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

As the studio buzzes with post-broadcast excitement, I find myself at the center of a whirlwind of praise and congratulations. Producers, technicians, and even the usually composed Kim Soo-jin crowd around me, their faces alight with admiration.

"That was incredible, Detective Park!" one of the junior producers gushes. "How did you know he would call in?"

"Your instincts are unbelievable," another chimes in. "The way you kept him talking... it was like you were inside his head!"

I offer a modest smile, uncomfortable with the attention but understanding their excitement. It's not every day that a dangerous criminal is apprehended live on air.

Through the crowd, I spot Han making his way towards me. His face is a mix of relief and curiosity as he approaches.

"Park," he says, his voice low enough that only I can hear. "I need you to walk me through this. What made you decide on this approach? How did you know Shin would react to the program?"

I take a deep breath, gathering my thoughts. The room quiets as I begin to speak, everyone eager to hear the explanation.

"It's about understanding the psychology of serial killers," I begin, my voice taking on a clinical tone. "They often have an inflated sense of self-importance, a need for recognition. By discussing Shin's past on national television, I knew we'd provoke a response."

I continue, delving deeper into the mindset. "Serial killers like Shin often feel misunderstood. They believe their actions have a higher purpose that others can't comprehend. By purposely misrepresenting his motivations, I knew he'd feel compelled to 'correct' us."

As I speak, I notice the expressions around me changing. The initial excitement is replaced by a mix of fascination and unease.

"Moreover," I add, "these individuals often have a deep-seated need to control the narrative around them. By bringing his father into the picture and suggesting a motivation related to his mother, we challenged that control. It was almost inevitable that he'd reach out to reassert his version of events."

I pause, looking around at the stunned faces. "In essence, we used his own psychology against him. His need for control, his anger, his desire for recognition – all of it played into our hands."

The room is silent for a moment before erupting into impressed murmurs. People are nodding, some are scribbling notes, all seeming in awe of the insight.

But as I turn back to Han, I notice something different in his expression. There's a flicker of... is it unease? Concern? For a brief moment, his eyes narrow as he studies me, as if seeing me in a new light.

"Sir, I apologize for not sharing the details of my strategy with you in advance. I was concerned about potential leaks from the TV station staff. I didn't mean to keep you in the dark," I say to Han.

Han's expression softens slightly at my words, but there's still a hint of something unreadable in his eyes.

"You speak as if you understand him intimately," Han says quietly, a slight chill in his voice. "As if you've been inside the mind of a killer yourself."

I hold his gaze steadily, about to respond, when Han shakes his head slightly, as if dismissing a troubling thought. His familiar smile returns, and he claps me on the shoulder.

"Remarkable work, Park," he says, his voice now warm with pride. "Truly remarkable."

As Han joins the others in celebration, I can't help but wonder about that moment of doubt I saw in his eyes. But for now, I push the thought aside. We've caught a dangerous criminal, and that's what matters. The complexities of how we got here... well, that's a conversation for another day.

***

The bustling energy of the police station is punctuated by groans and muttered complaints. Officers huddle in small groups, their voices low but filled with frustration.

"Can you believe this?" Detective Kim says, waving a memo in the air. "We're in the middle of three major cases, and they want us to play party planners?"

Officer Lee nods in agreement. "It's ridiculous. Every year it's the same thing, but this time they're inviting all these big shots. Like we don't have enough pressure already."

The discontent spreads through the station like wildfire, reaching even our unit. I overhear Detective Choi grumbling to her partner. "Hand-delivering invitations? What are we, couriers? We've got real work to do."

Inspector Han enters the room, a stack of envelopes in his hands. The complaints die down to a low murmur as he begins to distribute them.

"I know this isn't ideal," Han says, his voice firm but understanding. "But it's part of the job. These retired officers have given years of service. Showing them respect is important."

Han reaches me last, holding out a crisp white envelope. "Park, you'll be delivering this to former Chief Superintendent Kang," he says, his tone a mix of seriousness and something I can't quite place. Curiosity, perhaps?

"Kang's never actually come to one of these parties before," Han continues, his brow furrowing slightly. "I've never even met him myself. But he was a legend in this unit back in the day. A lot of the higher-ups are hoping he'll finally make an appearance this year."

I take the envelope, turning it over in my hands. "Why me, sir? Wouldn't it be more appropriate for a senior officer to deliver this?"

Before Han can respond, Detective Kim chimes in from his desk. "Isn't it obvious? You're the unit's golden boy now, Park. If anyone can convince the old man to show up, it's you."

There's a murmur of agreement around the room. I feel a flush creeping up my neck as I remember the media frenzy following the Shin case. My name has been plastered across newspapers and TV screens for weeks. There are even rumors of an online fan club, a thought that both amuses and unsettles me.

Han nods, a slight smile on his face. "Kim's not wrong. Your recent cases have put you in the spotlight, Park. Sometimes, that spotlight can be useful. Use it wisely."

I take the envelope with a nod. "Thank you, sir. I'll make sure it gets to him personally."

As Han moves away, I can feel the eyes of my colleagues on me. Some look annoyed at my lack of complaint, others curious.

Detective Kim leans over. "You're not bothered by this?"

I shrug, offering a small smile. "It's not my favorite task, but it's not so bad. Besides, I'm just grateful to be here, you know?"

Kim raises an eyebrow but doesn't press further. He doesn't know about my background, about the hurdles I had to overcome to join this unit. Compared to those challenges, delivering an invitation seems trivial.

As the others continue to grumble, I tuck the envelope into my jacket pocket. It's a small task, but one I'll complete with diligence. After all, every aspect of this job is an opportunity to prove myself, to show that I belong here despite my past.

The complaints fade into background noise as I turn my attention back to my work.

***

The address for Chief Superintendent Kang's residence leads me to an area I know all too well - just a few blocks from my grandmother's restaurant and my childhood home.

The streets here are narrow, lined with older houses that have seen better days. Laundry hangs from balconies, fluttering in the gentle breeze like forgotten flags. The occasional stray cat slinks between parked cars, eyeing me warily as I pass. The air is filled with the mingled scents of kimchi and grilled meat from nearby homes, a familiar aroma that brings back childhood memories.

It's a far cry from the upscale neighborhoods I'd expected a retired Chief Superintendent to call home.

Questions tumble through my mind as I navigate the familiar yet somehow foreign streets. Why would Kang choose to live here? Could this be his hometown, a place he returned to after years of service? Or is there some other reason a man of his stature would settle in such a modest area? Perhaps he values anonymity over luxury, or maybe there's a deeper story behind his choice.

I finally reach the address, standing before a small, shabby house that looks like it's been standing for decades. The paint is peeling, and the small garden in front is overgrown. It's hard to imagine this as the home of a police legend.

I press the doorbell, hearing a faint chime from inside. No response. I wait a moment, then try again. Still nothing.

Sighing, I'm about to turn and leave when a gruff voice behind me makes me freeze.

"Can I help you?"

I turn around, and my eyes widen in recognition. Standing there, looking at me with a mix of curiosity and wariness, is a face I know well - the old man who comes to my grandmother's restaurant every day. The quiet regular who always sits in the corner.

"Oh, hello," I stammer, caught off guard. "I was just... I mean, I'm looking for someone, but it seems they're not home. I'll come back another time."

The old man's eyes narrow slightly, and then he says something that makes my jaw drop.

"There is no one in this house. It is only me."

I blink, my mind struggling to process this information. This man - the quiet regular at my grandmother's restaurant, the one I've seen nearly every day for years - is Chief Superintendent Kang?

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