense what was happening. He was beginning to feel a bit like that group Damon Mansfield had mentioned. Jinxed. First the incident at the Embassy, now this. What had started out looking like a good contact with a friendly Korean now appeared to be another disaster. He hoped Jerry was having better luck with his end of the operation.
Captain Yun replaced the phone and turned his attention back to the Burke. "I'm sorry for the interruption," he said.
"Dr. Lee is dead, isn't he?" Burke asked, his face twisted into a troubled look.
The Captain's eyes hardened into flecks of onyx as he stared at the visitor. "No one has mentioned anything about anyone being dead," he said in a slow, deliberate voice. "Why would you think this?"
Burke cursed himself. It was a foolish thing to have said. Not only did it violate all the cautions he had received about dealing with Koreans, it had shifted suspicion to himself. Everything he had heard and read warned that Koreans liked to go slow. It was necessary to work patiently to build a relationship of friendliness and trust before getting down to business. Here he was a stranger, worse, a foreigner, and he had played the proverbial bull blundering through the china shop.
Burke shook his head contritely. "I'm sorry, Captain. You'll have to forgive me. I've got a lot to learn about getting along in your country. I know it isn't your custom for someone to barge right in like this and start asking troublesome questions. But the fact is, I spent thirteen years as a special agent with the Federal Bureau of Investigation. I think I know a murder case when I see one."
Now Yun looked perplexed. "You are with the FBI?"
"Not now. I used to be. It was quite a few years ago when I left the Bureau."
"I attended the FBI National Academy in Quantico," Yun said, a proud note in his voice.
"The hell you did." Burke's face broke into a grin. "Who was in charge of your class?"