Se-jin's heart swelled with pride. "Thank you, sir. I know my father thought very highly of you. He once told me that you shared many of his concerns."
The Supterintendent General smiled. "Your father was not a man easy to get close to, Lieutenant. But we shared a few interesting discussions. We agreed on several sacred cows we thought should be put out to pasture, particularly the NSP. One thing I particularly admired about him, he never let political considerations sway his judgment regarding a criminal case." He pulled an envelope from his pocket and handed it to Se-jin. "Apparently your father intended to mail this to you. It was found with a newspaper he had left behind. I presume it was meant to be a memento. Most of the men who went up there sent letters home to get the Pyongyang postmark. One of my people found it and turned it over to Superintendent Pak, who was in charge of the police delegation. I don't know why he didn't go ahead and mail it to you."
"Thank you, sir," said Se-jin, stuffing the envelope into his pocket. Whatever its contents, it would be a valuable keepsake, his father's last words.
Another missing mourner whose absence he questioned was Prosecutor Park Sang-muk. Surely Park was aware of Captain Yun's death and the funeral. When they got back to his mother's house, he called the prosecutor's office. An assistant answered.
He identified himself and asked to speak with Prosecutor Park.
"I'm sorry," said the assistant, "but Prosecutor Park has been granted a leave of absence."
"Really? When did that happen?" Se-jin didn't recall his father mentioning anything of the sort being planned. They hadn't discussed the specifics of his cases, but the elder Yun had vented his displeasure over the prosecutor's often high-handed and bullying ways.
"Just last Friday," the man said. "I didn't know anything about it until I came in yesterday. They said he had a problem with nervous exhaustion. I can't vouch for that. If he'd gone somewhere for a weight cure, that I could understand."
Se-jin silently agreed as he hung up the phone. He had once met Prosecutor Park and was left somewhat aghast at his elephantine build. But aside from his weight, what could have caused his "nervous exhaustion," Se-jin wondered?
"What's the prosecutor's problem?" asked Han Mi-jung, coming over to knead his shoulders in a gentle massage. Her future mother-in-law had given her a few instructions in that soothing art.
Se-jin rolled his head from side to side and relaxed his puzzled frown. "He took a leave of absence. Nervous exhaustion, they said. I don't know why. Dad said Park always left him the hard work." He gave a long sigh. "That feels great. Have you been moonlighting in a massage parlor?"
"Smarty," she said, giving him a playful slap on the cheek.
Mi-jung had smooth, flawless skin, large, bright eyes and gently molded features that had always drawn men's stares. "I got a glimpse of my high-flying neighbor this morning," she added. "He gave me the evil eye as usual, but this time he smiled. I'll bet he'd like a massage."
Se-jin knew the "evil eye," as she called it, was her term for the typical chauvinist Korean male's reaction, delight at her shapely figure, but disapproval of the police uniform that adorned it.
"I didn't know the guy was back," he said with a look of mild distaste.
"He must have just stopped in for a change of clothes, maybe to leave his laundry. He was on his way out carrying a small suitcase."
They often joked about the man from the neighboring apartment. He was there so infrequently they speculated that he might one day forget where he lived. He had occupied the unit less than a year. The building manager had told Mi-jung the apartment was paid for and kept up by Reijeo Electronics, for whom the man named Min worked as a traveling technical representative. Apparently he traveled all over the Far East maintaining or consulting on Reijeo systems.
"What did you do with that letter Superintendent General Choi gave you?" Se-jin's mother asked.
"Got it right here," he said, pulling the envelope from his pocket. He slit it open and took out the single sheet of paper. As he read the brief note, he glanced up wide-eyed, his look part consternation, part puzzlement. But mostly he looked as though he'd just encountered some sort of apparition. It was as though his father were speaking from the grave.
"What's wrong?" his mother asked.
His voice filled with bitterness. "This letter, he was expecting something to happen to him. He said if it did, I should contact that American, Burke Hill, in a search for the culprit."
"The man who came here to dinner?"
Se-jin nodded. "It sounds like he thought Hill would have something to do with it. Maybe he hired whoever drove the car. It could have been murder, not an accident."
Mi-jung leaned over to read the letter still clutched in his hand. "Could he have meant for you to ask Burke Hill about the culprit?"
Se-jin was not interested in considering any alternatives. His father had been taken away from him. The possibility of it being murder had made him furious. "If he had meant for me to ask Burke Hill, why didn't he write 'ask Burke Hill'?"
Mi-jung shrugged.
Se-jin and his father had had their differences, but he was as devoted as any Korean son. Further, he had the utmost regard for Captain Yun as a professional. This would be a vindication of his father's position. He had died in the line of duty, pursuing his assignment, not as the result of some random, freakish accident that could be simply sloughed off as a regrettable misfortune.
He stared at the letter with a tormented frown. He had picked up hints from discussions with his father that Captain Yun was investigating some kind of multiple murder conspiracy, and that it dealt in some way with Americans. But how did Burke Hill figure into it? And why had his father been killed in Pyongyang? Was there some duplicity between the Americans and the communists? With Park gone, there was no easy way to check into the facts. He knew his father was not one to confide in other people except when absolutely necessary, or when a case was ready for prosecution. Who should he tell about the letter? Se-jin worked out of the Tongdaemun Police Station, which was located a few blocks east of Pagoda Park. Would it be best to show the letter to his superiors or take it to Captain Yun's boss, Supervisor So? Because of its explosive nature, he thought, the letter would quickly wind up at Police Bureau Headquarters.
His fiancee seemed to be reading his mind. "What are you going to do?"
"I'm not sure. If I took it to the Bureau, they would probably sit on it until things are worked out with Pyongyang. The government doesn't want to do anything that might upset anybody up north. I wish I knew how my father's investigation involved Burke Hill."
"Maybe you should talk to him, without letting him know about the letter," Han Mi-jung said.
He pondered that for a moment. "Might be worth a try." He looked around for Hill's business card, which he had noticed among Captain Yun's papers. The Captain had written the Seoul office number on it. He called and asked for Burke Hill.
"I'm sorry, Lieutenant Yun, but Mr. Hill has gone back to Washington," said the young woman who answered. "Would you like to speak with Mr. Chan? He's our local manager."
The disappointment was obvious in his tone as he said, "Yes, please."
After a moment, a friendly voice came on the line. "You must be Captain Yun's son. I was expecting a call from him. Is he back in town?"
Why would he be expecting a call, Se-jin wondered? Was this merely a ruse? Was the man really unaware of his father's death? "I thought you had probably heard," he said. "My father died in an automobile accident in Pyongyang Saturday."
"Oh, no! That's terrible."
It sounded like genuine grief, Se-jin thought. But, then, this man may not have been involved, personally. "It was a hit-and-run accident," he said. "They haven't found the driver."