The Pearl Bead

Woohyun had come to expect certain eccentricities from his flatmate. It came, he quietly surmised, from Key’s long association with a man like Lee Jinki. It was widely agreed in all society circles he was privy to that Mr Lee was a man of most unusual character, and past: his parents had been respectable and decidedly wealthy, but had, such as things were, tragically passed when their only son was barely yet a man. One had expected a suitable mourning period, an undertaking of the family business, a quiet marriage to a woman of character, and his reputation as a slightly strange but rather shy and unassuming man to endure.

Lee Jinki had waited exactly one week before he had done precisely none of these things.

The young heir had set about dismissing the household, selling their family estate, and taking up residence in a comfortable townhouse at the top of the hill. Then, with even more gusto, he had fashioned himself as a private detective, falling in with the oddest and, on many an occasion, the most disreputable of company, failing to honour a single societal event, unveiling his true character, and smiling as though he knew each and every one of their secrets than anyone found comfortable. Without doubt, he remained respected for his wealth and extraordinary track record only.

Society quite admired Mr Lee’s brain, but it was a truth widely acknowledged that to call upon ‘that odd man at the top of the hill’ for luncheon was not done.

Unless, of course, there was a murder.

Hence, when Woohyun stepped into their quaint little place located on the outskirts near the sea, and found Key upending the contents of one of his cabinets, digging through stacks of papers mercilessly, he did not immediately react. Woohyun stared for a moment, holding a sandwich in hand. Then he asked, “Should I be concerned?”   

Key’s head popped up from behind a stack of papers, hair slightly dishevelled, a glint of manic excitement in his eyes. “I’m looking for the face of a woman who looks like a man who’s one of our suspects who might be a murderer!”

“I see,” Woohyun said, plainly not.

“Do you not have work today?” Key asked distractedly as he shifted aside some papers, that Woohyun could now identify were remnants of the five years Key had spent as a portrait-maker for the rich and famous. He grimaced a little at the memory of some of the snobs that had traipsed into their place. Thankfully, Key had – gradually – come to the realisation that it wasn’t the least bit what he wanted. Unfortunately, his pride had spoken a very different story until his scruffy short friend and overenthusiastic tall friend had finally worn him down to their idea.

“Today is Sunday,” Woohyun responded. Key blinked, pausing momentarily in his ministrations. “Did you not realise?”

“This case is very all-consuming,” Key said self-importantly. “Is that food? Could you –”

“No.” Key’s head popped up again, accompanied this time by a pout and large eyes. Woohyun raised an eyebrow. A tremble appeared in the lip now. Woohyun folded his arms.

“Leaving your dear friend…starving alone…”

“Oh do stop being so melodramatic.” Sighing indulgently and cursing his weakness, Woohyun walked over to their kitchenette. “I’m just making you soup, mind!” he insisted, attempting to walk away with what little remained of his dignity.

There was a muffled ‘thank you’ from the stack as Key disappeared once more. Woohyun shook his head reflectively. There was something different about Key that he had not seen in those five bitter years past, and it was only at this moment that he was able to put his finger on what it was.

Key was happy.

Say what he would about Onew and the rest of Odd Eye, Woohyun would not deny that their reuniting had been the best possible thing for his friend. Key had tried too hard to erase the past when it was obviously important to him. When he returned, Key was sitting cross-legged upon the floor, thumbing through a series of photographs. Woohyun crouched next to him, peering over at them. Key opened his mouth like a baby bird, and with great reluctance, Woohyun spooned some soup into his mouth. “Socialites?”

“Mm,” Key said, swallowing. As he shifted past several beautiful women, turning the photographs over to read the particulars he’d scrawled on the back, he paused. Woohyun’s spoon nearly stabbed his eye out. Key didn’t notice. He had removed a single photograph, dropping the rest on the floor beside him, jumping to his feet and very nearly knocking the soup all over Woohyun.

“Kim Kibum!”

“I’ve found her!”

“She does not look like a man,” Woohyun commented dryly, taking the opportunity to hand Key his bowl of soup.

Making a motion with his shoulders, he drained the soup bowl, depositing it in Woohyun’s hands. Then he grabbed his hat and his coat, tucking the photograph into his pocket. “Well, I’ll be off!” he called over his shoulder, disappearing out the door.

Woohyun shook his head, feeling slightly like he’d been caught in a whirlwind. He looked down at the bowl in his hands. “I’m not washing this for him.”

Upon Key’s return to their office, he found Onew already waiting outside. Rather than ask how Onew had known he was coming – he would probably be treated to one of those omniscient smiles and teasing – he produced the photograph. “Ahn Sohee,” he said, as Onew scrutinized the woman’s face. “I know her face now – one of those socialite women who’s been a little too loose with their money as of late.”

“A down-on-their-luck woman? I wonder,” Onew said, tapping his lip. “Well. I do think Kim Minseok will be able to enlighten things further. A very good work!”

Key returned his smile, knowing the words were sincere. “To El Dorado Estate, then?”

“Oh, no. Do you not recall his words? I don’t spend my Sundays on the estate. Time for Odd Eye to make an unannounced house call! Even if it is quite improper.”

Key gaped. “Where the devil did you get Minseok’s home address?”

Onew smiled and waved his fingers. “I have my methods.”

In his younger days, he might have made a smart comment on how infuriating Onew was, flitting about behind their backs and hiding information until the last minute. He certainly didn’t enjoy feeling lost at sea. Especially when he had already felt quite unnecessary amongst them.

One could then ask why Key had come back. He’d been doing well financially painting portraits, all things considered.

He recalled his first meeting with Onew. At the time, he had been a sketch artist for the police, and widely ridiculed as incapable anywhere in the field. He could barely shoot straight, much less keep his dinner inside at the sight of blood. The washed-out officer, all bark and no bite, and Key had quickly learnt amongst men like that, one couldn’t shout their way to victory. Onew and Minho had been handling a particularly difficult case, and the police had assisted in bringing in a potential suspect for the witness to identify. He’d been sitting at his desk, flipping through the sketches he’d made based off her description of him, brow furrowed.

“Anxious, officer?” And there had been Onew, smiling at him with something that made Key implicitly trust him.

“The face of the man she claimed to see, and the man you brought in are different,” he’d explained, “There are superficial similarities, but – of course, people can remember things differently from reality – she described very clearly that the man she saw had a hooked nose. The man she identified did not have this feature and –”

It was at that point that the officers around him had insisted to Onew that Key was wildly incorrect and could not be trusted to know what he was talking about. Onew had simply taken a good long look at him, and then said with a little grin, “Key, am I right? Let’s have lunch together, and you can tell me exactly why you don’t trust Mrs Kwon.”

He had never been trusted in such a way before. Pity it had taken him so long to realise this.

So instead, Key simply scoffed at Onew a