Chapter Seven
Seoul Tower was a super modern tower block. It had a glass-walled elevator, which I took to the eighth floor. I went along a marble corridor, past half a dozen teak doors, until I came to number 24.
I jabbed a finger at the doorbell, straightened my tie, and conjured up what I hoped was just the right touch of eager expectancy into my smile. I wasted that on a blank door for a couple of minutes, then rang the bell again. As the bell stopped ringing I cocked my head at the door. There was no sound of inner doors being opened or stiletto heels clicking frantically to herald her approach. Just silence.
I glanced at my watch. Three minutes past the half-hour. I frowned at the door. Then I put my thumb on the doorbell and leaned on it.
I took my thumb off the bell after thirty seconds of listening to its mocking ring. I'd phone Kim Su-mi later, I decided; and if I were feeling half as irritable then as I was now, 'Assignment Charm' wouldn't rate more than a hollow laugh.
I was turning away from the door when I heard a scraping sound at my feet. I looked down. A brass key was being slipped under the door.
I gaped at it for a moment, then stooped and picked it up. I tossed the key up and down in the palm of my hand, trying to work out the angles. Was this a hint for me to come back later?
Bracing myself, I inserted the key in the lock, opened the door, and entered a small hallway. On the floor, ripped open, was a bag. I heeled the door to, thentook a closer look at the bag. Attached to the handle was a luggage tag. The name on it was B. Doyle.
Opposite me was the half open door of the living room. I crossed to it, pushed it wide, took a step inside, then froze. Lying in the centre of the fitted carpet was what had once been a stuffed doll; a Chinese girl in national costume. The doll's clothing had been torn open and the stuffing scattered over the carpet. Not far from the doll lay the auction catalogue, the one Doyle had produced in Shanghai. Faintly, my nostrils detected the familiar cigar smoke, and with a chill of apprehension I gazed round the room - at the overturned spindle-legged table, at the gilded lamp beside it, as the shattered china vase and the scattered roses. Then suddenly I noticed the grotesque feet, strangely small for such a big man, pointing at right-angles to each other. I noted the crumpled jeans, the torn T- shirt, the blood-stained, heavy glass ashtray beside the crew cut, matted hair.
I must have been staring at Doyle for almost half a minute before becoming aware of the noise. A rhythmic, jubilant ticking that dominated the quiet room. I spun round and made a dive at the chronometer lying face upwards on the floor. Someone was shouting, 'For God's sake, stop!' It was me. I dropped the instrument back on the floor, straightened up, and went back to Doyle's body.
I didn't like what I had to do, but there was a chance that the searching of Doyle's pockets might produce a clue to the identity of his murderer. I stooped down, then jumped back as though I'd been shot. I was as nervous as hell, and the sudden jar of a telephone ringing in that room was as unexpected as a shout in a church.
I shook myself like a dog coming out of an ice-cold stream, and turned to the telephone, which was on a small table beside the sofa. I hesitated, then went over and picked up the receiver, first covering my hand with my breast-pocket handkerchief.
At once a feminine voice, urgently breathless, came on the line. 'This is Kong So- ra. I was right, Kim Su-mi. He's very curious about Bae and World Cup Buk-ro. I thought I'd better .' The voice wavered uncertainly, then resumed on a more urgent note: 'Su-mi, that is you, isn't it?'
There was no point in prolonging the call now, so I slid the receiver back onto its cradle, then stood for a moment with my hand still holding it. I tried to get a mental picture of World Cup Buk-ro - the name was vaguely familiar - but it eluded me. After a few seconds I replaced my handkerchief, and nerved myself to return to the body.
Something told me I hadn't much time, so I began to examine Doyle's pockets as quickly as possible. There was nothing of any apparent significance in his wallet, and I'd just turned out one of his side pockets when I heard the sound of a key scraping the lock of the front door.Quickly restoring the odds and ends to his side pocket, I glanced round the room and saw, for the first time, a door in a distant corner. As I crossed over to it I heard the front door open and close. I slipped inside the bedroom, which was obviously Kim Su-mi; there was that faint, unmistakable perfume. Leaving the door open a couple of inches I immediately looked round for another exit.
There was only the window, concealed by long silk curtains. I pulled the curtains aside as quietly as possible and breathed a sigh of relief when I saw that it was a patio-style sliding door, which was unlocked. Outside was a balcony. Leaving the door open, I returned to the door.
I was just in time to see Kim Su-mi, wearing an attractive summer dress, come through the living room door. She looked puzzled, and I guessed that she'd been surprised to see Doyle's bag on the hall floor. Her expression changed at the sight of the ravished doll, the overturned chairs, and the auction catalogue. Then she saw Doyle's body.
Involuntarily she stepped back a pace, as if to avoid a blow. She was clutching her handbag with both hands, so hard that the whites of her knuckles showed. After what seemed at least a minute she slowly took a cautious step towards the body, then another. There was a tiny click as the toe of her shoe prodded the chronometer. She stopped to look at it, her face turned from the body.
The telephone rang and she straightened herself abruptly. I could see a tiny frown wrinkle her forehead; then she suddenly seemed to gain control of herself. She went across and lifted the receiver as if she now welcomed the interruption.
She didn't speak, but listened to the chattering voice, which I could hear faintly though unintelligibility. The corners of her mouth tightened, and at last she interrupted.
'So-ra, get off the line!' she ordered. 'Something dreadful has happened .' There was another burst from the earpiece, then Kim Su-mi lost all patience. 'I must call the police', she snapped, 'so will you please get off the line!'
She slammed down the receiver, her hand trembling slightly as she held it in place to make sure the connection was broken. Then she slowly lifted it again, and I had no difficulty in concluding that she was dialling the familiar emergency number.
I didn't wait to overhear this conversation, but moved quietly back to the patio door, and out on to the balcony. I took a deep breath, and felt the chill air fill my lungs. Fortunately the balconies formed a continuous ring around each floor, with just a low wall separating each apartment. To the right I could see light flooding from the living room, but the apartment to the left was dark, as was the one next to it. I made light work of the low wall and tried the door, it was locked, but I had better luck with the apartment next to it. The owner wasn't expecting any one to try to enter via the balcony.Once in the street below. I melted into the throng of people strolling casually about their business, the same as any other evening. A taxi dropped a fare a little way up the street. I hailed it as it came towards me, and said: '40 Sejong-daero'.
As we drove off I looked uneasily through the back window at the entrance to the block of flats, but it seemed quite deserted.
Just as we reached the intersection a police car swung round the corner almost on two wheels, causing the taxi driver to snatch at his steering wheel.
'Fuck me!' I heard him exclaim. 'Bloody wooden tops up to their gamesagain!'
'They think they're on a tv show', I replied, trying to sound as casual as possible, then made no further effort at conversation. It was rather important, I decided, that he should not recall anything about this particular passenger.