The Third Case (4)

As Inspector Kim speaks, outlining the details of the case and the progress of the investigation, I can't help but feel a twinge of bitterness. So this is why he was so distracted earlier, why he couldn't spare a moment to listen to my theories and insights.

But as the briefing comes to a close, the newscaster invites a criminal psychology expert to comment on the case, and I find myself leaning in, eager to hear what they have to say.

The expert begins to speak, their voice calm and measured. "Based on the details of the crime, I believe we're looking at a highly intelligent and confident perpetrator," they say, their words filled with a sort of detached analysis. "The precision of the dismemberment, the careful selection of the dumping site... these are the hallmarks of a successful, high-functioning individual."

As the expert continues, outlining their profile of the killer, I can hear Bundy chuckling in the back of my mind, his laughter filled with a dark sort of amusement.

"What's so funny?" I snap, my patience wearing thin.

Bundy sighs, his voice dripping with condescension. "Oh, nothing. It's just that I was thinking the exact opposite of what that so-called expert is saying."

I frown, my curiosity piqued despite myself. "What do you mean?"

"Think about it, Park," Bundy says, his words slow and deliberate. "The sloppy dismemberment, the hasty disposal of the body... these aren't the actions of a confident, successful killer. They're the hallmarks of a coward, a weakling who's in way over their head."

I find myself pondering the implications of his theory. The idea that the killer might be a coward, someone who's in over their head and making amateur mistakes, it's a perspective I hadn't considered before.

"You know, Bundy," I say, my voice slow and contemplative, "what you said about the killer being coward, it makes a lot of sense. Freezing the body before dismembering it, that's not the action of a confident, experienced criminal."

Bundy chuckles, his presence in my mind like a dark, suffocating cloud. "Exactly, Park. It's the mark of someone who's scared, who's worried that they won't be able to go through with the deed unless they make it as easy as possible."

I nod, my mind racing with the possibilities. "And by taking that extra time to freeze the body, they're increasing their chances of getting caught. Every minute that passes is another opportunity for the victim's family to report them missing, for the police to start putting the pieces together."

"Precisely," Bundy says, his voice dripping with a twisted sort of admiration. "It's a rookie mistake, the kind of thing that only a true amateur would do. And that tells us something important about our killer."

I frown, my curiosity piqued. "What's that?"

"Well," Bundy says, his words slow and deliberate. "Who has access to a commercial-grade fridge? It's not your average office worker or white-collar professional. It's more likely to be someone in a menial job, a blue-collar worker who's used to dealing with manual labor and heavy equipment."

I sit back in my seat, my mind struggling to process this new information. If Bundy is right, if the killer is indeed a low-level worker with access to industrial refrigeration...

But as the reality of my situation sinks in, I feel a sense of frustration and helplessness wash over me. I know that I have valuable insights to contribute to the investigation, that my perspective could be the key to unlocking the truth behind Soo-yeon's tragic murder.

But as things stand, my hands are tied. I'm still a week away from my official transfer to the Seoul Metropolitan Investigation Unit, and until then, I have no real authority or influence over the case.

Seven days. The thought of waiting that long, of sitting idly by while the killer remains at large, it's almost too much to bear. If the perpetrator is determined to hide or flee, a week is more than enough time for them to cover their tracks, to disappear into the shadows and evade justice forever.

And based on what I've seen so far, the current investigation seems to be heading in the wrong direction. The criminal psychology expert's profile, the dismissive attitude of Inspector Kim and his team... it all points to a fundamental misunderstanding of the killer's true nature and motivations.

I can't just sit back and let that happen. I can't let Soo-yeon's killer slip through the cracks, can't let her family's pain and suffering go unanswered. But what can I do, trapped as I am by the bureaucratic red tape and the rigid hierarchies of the police force?

And then, like a bolt of lightning, a thought strikes me. Senior Superintendent Choi. The man who recruited me, who saw the potential in my unorthodox approach and my relentless pursuit of the truth.

He's the one who believes in making changes to the Seoul Metropolitan Investigation Unit, in shaking up the status quo and bringing fresh perspectives to bear on even the most challenging cases. If anyone would understand my situation, my desperate need to contribute to the investigation, it would be him.

With Senior Superintendent Choi's support, I might just have a chance to make a real difference, to steer the investigation back on track and bring Soo-yeon's killer to justice once and for all.

It's a risky move, going over the heads of my superiors and reaching out to Choi directly. But it's a risk I'm willing to take, a gamble I'm prepared to make for the sake of the truth and the innocent lives that hang in the balance.

As I pull out my phone and dial Choi's number, my heart is pounding with a mix of fear and anticipation. I know that I'm about to cross a line, to step outside the bounds of protocol and propriety.

But I also know that it's the right thing to do, the only thing I can do if I want to honor my oath as a police officer and my duty to the people I've sworn to protect and serve.

And so, with a deep breath and a silent prayer, I wait for Choi to answer, ready to plead my case and fight for the justice that Soo-yeon and her family so desperately deserve.

The sound of the phone ringing feels like an eternity, each unanswered tone a tiny eternity of anxiety and anticipation. I grip the phone tightly, my palms sweaty and my heart pounding in my chest.

Just as I'm about to give up, to accept that my gambit has failed before it even began, I hear a click on the other end of the line. A voice, gruff but familiar, fills my ear.

"Senior Superintendent Choi speaking."