I Can Hear a Serial Killer's Voice in My Head

Chapter 30: The Fourth Case (6)

As I speed down the highway towards Busan, the city lights blurring past in a dizzying kaleidoscope, Bundy's voice echoes in my mind.

"So, Park," he drawls, his tone dripping with false curiosity, "care to share what brilliant deduction has sent us racing off to Busan in the middle of the night?"

I grit my teeth, my grip tightening on the steering wheel as I try to focus on the road ahead. "It's Yuri," I say, my voice tight with barely contained excitement. "She's been sending photos of her paintings to her brother, despite claiming she never showed them to anyone."

"Oh, really?" Bundy chuckles, a note of cruel amusement in his voice. "And what makes you so sure of that?"

"The evidence in her apartment," I reply, my mind flashing back to the cut-up photographs and scattered envelopes. "She's been carefully documenting her work, capturing each twisted creation and sending the images to Hosu. It's the only explanation that makes sense."

Bundy is silent for a moment, and I can almost feel his dark presence looming over me, a malevolent shadow that threatens to consume me whole. "And what exactly do you hope to find in Busan?" he asks, his voice a sinister whisper.

I shake my head, trying to clear my thoughts as the exit for Busan looms ahead. "I don't know," I admit, my voice barely audible over the hum of the engine. "But whatever it is, I have a feeling it's going to blow this case wide open."

As I navigate the winding streets of Busan, the buildings rising up like jagged teeth against the night sky, I can feel the tension building in my chest, a coiled spring of anticipation and dread. Finally, I pull up in front of Hosu's apartment complex, the brakes squealing as I come to a halt.

I take a deep breath, steeling myself for whatever lies ahead. My plan is simple: catch Hosu off guard, get him to reveal something, anything, that might shed light on his sister's twisted creations.

With a sense of grim determination, I climb the stairs to Hosu's floor, my footsteps echoing in the empty hallway. As I approach his door, my heart pounding in my chest, I reach out and press the buzzer, the sound shrill and jarring in the stillness.

For a moment, there is only silence. Then, from behind the door, I hear a voice. But it's not the voice I was expecting.

It's a woman's voice, soft and hesitant, barely audible through the heavy wood. "Who... who is it?" she asks, a note of fear in her tone.

As the door cracks open, I find myself face to face with a young woman, her expression wary and guarded. "I'm looking for a man named Kim Hosu," I say, my voice calm and steady despite the tension coiled in my gut. "Is he here?"

The woman's brow furrows in confusion, her eyes searching my face for any hint of deception. "I'm sorry," she says slowly, shaking her head. "But there's no one by that name here. You must have the wrong address."

I feel a flicker of doubt, a nagging sense that something isn't quite right. "Are you sure?" I press, my gaze intense as I study her reaction. "This is the address I was given. I really need to speak with him."

The woman's expression hardens, a flicker of fear dancing in her eyes as she takes a step back. "I'm telling you, there's no Kim Hosu here. I don't know who gave you this address, but they were mistaken."

In a last-ditch effort, I pull out my police ID, holding it up for her to see. "Ma'am, I'm with the Seoul Metropolitan Police. I'm conducting an investigation, and it's crucial that I speak with Kim Hosu. If he's here, you need to tell me. Now."

But the woman only shakes her head more vehemently, her voice trembling slightly as she speaks. "I swear to you, I don't know anyone by that name. I live here alone. I've never even heard of a Kim Hosu."

A sudden thought occurs to me, a desperate gamble born of frustration and desperation. "What about Kim Yuri?" I ask, my voice low and urgent. "Do you know her?"

The woman's eyes widen, a flicker of recognition that vanishes as quickly as it appears. "No," she says, her voice barely above a whisper. "I don't know Kim Yuri either. I'm sorry, but I really don't know what else to tell you."

And with that, she begins to close the door, her face a mask of fear and confusion. "You're making me feel unsafe," she says, her words muffled by the heavy wood. "Please, just leave me alone."

The door clicks shut, leaving me standing alone in the hallway, my mind reeling with unanswered questions.

I shake my head, trying to clear my thoughts as I turn and make my way back down the stairs, my footsteps heavy with frustration and doubt. None of this makes sense. Yuri sent a letter to this address, addressed to her brother. But if he doesn't live here, and the woman inside claims not to know either of them...

Then what happened to the letter?

As I slide into the driver's seat of my car, my fingers drumming restlessly against the steering wheel, and Bundy's voice echoes in my mind.

"Tell me, Park," he purrs, his words dripping with false curiosity. "What are the chances that the South Korean postal service would simply lose a letter? Misplace it, let it slip through the cracks and disappear into the void?"

I frown, my brow furrowing as I consider the question. "Almost zero," I mutter, my voice low and pensive. "The postal service here is reliable, efficient. They don't just lose things."

Bundy chuckles, a sound that is at once amused and sinister. "Ah, but if that's the case," he murmurs, his voice taking on a sly, insinuating tone, "then isn't there another possibility we haven't considered? Another explanation for why dear Hosu's letter never reached its intended destination?"

I feel a sudden chill, a prickling sensation at the back of my neck as the pieces begin to fall into place. "You mean..." I whisper, my voice hoarse with a growing sense of dread.

"Exactly," Bundy purrs, his presence in my mind suddenly feeling heavier, more oppressive. "If the letter didn't simply vanish into thin air, if it wasn't lost or misplaced by some careless postal worker..."

"Then someone must have taken it," I finish, my heart pounding with a sickening realization.

"Someone must have intercepted it, stolen it before it could reach the destination."