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

We arrive at the final location – a secluded parking lot behind an abandoned warehouse. The air is thick with tension as we take our positions, eyes scanning every shadow and corner. Yoon stands near the center, appearing casual but alert, while the rest of us blend into the background as best we can.

I crouch behind a dumpster, my heart pounding in my ears. Ko's voice comes through my earpiece, low and steady. "Everyone in position. Keep your eyes peeled for our suspect. Remember the description Yoon gave us."

Minutes tick by, feeling like hours. Then, I spot movement at the far end of the lot. A figure emerges from the shadows – male, mid-thirties, slim build. As he steps into the dim light of a flickering streetlamp, I catch sight of something on his face. A mole, just below his left eye.

My pulse races as I whisper into my mic, "Possible suspect, northwest corner. Moving towards Yoon."

Ko's response is immediate. "All units, be ready. Wait for my signal."

I watch as the man approaches Yoon, his movements casual but with an underlying tension that sets my teeth on edge. He's close now, too close. I see Yoon's hand move to her hair – our predetermined signal.

Ko's voice crackles through the comm: "Move in. Now!"

We converge on the suspect from all directions. I sprint from my hiding spot, adrenaline surging through my veins. The man's eyes widen as he realizes he's surrounded. He tries to run, but I'm on him in seconds, tackling him to the ground.

"Police! Don't move!" I shout, struggling to pin his arms behind his back.

The suspect thrashes beneath me, his voice panicked. "What's going on? I didn't do anything! This is a mistake!"

As I slap the handcuffs on him, Ko approaches, her face a mask of stern professionalism. "Sir, you're under arrest on suspicion of kidnapping and assault."

"Kidnapping? Assault? What are you talking about?" the man protests, his voice rising in pitch. "I'm just here to meet someone! This is crazy!"

Ko doesn't respond to his pleas. Instead, she pulls out her phone and dials a number. For a moment, there's silence. Then, a muffled ringtone breaks through – coming from the suspect's pocket.

The color drains from the man's face as he realizes what's happening. Ko's eyes narrow as she speaks into her phone, "This is Detective Ko. We have Yumi's phone. And we have you."

The suspect's protests die on his lips, replaced by a look of dawning horror. As we haul him to his feet, I can't help but feel a mixture of triumph and dread. We've caught our killer, but what has he done with Yumi and the others?

As we lead him towards the waiting police car, Ko turns to me, her expression grim but determined. "Good work. Now the real investigation begins. Let's find out where he's keeping those women."

***

The fluorescent lights of the interrogation room buzz overhead as Ko and I sit across from our suspect. His eyes dart nervously between us, his hands fidgeting on the table.

"Let's start with the basics," Ko says, her voice calm but authoritative. She slides the man's ID across the table. "Kim Su-chul, age 32. Is this correct?"

Kim nods slowly, his eyes fixed on his identification card. "Yes, that's me."

I lean forward, my elbows on the table. "Alright, Mr. Kim. Let's go over this again. How did you come into possession of Yumi's phone?"

Kim's shoulders slump as he repeats his story. "I found it in a dumpster behind my apartment building. It was still working, so I just... started using it. I didn't know it belonged to anyone important."

"And you didn't think to turn it in? To try and find the owner?" I press.

He shrugs, not meeting my eyes. "I'm poor, okay? I can barely afford my own phone. When I realized this one was still being paid for, I... I saw an opportunity."

Ko interjects, her tone skeptical. "An opportunity. And what about the calls you made? Trying to arrange meetings with women?"

Kim's face flushes. "I was just looking to hook up, alright? Is that a crime? I work part-time at a construction site. I don't exactly have women lining up to date me."

Just then, there's a knock at the door. An officer enters, handing Ko a file before quickly exiting. Ko opens it, her eyes scanning the contents. I watch as her expression shifts subtly.

"Mr. Kim," she says, looking up from the papers. "You failed to mention your previous convictions. Two strikes for shoplifting at local supermarkets. Care to explain?"

Kim's face pales. "I... I was desperate. I needed food. You don't understand what it's like to be so poor, to have debt collectors breathing down your neck every day."

I study him closely. A middle school dropout, drowning in debt, with a history of petty crime. It fits a certain profile, but is it enough to make him escalate to kidnapping?

"Mr. Kim," I say, keeping my voice level. "We know you're in a difficult situation. But withholding information from us only makes you look more suspicious. If you're innocent, if this is all just a misunderstanding, then help us understand. Where were you on the nights Yumi and the other women disappeared?"

Kim's eyes well up with tears. "I don't know anything about any disappearances! I swear! I was probably at home, or at work. I don't remember exactly. Please, you have to believe me!"

I catch Ko's eye, and we share a silent moment of understanding. She gives me a slight nod, and I turn my attention to the stack of files in front of me, flipping through the evidence we've gathered on our recent cases.

As I review the details, a pattern emerges. The profile we've built of our suspect matches Kim Su-chul in many ways.

But as I look up at the man sitting across from us, something doesn't quite fit. Kim looks... small. Defeated. His hunched shoulders and nervous fidgeting don't align with the calculated, careful perpetrator we've been chasing. He seems more like a cornered animal than a predator.

Ko's voice breaks through my thoughts. "Mr. Kim," she says, her tone serious, "I need you to understand the gravity of this situation. The phone you've been using belongs to a missing person – someone who may very well be dead by now. Given the circumstances, we have no choice but to treat you as our primary suspect."

Kim's face crumples, a mix of fear and desperation. "I... I understand," he stammers. "But please, you have to believe me. I'm innocent. I've done some stupid things in my life, but I would never hurt anyone.

Never!"

Ko nods, her expression neutral. "We hear you, Mr. Kim. But we need more than just your word." She turns to the officer standing by the door. "I want a full investigation of Mr. Kim's residence.

Contact his workplace, gather any information you can about his whereabouts and activities over the past month."

She then turns to me. "Detective, do you have anything to add?"

I hesitate, my mind racing. Something's not adding up, but I can't put my finger on what. "Not at the moment," I reply, my eyes still on Kim. "But I'd like to review some things."

As Ko continues to question Kim, I lean back in my chair, my thoughts whirling. What are we missing? The evidence points to Kim, but my instincts are screaming that there's more to this story.

I go over the timeline in my head. The missing women, the careful planning of the kidnappings, the way our suspect has managed to stay one step ahead of us at every turn. It all speaks to a level of sophistication that seems at odds with the man trembling before us. No to mention all those old people who died at home.

But if not Kim, then who? And how did Yumi's phone end up in that dumpster? There's a piece of this puzzle we're not seeing, a connection we haven't made yet.

I watch as Kim answers Ko's questions, his responses becoming more and more frantic. He's scared, that much is clear. But is it the fear of a guilty man about to be caught, or the terror of an innocent person trapped in a nightmare?

As the interrogation with Kim Su-chul continues, I feel a nagging sensation in the pit of my stomach. Something's off, but I can't quite put my finger on it. I excuse myself from the room, telling Ko I need a moment to clear my head.

In the hallway, I lean against the wall, closing my eyes and taking a deep breath. Suddenly, an idea strikes me. It's unconventional, perhaps even controversial, but it might give us the insight we need.

I make my way down to the rooftop. Taking a deep breath, I do something I've sworn to avoid – I deliberately call upon the voice in my head.

"Bundy," I think, "I need your insight."

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