Chapter twenty
There seemed to be everything but the kitchen stove in Jang In-tak’s shop on the Eunpyeong road. There were tank shells, jerry cans, walkie-talkies, deactivated weapons (I assumed they were deactivated), military books and just about anything else you could think of that would come off a battlefield.
I realised that going to Jang’s was a pretty long shot, but having seen the address on the parcel in Mrs Choi’s car I decided to follow it up. I ran my eye over the bewildering array of clutter in the shop window. Right in front were several refurbished military radios.
I began to see some daylight. Choi had told me that he the objects that he collected, and any of those radios in the shop window could have been refurbished by him: they all exhibited the same exquisite workmanship and meticulous attention to detail. I decided that it was worth trying.
The man behind the counter came towards me. ‘Yes, sir?’ he said. ‘What can I do for you?’
‘I’m rather interested in the Battle of Inchon’, I said.
‘Oh, yes, sir?’
‘I’m looking for militaria from the battle, I said.
The man nodded and gave me a meaning smile. Then he opened a drawer under the counter and took out a small envelope, which he handed to me. ‘You’re bang on time’, he said. ‘It only arrived this morning’.
I sat in my car and tore open the envelope. Inside was a small but perfectly developed photograph. Every detail of the tobacco tin in my apartment was faithfully reproduced: the exterior front and back, and the interior.
As soon as I reached my apartment I telephoned Kim Joo-young, and told her I had to see her at once.
I met Joo-young at the front door and led her into the drawing-room.
She said casually: ‘All this sounds fearfully serious and dramatic, Han-sang. What’s it all about?’ she arranged herself to the best advantage in an armchair and very slightly elevated her eyebrows. ‘You said you’d got a surprise for me. I hope it’s a nice one’.
‘That’s for you to decide’, I said uncompromisingly. I took the photograph out of my wallet and held it out to her. ‘It’s come out rather well, hasn’t it? I must congratulate you on your photography – I never knew it was one of your accomplishments’.
Joo-young looked at the photograph and recoiled sharply. ‘Oh, Han-sang …’ she said wretchedly.
‘Cut out the drama’, I said sourly. ‘And don’t try to tell me that you didn’t take that picture, because I saw you. I think I deserve some sort of explanation’.
‘I – I don’t know what to say’, she murmured helplessly. ‘Well, say something’, I snapped. ‘Why did you take it?’
‘I don’t know’. Her eyes were downcast and she twisted a handkerchief in her fingers. ‘I intend to find out why you took the photograph’, I said grimly. ‘Now, let’s have it’.
Joo-young looked up, I could see that her eyes were eloquent with misery. She said tremulously: ‘Park asked me to do it. He gave me the description of the tin and told me that –’ she faltered and her voice trailed away into silence.
‘Tell me the rest’, I said, ‘and make it the truth’.
She spoke with a sudden rush of words. ‘I just didn’t think, Han-sang. Park gave me the details of the tobacco tin and asked me to take a photograph of it. It seemed harmless enough’. She clutched my arm. ‘Han-sang, I’m terribly sorry; I should have told you about it. I realise that now’.
‘That’s very gratifying’, I said. ‘Did Park tell you why he wanted the photograph?’ She shook her head. ‘No’.
‘Have you any idea why he wanted it?’
‘No, of course I haven’t the slightest idea. You do believe me, Han-sang, don’t you?’
‘Frankly’, I said, ‘I don’t’
‘But it’s the truth!’
‘Now, listen to me’, I said seriously. ‘The people Park’s mixed up with aren’t playing a game, you know. If you know anything about them – anything at all – then you'd better tell me before it’s too late’.
‘What d’you mean – before it’s too late?’
‘I told you what happened to that friend of mine’, I said. ‘I found him here, in the hall, with a knife in his back. Now, what happened when you saw Park Song-yong?’
‘I’ve already told you’. ‘Tell me again’.
She said, without looking at me: ‘He said he didn’t want to see you, that he wanted you to leave him alone. He gave me the money for you and then he asked me to take the photograph. He told me to print off a copy and post it to a shop in Eunpyeong-ro’.
‘Was the shop called Jang In-tak’s?’ I asked quickly.
She turned to face me. ‘Yes, that’s right. How did you know about Jang’s?’
I ignored the question. ‘What did Park look like when you saw him?’ I asked.
‘Ghastly’, replied Joo-young readily. ‘He looked ill and frightened. He wouldn’t talk about anything. But he seemed absolutely sure about one thing – he wants you to leave him alone’. ‘Then why did he write and ask me to meet him at Sinjang-ri?’
She shrugged helplessly. ‘I don’t know’. ‘Did he mention Sinjang-ri, or the letter?’
‘No’.
‘Did he tell you where he’d got all that money from?’
‘He told me nothing – not a damned thing’. She lit a cigarette with a trembling hand.
The telephone rang. I looked at Joo-young, nervously puffing at her cigarette, then I picked up the call.
I instantly recognised the voice on the other end as that of Mrs Choi. She said urgently: ‘My husband’s catching a later train tomorrow morning, so please don’t get here until after one o’clock’.
‘I understand. Thanks for ringing’. I hung up and turned to Joo-young.
‘D’you think I could have a drink?’ she asked, her voice sounding lifeless and depressed.
I poured two soju’s and handed a glass to Joo-young.
She drank some and asked: ‘Han-sang, what is it that Park Song-yong’s mixed up in? Do you know?’
‘No, I don’t’, I said, ‘but I’m hoping I shall by this time tomorrow …’