The young man gawked at the bill with widened eyes and pointed to a nearby doorway. "Turn left just through that door and it will lead you in here."
Behind the counter, Hwang found an open wooden box that caught whatever was pushed through the slot in front. He sorted through the envelopes quickly. There was more here than he had expected, particulary with Seoul addresses. Apparently many of the delegates had mailed letters home to have a Pyongyang postmark as a memento of their historic meeting. But none had the name Yun in either the recipient's address or return address. He noted the large envelope going to an English name at a Seoul business but the return address meant nothing. Captain Yun had cleverly written the name and Pyongyang address of the old partisan, Chung Woo-keun. He would never know how he had gotten the last laugh.
A few minutes after Yun left the conference building, one of the policemen in the anteroom noticed he had left his newspaper behind. As the officer picked it up, the letter addressed to "Yun Se-jin" in Seoul dropped out and fell onto the chair. He glanced at it and turned to the sergeant seated next to him.
"Looks like the Captain forgot a letter he intended to mail."
The sergeant shrugged. "Give it to the Superintendent. He'll see that it gets back to him."
Chapter 51
When the North Korean police who investigated the hit-and-run accident found they were dealing with a South Korean police officer, they knew immediately they faced the possibility of trouble in major proportions. They rounded up the few witnesses remaining in the area. Most had no desire to get involved and had hastily gone on about their business. As often occurs in such cases, the three people who volunteered to give their accounts differed widely in their perceptions, agreeing only on the description of the vehicle.
The first was a middle-aged man, a minor bureaucrat who glared through thick glasses with a look of practiced stoicism. "The driver was going much too fast for this kind of weather," he said. "He skidded on the icy pavement and ran right over the man. Then he fled like a frightened rat."
The lieutenant in charge, a tall, beady-eyed policeman named Hae, thanked him and turned him over to one of the other officers to get details of his identification, where he could be contacted later if need be. He was cautioned not to talk about the case because of its possible ramifications.
In many ways, Lieutenant Hae was not much different from the victim whose death he was investigating. Like the Captain, he was strictly a policeman, with no interest in politics, no burning passion for ideology. He believed in enforcing the law against anyone who ignored it, regardless of his position. Hae had traditional roots in the countryside. Where the two men differed was in Captain Yun's diligent, dogged, almost fanatic refusal to give up a case short of its solution. The Lieutenant was more pragmatic, perhaps fatalistic, accepting that some cases were simply not meant to be wrapped up and tied in neat bundles.
Hae turned to the small, thin woman who had been ushered before him, clutching a large brown cloth tote bag. She worked at a clothing factory on the outskirts of the capital.
"I saw what happened," she said in a testy voice. "The poor driver did his best to avoid it. He swerved away from the direction the man was walking. It didn't help. The man jumped right back the same way, like he was being pushed by an evil hand. There was no way the driver could have missed him."
The last witness was a youth just out of high school. He was a scruffy-looking boy dressed in faded jeans and dirty sneakers, his jacket worn thin at the elbows and his hair too long.
"And what did you see?" asked Lieutenant Hae, wary of the boy's appearance.
"I was standing right over there," he said, pointing to the curb opposite the point of impact. "The driver slowed down as if to let the man cross, then sped up and deliberately rammed into him. He was clearly out to kill the man."
Hae scowled and concentrated on his notes. A government employee and a longtime factory worker would swear that the driver was guilty at most of poor judgement and leaving the scene of an accident. A youth in the best position to observe what happened claimed it was a case of vehicular homicide. This was going to require much more digging.
The army staff car was located within half an hour, parked a few blocks away outside a building of the Ministry of Transportation. The left front fender was badly dented and shreds of Captain Yun's clothing, plus what appeared to be bits of his flesh, clung to its sharp edges. The driver was found inside at a meeting where he had been closeted for the past three hours. There were a dozen witnesses who would so testify. A quick check of the steering wheel found no fingerprints. The hooligan had likely worn gloves because of the cold. Had someone used the car without authorization, accidentally struck the South Korean, and panicked? Lieutenant Hae wasn't sure.
Police officers flooded the Transportation Ministry and adjacent buildings, seeking anyone who had seen the staff car being taken or returned. No one came forward to report observing either act. One obvious problem was that the car had been parked at the end of the building, from which it could not be seen easily. This section contained only restrooms and vacant offices.
While still at the scene, Lieutenant Hae was notified that he had an important call from a high official. He hurried to a nearby office to use the telephone.
"This is So Song-ku with the Central Committee of the Korean Workers Party, Lieutenant Hae. You are investigating the hit-and-run death of a Seoul police captain, correct?"
"Yes, sir."
"What have you concluded?"
"I haven't completed my investigation," Hae said, "but there are some troubling circumstances. One witness swears the driver deliberately hit the captain."
"Listen carefully to what I have to say, Lieutenant," So, a.k.a. the Dragon, said. "You will disregard this circumstance and conclude it was a tragic accident. This is vital for your country."
Lieutenant Hae knew declaring Yun's death a homicide could create a real quagmire, but his job was to call it like he saw it. "But if—"
"There are no 'buts,' Lieutenant. If you value your career and your future, you will do as I say. If you don't, you can expect dire consequences. Do I make myself clear?"
The officer had seen the fate of people who defied the orders of high officials. It was not pretty. He barely hesitated. "Yes, sir. I understand."
The investigation was completed with speed and efficiency up to the point of identifying the hit-and-run driver. It went into the books as a tragic accident perpetrated by an unknown party, most likely a worker from the Transportation Ministry who saw an opportunity to use the car for a quick trip nearby. The senior delegate from the Republic of Korea was informed as soon as Yun's body had been identified and his death certified by a physician. Within two hours, he was handed the final results of the investigation. Lieutenant Hae was brought in to answer questions by the delegates and the commander of the South Korean police contingent, Superintendent Pak. Hae detailed the evidence, reluctantly omitting the youth's contention of obvious intent to kill.
In the end, everyone seemed satisfied that the North Koreans had done a thorough and professional job on the case. Officially it was left open, in the event a witness should step forward or the unkown driver should give himself away with a careless remark. But, from a practical standpoint, everyone knew it had reached a dead end and this was likely to be the last heard of the matter.