She felt a sharp pain when Deok-gi mentioned Pil-sun in his delirium. What deep feelings did he have for her that he would call out her name even in his confused state? How could he utter Pil-sun’s name with such yearning if it were not etched in his heart? Was he repeating his pleas to the detectives? At times she couldn’t bear the sight of him. The family’s wealth was gone now, and her husband might soon have a concubine. If she had to endure poverty or tolerate a concubine or both, she would bear it all with a smile on her face, but what if he divorced her? But these were all just conjectures. She tried to calm herself. It was senseless to think such thoughts when her husband was hovering between life and death.
No. My husband wouldn’t do it. Isn’t he the eldest son of a yangban family? The thought comforted her.
A few days later, Deok-gi’s temperature chart, drawn on a graph hanging at the foot of the bed, began to show a gradual drop, and the sharp ups and downs of his fever leveled out. He could now sit up and swallow some milk.
His family was thankful for his recovery, but they didn’t want him to get better too quickly. They were afraid that the detective, who was standing watch at the head of the bed like a messenger of death, would snatch him away as soon as he improved.
Deok-gi’s mother pleaded with the detectives. “We’re relieved, but please put in a good word for us so they won’t touch him until he makes a complete recovery.” It might have helped if she had pressed a ten-won bill into their hands to pay for cigarettes. But she feared and despised them, not to mention she didn’t know the ways of the world. The next afternoon Deok-gi was yanked from his bed and escorted back to the police station, although he couldn’t stand on his own.
Amid the chaos, Deok-gi asked to see Pil-sun’s father, but the detectives wouldn’t hear of it. A nurse was sent to bring out Pil-sun’s mother, and Deok-gi saw her in the lobby. She wept when saw him. Witnesses to the emotional scene, Deok-gi’s wife and mother were perturbed.
At the station, the Judiciary Section chief greeted him with, “What was written about the rice refinery in your grandfather’s will?” Deok-gi wondered whether his father had been caught. Or could it be that his father’s whereabouts were still unknown, but someone else had raised the subject? He didn’t know what answer would be helpful to his father, but he told the truth — that there had been no mention of the refinery.
“Then did he leave any oral instructions before his death?”
“He didn’t have the time to do so.”
“Then who’s managing it?”
“I am.”
“Would you give it to your father if he demanded it?”
“I thought I’d give it to him when the time is right.”
“Did you know anything about a separate will, stating that he’d leave the refinery to your father?”
Deok-gi was astonished. It dawned on him that his father may have made such a fuss in order to take the rice refinery, by stealing his grandfather’s seal and forging a will.
Deok-gi shrugged.
“Did you arrest the imposters? Did you find the keys?” Deok-gi asked.
The chief smirked. “What imposters? Do you mean your father? We’ve recovered half of your assets, money that would have been gambled away. You young people shouldn’t resent the police. You ought to thank us.”
When Deok-gi’s grandfather was still alive, Sang-hun had used the deeds of the Hwagae-dong house as collateral and had left a trail of considerable debts. Sang-hun was being bombarded with demands for payment but didn’t have the cash. Deok-gi had just spent two thousand won installing his father’s concubine, and Sang-hun himself had squandered his father’s bank deposit of four or five thousand. He had also used the land deed in his name to secure a loan of a thousand won at a gaming parlor but had lost it all that same night. While he was being pressured for the money, he was approached about taking over a stock trading shop. Sang-hun thought it might be the only way to recover his money, but at that point, as if heaven were on his side, Deok-gi was taken away by the police. Sang-hun thought that with his son in jail, depending on how long it took the police to discover that he was innocent — he could resort to an emergency measure.
On the day he went to the house to see if he could get the key to the safe, his wife had ruined everything when she threw the safe out onto the veranda. If she hadn’t aggravated him, he could have easily opened the small safe himself. But instead he decided to use an old guy who had swindled money in mahjong parlors to pose as a detective. Though this lowlife was eager to be part of the action, he knew nothing about opening safes and recommended a retired office worker he knew, who used to oversee company safes.
While Deok-gi was asking in his feverish delirium whether his father had the will, land deeds were being converted into cash and a contract for the agent’s office was signed. The father’s luck ended with his arrest, while Deok-gi’s turned with it. If Deok-gi were cleared of all misdeeds, suspicion would shift to Sang-hun or the Suwon woman, but Sang-hun hadn’t thought this through. His theft of the documents was not linked to the Jang Hun case or to the poisoning and seemed to be of little importance. The police intended to conclude the matter quickly.
Seated across from Deok-gi, the chief took out a document from his briefcase.
“Whose writing is this?”
It was his grandfather’s will.
Then he took out another one. It was his grandfather’s will with the same date as the first one, instructing that the rice refinery be given to Sang-hun. The handwriting was identical. “What about this one?”
“It’s my grandfather’s.”
“If you make a false statement, you’ll be committing perjury, so be careful what you say. Where was your grandfather’s seal?”
“It was in the safe, but my father asked for it.”
“When?”
Anxious that his words might contradict his father’s, Deok-gi remembered that he’d last used the seal when he gave the Suwon woman the deed for the Taepyeong-dong house. “I think it was last month.” Deok-gi tried to read the chief’s mind.
The detective asked nothing further. He simply told the assistant beside him to fetch Sang-hun.
Deok-gi was afraid of what might ensue. Within five minutes, his father entered the room, followed by a policeman. Deok-gi’s head dropped as if a knife had landed on the nape of his neck.
How can this be? Deok-gi couldn’t lift his bowed head. The police had removed anything that could be used as rope. His father’s Korean jacket was missing its frontal ties, and his ankle ties were nowhere in sight; his trousers, too, must have been without a belt, as they were rolled up high to prevent him from tripping. It was possible they were treating his father more roughly than they were treating him.
The chief looked Sang-hun up and down, a mocking smile on his lips. He waited until Sang-hun sat down before he placed several documents before the father and son. The father sat with his head bowed, while Deok-gi took his time sorting through them.
The papers made up about half of what had been in the safe. What could Deok-gi do if he found that some were missing? He counted them, unsure how many his father had taken with him. Only several small deeds remained.
“One of your mother’s and one of yours are gone. The others are still in the safe,” Deok-gi’s father uttered.
The chief made Deok-gi write a list of the documents that were on the table and asked Sang-hun when he received the will that granted him ownership of the rice refinery.