Excerpt
The dead man is wearing cherry-red high-top sneakers. They're in good condition; the leather is glossy and uncreased, the tread still intact. The laces are tied loosely, probably to make the shoes easier to slip on and off. The rest of the body is covered by a white sheet, in stark contrast with the black pavement of the parking lot.
Han-gil breathes in and tastes saltwater in the air. He grips his right hand with his left, pressing his thumb into the scar that runs across his palm. He traces the edge where the faded scar tissue cuts through the base of his thumb.
"You know," Wonshik remarks from his place at the other end of the dead man's body. "I read an article once that said suicide is the fourth-highest cause of death in South Korea."
Han-gil's new partner, Choi Wonshik, could be the poster boy for a police recruitment program. Bright-eyed and energetic—the ideal fresh-faced newcomer. Han-gil feels old and tired in comparison, despite the fact they're both twenty-eight. Even Wonshik's tidy crew cut makes Han-gil self-conscious about his own disheveled and overgrown mop of hair.
Han-gil cranes his neck back, squinting as he takes in all twenty floors of the dead man's apartment building. It's one of those luxury high-rise apartments with a pretentious name, Seyang Garden Le Ciel, as if tagging some random English and French words onto the end of a corporate brand name will make it sound more appealing.
At least the Le Ciel is somewhat removed from the general public— surrounded by resident-only
outdoor facilities and private park grounds. There are significantly fewer onlookers hovering around the police cordon and making a nuisance of themselves as a result.
One of the building residents found the body, identified as Hwang Do-hyun, in the visitor's parking lot earlier this morning. Forensics has already sent people up to collect the rest of their analysis from the man's apartment, as well as the roof. Han-gil wonders how long it'll take for them to make it all the way up there.
The seawater smell still hangs thick in the air.
"People usually take off their shoes before they jump," Han-gil says. The sound of his own voice seems bland and far away to him.
"I suppose that's true," Wonshik concedes. "Not everyone follows that tradition, though. Maybe he just really liked the shoes and wanted to die in them."
There is the sound of a water droplet hitting the surface of a very still pool. It rings sweetly, like a bell.
Han-gil turns his head.
A boy stands at the far side of the parking lot. He looks young, probably middle school age, and he's wearing a summer school uniform, even though it's already well into the fall. He seems unconcerned with the police cordon. None of the patrol officers act like they notice him. The boy's face drips red, his hair plastered to his forehead. His arms are skinned raw with road rash burns. He stares at Han-gil.
Han-gil meets the boy's eyes and inclines his head in acknowledgment.
Wonshik clears his throat. "Actually, I wanted to ask you about something," he says. "I was in the break room the other day, and some of the guys were swapping work stories. And your name kind of came up?"
So it's begun. Han-gil's surprised the others held out for this long. They're already on week three since Choi Wonshik's arrival at the station. Usually the other detectives waylay newcomers with the full force of all the gossip from day one. Han-gil is genuinely curious how many of the different "crazy Kim Han-gil" stories Wonshik knows about now, especially considering how much juicy ammunition everyone has after what happened to Han-gil's last partner during the Changshin Station case.
Wonshik adds awkwardly, "Well, your name came up a couple of times actually, but—"
The boy ghost points to somewhere near the side of the apartment complex, his form flickering in a way that's almost insistent.
"What are you looking at?" Wonshik asks.
Han-gil very intentionally doesn't react, keeping his body language bored and disinterested as he turns to Wonshik. "Nothing."
