The woman's face breaks into a wide grin. "That's Sang-chul now," she says, rising from her seat. "He's back from the store."
I hear footsteps on the stairs, growing louder as they approach the door. And then, with a click of the lock, the door swings open, revealing the man himself.
Oh Sang-chul stands in the doorway, a bag of groceries in one hand and a surprised expression on his face. He's tall and broad-shouldered, with a rugged, handso face that seems at odds with the darkness I sense lurking beneath the surface.
"Who's this?" he asks, his eyes narrowing as he takes in my presence.
I step forward, extending my hand in greeting. "Officer Park, from the Seoul tropolitan Police Departnt. I was hoping to ask you a few questions, Mr. Oh."
Oh's gaze flickers to his wife, then back to . For a mont, I see a flash of sothing in his eyes, a hint of the anger and violence that I know lies buried within him.
But then, just as quickly, it's gone, replaced by a mask of calm composure. "Of course, Officer," he says, his voice smooth and even. "Anything I can do to help."
As he steps inside, setting the groceries down on the counter, I can feel the tension in the room rising, the air crackling with unspoken secrets and hidden truths.
Oh's wife, sensing the tension in the room, quickly excuses herself. "I'll leave you two to chat," she says, smiling warmly at Oh before disappearing into the bedroom.
With his wife gone, I turn my attention back to Oh, who sits across from , his expression calm and composed. "So, Mr. Oh," I begin, "tell a bit about your work. Your wife ntioned you run a delivery business?"
Oh nods, a hint of pride in his voice. "That's right. I've been running it for almost ten years now. It's a lot of hard work, but I enjoy it. There's sothing satisfying about making sure everything gets where it needs to go."
I make a note of this, then move on to my next question. "And what about your family? Do you have any relatives in the area?"
Oh shakes his head. "No, it's just and my wife. My parents passed away when I was younger, and I don't have any siblings."
As we continue to talk, Oh answers each of my questions diligently, without any sign of frustration or annoyance. He seems almost eager to help, to prove that he has nothing to hide.
But when I ask about his marriage, I notice a subtle shift in his deanor. His eyes soften, and a smile tugs at the corners of his mouth. "My wife is everything to ," he says, his voice filled with emotion. "She's the only family I have, the only person who truly understands . I would do anything for her, anything at all."
There's a intensity to his words, a fervor that catches off guard. For a mont, I glimpse the depth of his devotion, the lengths he would go to protect the woman he loves.
We talk for a while longer, but eventually, I realize there's nothing more to be gained from this conversation. I thank Oh for his ti and cooperation, then show myself out.
As I make my way back to the unit, lost in thought, Bundy's voice suddenly echoes through my mind. "So, what did you think of our friend Mr. Oh?" he asks, a hint of amusent in his tone.
I hesitate, not wanting to give voice to the doubts that nag at . "I'm not sure," I admit. "He seems like a devoted husband, a hard worker. But there's sothing about him, sothing I can't quite put my finger on."
Bundy chuckles, a low, ominous sound. "Oh, I think you know exactly what it is. You're just afraid to admit it."
I frown, bristling at his accusation. "And what's that?"
"He has a very good reason to commit those murders," Bundy says, his voice dripping with dark satisfaction.
I feel a chill run down my spine. "What reason?" I demand.
"His wife," Bundy replies, as if it's the most obvious thing in the world. "Think about it. The way he talks about her, the depth of his devotion. A man like that, with a history of violence, would do anything to keep her safe, to keep her happy."
I shake my head, not wanting to believe it. "That's not enough," I argue. "We need evidence, proof."
"Rember what I said before, about the murders being committed by a couple?" he asks, a sly edge to his tone.
I nod, recalling our previous conversation. "Yes, you ntioned that. Are you suggesting that Oh's wife is involved sohow?"
Bundy laughs, a chilling sound that sends shivers down my spine. "No, no, Park. You're missing the point. I don't think Oh's wife is directly involved in the murders. But I do think she plays a crucial role in his motivations."
I frown, trying to follow his logic. "What do you an?"
"Think about it," Bundy continues, his voice almost gleeful. "All those valuables stolen from the victims... what if Oh is using them to buy his wife's affection? To shower her with gifts and keep her happy?"
I mull over his words, a sense of unease growing in the pit of my stomach. "I don't know, Bundy. That seems like a bit of a stretch. Why would he need to go to such extre lengths?"
Bundy sighs, as if he's explaining sothing to a particularly dense child. "You still don't get it, do you? For a man like Oh, with a history of violence and a deep, all-consuming love for his wife, there's nothing he wouldn't do to keep her by his side. Even if it ans stealing, even if it ans killing."
I shake my head, not wanting to accept his theory. "I'm not entirely convinced, Bundy. We need more evidence, more proof."
"Suit yourself, Park," Bundy replies, a hint of amusent in his voice. "But let tell you sothing. My gut, the sa gut that's driven to do the things I've done... it's telling that there's more to Oh's wife than ets the eye. And if you're smart, you'll dig deeper into her background, see what secrets she might be hiding."
I hesitate, torn between my instincts as a police officer and the unsettling insights of a notorious serial killer. But as much as I hate to admit it, Bundy's words have a ring of truth to them.
I make a ntal note to look into Oh's wife, to see if there's anything in her past that might shed light on her husband's actions. It's a long shot, but in a case like this, no lead can be overlooked.
Reviews
All reviews (0)