Chapter fifteen
I motored over to Choi Kyung-lee’s cottage in Pocheon the following afternoon. As far as cars were concerned I appeared to be an unqualified success as an under-cover operator; I had disposed of my own Starex SVX and Song-yong’s Genesis Coupe and now had the unlimited use of a handsome Equus, provided by Na. I was beginning to see what he had meant when he told me that his department had ‘wide powers’ and ‘access to funds that the tax-payer knows nothing about’. I grinned to myself as I took the road to Pocheon: the tax collector might well have wondered how the managing director of a recently liquidated engineering concern managed to drive about the countryside in an almost brand-new Equus.
If Choi Kyung-lee had been a small boy in receipt of an unexpected electric train set he could not have been more delighted than when I appeared bearing the photo of the tank from the Battle of Inchon. Like a master on the bridge of his ship he sat at his desk, holding the photo almost reverently. From time to time he examined the illustration in his reference book through a large magnifying glass and compared it with the photo. The battered tobacco tin, I noticed, was standing on the desk in front of him.
He regarded me with the utmost benevolence. ‘I can’t tell you how pleased I am about this, Mr Moon’, he said, and his watery eyes blinked enthusiastically behind his thick spectacles. ‘It’s a great addition to the archive’.
‘I’m very glad to hear it’, I said.
His smile was almost beatific. ‘It confirms what I’d hoped, Mr Moon’. He tapped the reference book. ‘It tallies with the tank commander’s records for the Battle of Inchon’.
‘Yes’, I agreed, ‘looking at the text in his open reference book’.
Mrs Choi came into the room with a cup of tea in each hand. ‘I thought you’d be needing this, Mr Moon’, she said. ‘I know Kyung-lee, once he starts talking about his the war – time has no meaning for him at all’.
I took the proffered cup.
‘What an extraordinary coincidence, your finding that photo’, she went on. ‘And so soon after talking to Kyung-lee’.
‘It’s quite amazing’, I agreed. ‘But it isn’t mine, you know. It belongs to a man called Park Song-yong’.
She looked at her husband. ‘That name seems familiar, doesn’t it, Kyung-lee?’
‘Not to me, my dear’, said Choi mildly.
Mrs Choi turned to me. ‘Of course, I remember now! Surely that was the name of the man you mentioned when you were here before? The man who owns the car in which you found my spectacles?’
‘That’s right’, I said. ‘You have a very good memory, Mrs Choi’.
She smiled wryly. ‘Someone has to have a good memory in this house; Kyung-lee never remembers a thing if he can possibly help it. Is this Mr Park a friend of yours?’
‘Yes’, I said. ‘He’s also a business associate’.
‘I see’. Mrs Choi was clearly thirsting for more information.
‘Our firm came a cropper’, I went on. ‘Park Song-yong disappeared, owing me a lot of money. I’m still trying to find him’.
‘Well, naturally’, said Mrs Choi uncertainly.
‘As a matter of fact, I’ve taken the law into my own hands’, I told her. ‘I’ve just sold his car for him’.
Choi chuckled appreciatively. ‘Good for you!’
‘I got a remarkably good price for it too’, I murmured casually. ‘I sold it to a man called Seong’.
Neither of them reacted in any way to this information; they continued to look at me with polite interest.
‘Whose car did you come down in today?’ inquired Mrs Choi.
‘Oh, that’s another one’, I said casually. ‘I bought it out of the proceeds’.
Mrs Choi emitted a sympathetic sigh. ‘Well, I do hope you manage to find Mr Park’, she said. ‘Of course, I know very little about business, but it must be absolutely infuriating when that sort of thing happens’.
‘I’ll find him eventually’, I said.
Choi tapped the picture frame on his desk with his forefinger. ‘Oh dear’, he mused, ‘if this doesn’t belong to you, Mr Moon, it makes things a little awkward’.
‘Oh, why?’ I inquired.
Choi hesitated, then said diffidently: ‘I was – er – wondering if I could borrow it for a little while. I’d like to have time to study it more closely’.
‘Why not?’ I smiled. ‘After all, I’ve already sold Park’s car, so I don’t suppose it could do much harm to lend you one of his old photographs’.
‘That’s extraordinarily kind of you’, said Choi gratefully. ‘I’ll take very good care of it’. ‘That’s perfectly all right, Mr Choi’, I assured him. I looked again at the photo of the Battle of Inchon and an idea came to me. ‘I’ll strike a bargain with you, Mr Choi’, I said. ‘I’ll lend you the photo if you’ll let me have the tobacco tin’.
‘Well – er – I don’t know about that’, said Choi, clearly taken aback by my suggestion. ‘But why not?’ I persisted. ‘Don’t you want to sell it?’
‘Well – it’s not that exactly, but –’
‘Then what is it?’ I persisted.
Choi hesitated for a moment, then said: ‘Frankly, Mr Moon, I feel a little bit guilty about saying this after all the trouble you’ve been to on my account, but – well, there’s an awful lot of value in this type of object, you know’. He smiled diffidently. ‘It’s worth rather a lot of money’. ‘That’s all right’, I assured him. ‘I’ll pay the market price for it’.
‘Kyung-lee, you can’t possibly accept that, ‘broke in Mrs Choi adamantly. ‘After all, Mr Moon’s been extremely kind to us: first, bringing my glasses back, and then coming all this way with the picture’.
‘Yes, of course, my dear, I realise that’, said Choi apologetically. He turned to face me. ‘Mr Moon, the market price for this tin to a collector of militaria would be about one million won. I should be more than happy to take a hundred thousand for it’.
‘A hundred thousand?’ I said. ‘But that’s absurd! Let me pay you at least – ’
Choi held up a hand. ‘No, I insist’, he interrupted firmly. ‘I positively insist. One hundred thousand; otherwise you can’t have it’.
I looked first at Choi and then at his wife. ‘Well, thank you very much’, I said at length. ‘It really is most kind of you, but it seems much too little’.
‘That’s settled then’, said Mrs Choi briskly. ‘I’ll just pop it into a box for you, Mr Moon’. She picked up the tin carefully and took it out with her.
I counted out the money from my wallet. ‘This is really very good of you’, I said. ‘But I feel I should be paying you much more’.
Nonsense, my dear fellow’, said Choi. ‘I’d be delighted to let you have it for nothing’. He spread his hands in an expressive gesture. ‘But there is so much demand for this sort of thing, you know, and this is almost my sole means of livelihood nowadays’.
‘I’m perfectly happy about it if you are’, I said. ‘It’s just what I need as a talking point’. ‘Splendid’, said Choi. ‘Then we’re both happy’. He pushed the notes into a drawer without counting them.
‘I had something similar a little while ago’, I said deliberately, ‘but it disappeared. That’s why I need one to replace it’.
I watched Choi closely, but there was nothing more than polite wonderment in his expression. ‘Reallly?’ he said. ‘Do you mean it was stolen?’
‘Yes, I think it was’.
Mrs Choi bustled into the room, carrying a cardboard box. ‘This should do’, she said. ‘As it’s not going through the post I haven’t put all the usual packing in it’.
‘That’s fine’, I said. ‘I must be getting back to Seoul now. You’ve been most kind about this. I do hope we’ll meet again some time’.
Mrs Choi Ji-hye was all smiles. ‘I hope so too, Mr Moon’.
I got into the Equus, placing the box on the front passenger seat. Seung-li joined Choi and his wife at the front door and they all waved to me as I drove away. I couldn’t help reflecting that it would be difficult to imagine a happier and more normal family: the absent-minded, short- sighted old man with his passion for militaria; his brisk and efficient wife who appeared to treat him like a mischievous, untidy small boy; and a little girl called Seung-li…
In the living room of my flat I took the tobacco tin from the Battle of Inchon from its box and examined it carefully. Then I put the tin on the mantelpiece and stood looking at it for a full minute. I found myself wondering what sinister secret was hidden in this tin; more specifically I wondered how it could possibly concern Park Song-yong. I could connect Song-yong with a speedboat, a luxury sports car, or a private jet, but Song-yong and this tobacco tin from half a century ago were poles apart. Military history and Song-yong just didn’t mix.
I continued to frown at the tin for a moment or two longer, then I picked up the empty box with the intention of leaving it for Mrs Gim who would be certain to find a use for it. As I did so I saw an envelope lying in the bottom; an ordinary buff-coloured envelope of the usual depressing kind that inevitably contains a bill. I slit it open and took out a piece of cheap notepaper.
Written in block capitals with a blue ballpoint pen was a single written sentence:
Arsenio isn’t dead.