Chapter nineteen
I came to the conclusion that the only person who could really help me was Mrs Choi. It was obvious that she had written the note saying that Arsenio wasn’t dead, and that there was some connection between the child Seung-li and the fact that the Cuban sailor had muttered the name ‘Seung-li’ over and over again before he died. Mrs Choi – Arsenio – Seung-li: somewhere there must be a connection between them.
I had thought that Dr Lee would be able to throw some light on the mystery, but he had been no help whatsoever. Clearly he had thought me mad to suggest that Arsenio had not died; after all, Lee had attended the man during his last hours and had certified his death. On the face of it, Lee’s feelings one the matter were perfectly understandable – no doctor would welcome the theory that he had caused someone to be buried alive.
I decided that Mrs Choi’s message could mean only one thing: that the man who had died at Sinjang-ri was not Arsenio. But this seemed equally absurd because Captain Martinez had identified the body.
My thoughts switched to the young man who called himself Si. He obviously knew where Park Song-yong was and had done his best to throw me off his trail. Si knew who had killed Jo; indeed, he might well have done so himself. Si was working for someone who knew where Park was and they (whoever ‘they’ might be) were prepared to go to any lengths, including murder, to keep his whereabouts a secret. Na had given me the job of finding Park, but Park Song-yong was clearly determined not to be found.
And then there was Kim Joo-young; how did she fit into this bizarre jigsaw puzzle? Was she acting out of love, mistaken loyalty, or some more sinister motive? Why had she taken that photograph of the tobacco tin in my flat?
For a full hour I wrestled with these questions and eventually found myself back where I had started – the note from Mrs Choi. I got into my car and drove in the direction of Pocheon.
Halfway down Pocheon’s busy main street I groped in my pocket for a cigarette, but found only an empty packet. I pulled up at a kiosk and bought a packet of twenty. I was just about to drive away again when I noticed a somewhat battered Samsung N17, which had drawn up near a greengrocer’s on the opposite side of the road. Choi Ji-Hye got out of the car and went into the shop.
I crossed the main street to the Samsung, looked up and down the street carefully, and then got into the front passenger seat.
I looked around inside the car. On the shelf behind the back seat was a large, stuffed toy Korean tiger, and on the back seat a square brown paper parcel, addressed and ready for posting. Obviously a methodical woman, Mrs Choi had addressed the parcel twice: once on the paper and again on a small label tied to the string. On it was written:
Jang In-tak 61 Eunpyeong-ro 12-gil Seoul
I scribbled the name and address on the back of an old envelope and replaced the parcel on the back seat. As I did so I noticed Choi Ji-hye coming towards the car. Seeing me in the front seat, she stopped dead and drew in her breath sharply. I opened the door and said: ‘Do get in, Mrs Choi. I’m very anxious to talk to you’.
Her attempt at nonchalance did not strike me as entirely successful. ‘What are you doing in my car?’ she demanded.
‘Waiting for you’, I replied.
She looked flustered and palpably ill at ease. ‘Why on earth didn't you come to the cottage, Mr Moon? Why do we have to talk here – in my car?’
‘I was on my way there; I happened to see your car and thought this would be a little less obvious’, I said.
She recovered herself quickly. ‘What is it you want?’ Her voice was perfectly normal, but I noticed that she carelessly moistened her lips with her tongue.
‘Well, first of all, thank you for the note’, I said.
‘I’m afraid I don’t quite understand you’. Her expression was affronted and frigid.
‘I was referring to the note that was with the model I bought from your husband’, I explained. She made an impatient gesture. ‘I haven’t the remotest idea what you’re talking about, Mr Moon’.
I started to get out of the car. ‘I must apologise’, I said. ‘I’ve obviously made a mistake. It must have been your husband who put the note in the box. I’ll have a word with him about it’.
I had one foot in the road, but she stopped me.
‘No, wait’, she said urgently; ‘there’s not need to tell Kyung-lee about this. What exactly is it you want to know?’
‘I want to know if you sent the note’.
She hesitated, apparently trying to collect herself. Then, rather reluctantly, she nodded. ‘Why?’
‘I thought it might help you, that’s all’. ‘Help me? In what way?’
She looked out of the car window and said quickly: ‘We really can’t talk here’. There was a note of desperation in her voice.
‘I think we can’, I said. ‘Do you mean that the note might help me to find Park Song-yong?’ Without looking at me she said: ‘Perhaps’.
‘The note said, “Arsenio isn’t dead”, I said. ‘What did you mean by that? That the dead man wasn’t Arsenio at all?’
She looked out of the window again. ‘Yes’, she said distractedly. She turned to me with an appealing look. ‘Mr Moon, I’m sorry, but I just can’t talk to you now. I’m expecting my husband at any moment, and if he sees us together he’ll –’
‘All right’, I interrupted. ‘If I go now, will you meet me sometime tomorrow?’
She hesitated, her eyes darting up and down the street. Then she said: ‘I'll see you at the cottage at about eleven o’clock’.
‘I’ll be there’, I nodded and started to get out of the car again. Then a sudden thought struck me. ‘Before I go, Mrs Choi, do you happen to know a Dr Lee Chung-kyu?’
She looked quite blank. ‘Dr Lee Chung-kyu? No, I don’t think so – in fact I’m sure I don’t. Why d’you ask?’
‘I just wondered’, I said vaguely. ‘It really doesn’t matter’. ‘Well, I’ve never heard of him’, she said.
I got out of the car and closed the door. Through the open window I said: ‘Till tomorrow, Mrs Choi’.
She nodded, tight lipped. Then she drove away and I crossed the street to my own car.