The smell of the tea was calming as steam rose from the cup. The maid set the intricate porcelain teacup back on its saucer and presented it.
Kang Seo-yoon was in her early fifties, but she didn't look like it at all. She was tall, fair, and slim, with smooth, delicate skin. Her complexion was so youthful it was immediately obvious how much care went into maintaining it. She raised the cup, her hand holding it elegantly. She subtly caught the aroma before taking a sip.
"Madam Kang, you have visitors," a maid said, rushing over with her head bowed.
Kang Seo-yoon nodded slowly, almost lazily. "I'll come at once."
The Lim estate sat behind a wrought-iron gate that looked more like a ribcage than a fence. It was located in the hills of Seongbuk-dong, where the air was five degrees cooler and smelled of pine and old money.
"Oh, he looks interesting," Song Min-ho said, a playful smirk on his face as the security guard at the gate began to approach the car.
"What?" Han Bo-young asked, looking at her reflection in the car's side mirror. She was dabbing a bit of concealer under her eyes, trying to hide the dark circles.
"The security guard. He's a fine piece, wouldn't you say?"
"Not the time to announce your sexual orientation to me, but I guess anything goes," she said, turning away from the mirror to face the guard. She had to admit, he was quite handsome.
"Just poking fun, Sunbae," Song Min-ho said with a laugh. Bo-young smirked faintly, but her professional mask quickly returned.
She rolled down the window. The guard looked ready to recite a rehearsed denial, but Han Bo-young spoke first, her Korean crisp but flavored with that unmistakable Ivy League cadence.
"Detective Han Bo-young and Officer Song. We're here to coordinate with Mrs. Lim regarding the transfer of Yoon-a's personal health records for the National Forensic Service. It's a delicate matter of biological preservation."
The guard hesitated. "The Senator said no press, no..."
"I'm not the press. I'm a doctor," she interrupted, her voice dropping into a professional, cooling tone. "If the toxicology report is delayed because we didn't get the patient's history, the Senator will be looking for someone to blame. Do you want that to be you?"
The gate hummed open.
Song Min-ho exhaled as he drove up the winding driveway. "You're a terrifying woman."
"I don't have the patience for paperwork," she shrugged lazily.
The house was a minimalist nightmare of glass and white stone. Standing at the top of the stairs was Kang Seo-yoon.
"Mrs. Lim," Bo-young said, bowing just enough to be polite but not enough to be submissive. "I apologize for the intrusion. I'm Detective Han. I was the one who oversaw the initial forensic examination."
The mother's eyes flickered. Mentioning the "examination" was a gamble. It usually made people flinch. But Kang Seo-yoon just nodded vaguely.
"My husband said the police were finished for today," she said, her voice airy, as if she were speaking through a fog of benzodiazepines.
"The police are. The medical investigation isn't," Bo-young stepped closer, lowering her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "Between us, the men at the station don't understand the... nuances of a girl like Yoon-a. I noticed some things in her room's photos that didn't match her medical profile. I wanted to check her personal effects before they were moved. To protect her dignity."
To protect her dignity. The ultimate high-society "get out of jail free" card.
Kang Seo-yoon's lip quivered. "The Senator wants everything packed away by tomorrow. He says it's too painful to look at."
"Then we should hurry," Bo-young said, offering a tight, supportive smile. "May we?"
Five minutes later, Han Bo-young was standing in Yoon-a's bedroom. It was a cavernous space that felt less like a bedroom and more like a museum exhibit. Song Min-ho stayed by the door, acting as a lookout.
Han Bo-young moved straight to the vanity. Her eyes scanned the surface: expensive perfumes, luxury skincare, and a single, tiny bottle of high-end Swiss vitamins. She picked up the bottle. The Edelweiss Institute was printed in tiny silver letters on the back.
"Interesting," Bo-young whispered. She opened the bottle; it was empty, but the faint scent of almond—synthetic cyanide or a stabilizer—lingered.
She moved to the closet. It was filled with designer dresses, but at the very back, tucked behind a row of winter coats, she found a small, locked safe.
"I need to take a look," she muttered to Min-ho, who understood the assignment.
She didn't try to pick the lock. Instead, she looked at the keypad. It was a high-end biometric and code lock. She checked the dust patterns. Only two buttons were slightly more worn than the others: 2 and 8.
February 28th? No.
Hye-ji and Yoon-a were born two days apart. She tried the birthdates. Nothing. Then she remembered the "inverted power dynamic." She tried the date Hye-ji left for Switzerland.
Click.
The safe swung open. Inside wasn't jewelry or money. It was a stack of handwritten journals and a single, professional-grade surgical scalpel encased in a velvet box. Bo-young reached for the journals, but her hand froze. A shadow moved across the doorway.
"The Senator's wife is resting," a voice said.
Han Bo-young turned. Standing in the doorway wasn't the Senator, but Ryu Hye-ji. She was still tearing at her cuticles, her eyes fixed on the open safe.
"You shouldn't be in here, Detective," Hye-ji said. Her voice wasn't bright or bubbly. It was hollow. "This room is already dead."
An awkward silence followed. Han Bo-young turned back and continued examining the contents of the safe.
"Under Article 24 of the Criminal Act, an act which infringes a legal interest with the consent of the person authorized to dispose of it shall not be punishable," Bo-young narrated absentmindedly, memorizing the contents as fast as she could. "Since I had consent to enter, there is no 'intrusion' under Article 319. Furthermore, 'Ryu Hye-ji' is not a legal resident of the Lim estate."
"Constitution of the Republic of Korea, Article 16," Hye-ji countered coldly. "'In case of search or seizure in a residence, a warrant issued by a judge at the request of a prosecutor shall be presented.'"
Han Bo-young smiled meaningfully and slammed the safe door shut. She walked toward Ryu Hye-ji.
"There is also no danger to life or risk of destruction of evidence, Detective," Hye-ji added.
"Tell me, Hye-ji. Who have you been talking to?" Bo-young asked instead.
Ryu Hye-ji smirked. "You have no evidence. Leave. Now."
"My fingerprints are all over the safe anyway, so I'll be leaving," Bo-young nodded, looking defeated. "Song Min-ho. Let's go."
She smiled as the car pulled away. Ryu Hye-ji hadn't noticed her slipping away an envelope. She may have been smart, but she definitely wasn't alert. She wasn't the killer. Han Bo-young nodded in satisfaction.
Her hunch was right. Ryu Hye-ji wasn't behind the murder, but she definitely had something shady going on. Han Bo-young also felt she may have contributed to the murder, indirectly. But nothing could be confirmed at the moment.
...
It had been two days since the visit to the Lim estate.
Han Bo-young had interviewed a plethora of suspects since then, but there were still too few pieces to put the puzzle together. She sipped her latte and tapped away at her keyboard, researching.
A notification popped up on her screen. It was an internal memo from the National Forensic Service. Dr. Woo had uploaded the preliminary toxicology report. Bo-young clicked it open, her eyes darting to the chemical breakdown.
Tetrodotoxin-S1.
It was the rare synthetic variant Dr. Woo had mentioned, but there was a new detail: the compound contained a stabilizing agent used exclusively in experimental neuro-mapping.
"Experimental neuro-mapping?"
She needed to see Dr. Woo.
She grabbed her coat.