Lieutenant Yun took a sheet of paper from his pocket and handed it across.
Burke glanced at the sheet and shook his head. "Sorry. I don't know your language."
"It says, 'If anything should happen to me, look to Burke Hill for the answer.' That's all."
"So you thought it meant look to me as the murderer?"
Yun's eyes narrowed. "You think he was murdered?"
"One man, Dr. Lee, had already been killed to keep the information he was after in Pyongyang from getting out. And he had been trying to track down a professional assassin involved in the murders. Judging by his letter to you and the photograph mailed to me, he must have seen something that really worried him. That hit-and-run accident looks like a bit too much of a coincidence."
"You mentioned the prosecutor," said Se-jin, his face suddenly a mask of steel. "Are you sure my father told him what he was doing?"
"Yes. He called me afterward about something the prosecutor had said."
Se-jin's eyes narrowed. "I have learned that Prosecutor Park departed for a leave of absence the day after my father went to Pyongyang. They said he suffered from 'nervous exhaustion.'"
Burke's face became pinched in thought. "Captain Yun told me that Colonel Han Sun-shin of the NSP had made Park very nervous. I wonder if Colonel Han might have been responsible for the sudden leave of absence?"
When they had finished talking, Lieutenant Yun drove Burke back downtown. Saying he had some thinking to do, Burke asked to be dropped off a couple of blocks from the Chosun. He turned up his coat collar against the biting wind and walked rapidly along the broad sidewalk. What had been a lively, bustling promenade during the day now appeared as a pale, anemic concrete strip beneath the yellow glow of the streetlights. It was not so crowded now, although an occasional Christmas shopper still hurried past, burdened down with a heavily laden bag. A flurry of snow began to swirl before the headlights along the street. It was a damned cold night to be out, he thought, particularly for shopping. Then he remembered Evelyn's offer to do his gift-buying for him. He would go up to his room, make out a list and call her. It would soon be eight a.m. in Washington.
He wasn't sure how clearly he would be able to concentrate on the subject of shopping, considering what he now knew about Captain Yun's fate. He had become totally convinced that Yun had been murdered. He was also convinced the NSP had a hand in it. And that did not auger well for the future of his stay in Seoul.
Lieutenant Yun was assigned to a quick response unit whose cars were dispatched in answer to calls received on the 112 emergency phone line. It had been a hectic morning, allowing him little time to think about his meeting with Burke Hill. However, he had sat up late the night before, attempting to puzzle out just what was going on. His girl friend, Mi-jung, who lived in the next apartment building, had spotted his light still blazing and called to see if he might be ill. He was taking her to dinner tonight and promised to explain all about the problem that had caused him such concern.
When he took a break for lunch, he decided to call the head of his father's division, Superintendent So, and find out if it would be possible to take a look at the files of the cases Captain Yun had been working on. From their conversations, he knew his father had collected quite a store of information. Burke Hill's theory that the Captain's death was related to his investigations had a certain logic to it, though there seemed to be too many loose ends. The files should help clear that up, he thought. And if Hill's supposition had merit, the files would give him something to take to the higher-ups in the bureau.
His question drew a quick response from the Superintendent. "You'll have to contact the office of Prosecutor Park Sang-muk. They called and wanted to review the files. Somebody from over there came by and picked them up."
"When was that?" Se-jin asked.
"Let's see, it must have been Monday."
That was odd, the Lieutenant thought. Park had gone on leave of absence the Friday before. He called the prosecutor's office and got the assistant who had told him about Park's leave.
"Who will be working with the files from my father's cases?" he inquired. "I understand someone from over there took them for review."
"I'm sorry, Lieutenant, but you've gotten some erroneous information. Nobody from over here has asked for the Captain's case files."
Se-jin hung up the phone and stared at it. What the hell was going on here? Nearly a year's worth of his father's investigatory efforts had just disappeared down a black hole, and he hadn't the slightest idea where in the governmental galaxy to start looking for it.
Chapter 61
As the Boeing 737 made its approach, Burke saw Chiangmai spread out across the flat plain like a trinket-laden picnic blanket tucked against the foot of Doi Suthep, the mountain that soared to some 4,000 feet on the west toward the Burmese border. He could see the outline of the old city, a square kilometer formed by a moat and walls that had crumbled away in places and were restored in others. But the town had spread far beyond its original borders, with the business section mostly to the east, along both sides of the Ping River.
The van brought him in past an array of motley looking shacks, lumberyards, a supplier of spirit houses, with models in virtually every size, "instant antique" factories, tree-shadowed wats, Buddhist temples, where bells and chimes could be heard, and more substantial homes surrounded by flowering shrubs. They finally turned into a narrow side street, inside the old city near the wall, and suddenly there was the guest house nestled among the palm trees, an L-shaped three-story concrete building that resembled a rather plain American motel from the era when motels first came into vogue. The rooms opened off a balcony that ran the length of the building.
Burke checked in and was given a second-floor room in the short end of the L, which faced the restaurant, an open-air pavilion featuring small tables covered with plastic tablecloths. Casement windows opened on front and back sides of the small room, furnished with two single beds. A large ceiling fan provided cool air. The bath consisted of a toilet flanked by a sink and a shower head that projected from the wall. Beneath it lay only the bare concrete floor and a drain. Rather spartan, he thought, but he had never paid so little for a room. Only a few dollars American.
After freezing in the frigid streets of Seoul, he found the warmth of Chiangmai a pleasant change. He had brought a lightweight jacket, which Jerry assured him would be quite adequate at night. After a quick meal of something that tasted like barbecued chicken but had a name sounding oddly Chinese, he picked up a map and directions, provided in halting English, to the Chiangmai Night Bazaar.
Lights were on in the shops, though it wasn't quite dark as yet. Walking toward the business section, he saw a procession of noisy tuk tuks buzzing through the streets. He found the bazaar easily enough. It had a large, brightly illuminated sign with "Chiangmai Night Bazaar" in both Thai and English.
As he strolled along the crowded corridor, he found stalls featuring Thai dolls, silk, laquerware, jewelry, every kind of clothing from shoes to dresses to jeans, some of it designer brands made in Thailand. There was a variety of hill tribe handicrafts, and on the second level he found the gem shop that traded in precious and semi-precious stones. A young Thai with bushy black hair and a thin mustache approached him with palms together prayerlike, a gesture of greeting called wai.
"I'm looking for Yves Caron," Burke said.
The man smiled. "Monsieur Caron be here soon. You like look at stones?"
"Thanks," Burke said, nodding. He knew little about gemstones, except that some of them looked beautiful mounted in rings and bracelets.