1:08 PM Thursday, December 14

“The cause of death is the lack of oxygenated blood to the brain and the large volume of blood lost,” the examiner explains to me as he stands over the pale body on the table.  “The clean slice in his throat managed to sever his carotid artery sending oxygenated blood to the brain and his jugular vein that takes deoxygenated blood out of the brain, and also managed a hole in his trachea to hinder breathing.”  He hands me the report and I flip through the pages. “There were no other injuries on his body, indicating there was no struggle and the attack was very fast. It was a very quick, violent death.”

“Thank you, Doctor,” I bow in gratitude and the examiner exits the room, leaving me with the body.  I approach it carefully. The peaceful expression on his face even in death leads me to believe that he lived a fulfilling life with the boys in that house.  The tear-stained face of Min Yoongi flashes through my head. Who would want to kill this responsible, loving man?

When I return to my office, I take my marker and write next to the photo of the neck wound:

Time of death: Around 6:30 PM Wed Dec 15

Another thought dawns on me as I stare at the picture of Seokjin’s neck wound.  The slice was made in a clean sweep, almost expertly done and with enough force that the cartilage of the trachea was actually damaged.  This means that the suspect has to be fairly well built, and either is an experienced killer or has extensive knowledge of human anatomy.  Maybe Seokjin’s family is caught up in mafia business and now they’re coming after their son as revenge?

I sit at my desk and record these inferences in my notes.  I’ll have to prioritize interviewing the roommates and the family then.

With that, I gather my notebook and my bag, determining to visit Seokjin’s apartment at once.  I have a promise to keep.

1:52 AM Thursday, December 14

I don’t wait very long before the door opens, a tall man with light pink hair and golden skin gracing my sight.  His face remains in a permanently sullen expression hidden by his need for composure.

“Detective Lim Hee Chan,” I introduce myself, showing my badge.  “I’m on the case for Kim Seokjin’s homicide.”

The man nods at me and offers his hand, a small excuse of a polite smile shaping his full lips.  “Kim Namjoon,” he introduces himself in a rich, respectful tone. I notice the puffiness under his small eyes exemplified by his dark circles.

I accept his gesture of greeting.  “May I come in?”

“Yes, of course,” he mumbles, motioning me inside.

I enter their modest apartment.  There aren’t too many decorations or furniture in the living room space: two chocolate brown couches in an L shape and a matching recliner surrounding a round, glass coffee table, a dark blue area rug underneath, and a TV on a stand directly across from the seating area.  The space opens into the dining room area in the back with a large, rectangular espresso wood table with seven black leather chairs around it, the kitchen walled off to its right with a cutout view window, and a corridor leading to the bedrooms on the other side of that. Just enough room to accommodate seven boys in their early 20s.

Well, now only six boys.

“I’m very sorry for coming unannounced like this,” I apologize sincerely.

“That’s fine, it’s your job,” he waves off, shutting the door gently.  “And thank you for taking the case for our hyung.  We were actually hoping to hear from you soon.  But first, would you like some coffee?”

“Um, sure, thank you,” I answer, removing my shoes in the doorway before stepping into the living area.

The man first walks to the dining room and brings one of the chairs to the coffee table for me before sauntering into the kitchen.  “Do you want any milk or sugar?” he calls.

“Yes, just a little bit of both.”  I walk around the room, glancing at the clusters of photos on the wall above the couch, the only real decoration in the room.

All the photos have the same black solid frame around them, each cluster seemingly organized by occasion.  One cluster of photos shows Seokjin with the rest of the boys at his graduation from arts school: his smile beaming as he accepts flowers from one of the boys while another brings in a cake; Seokjin throwing his graduation cap to another boy behind him who’s ready to catch it; a group photo with all seven boys clustered around the graduate.  Another cluster of photos depicts the younger boy from last night - Jungkook was his name, I think - at his high school entrance ceremony clad in his yellow uniform with the entire group as well, and another cluster of photos next to it showing his graduation from the same school. It amazes me how they’ve been together for so many years, celebrating so many important life events together.  And none of their parents seem to be around either.

Another cluster of photos is completely separate from the rest, not in any picture frames.  As I move closer, I notice that they’re polaroids taped directly onto the wall. These photos of the boys are more candid, showing their backs, hysterical laughs, or play fights.  Some are also scenery photos meticulously planned out and angled for the right lighting.

One photo catches my eye.  It’s of Seokjin’s graduation, but this one is a selca between him and two other people.  One is a boy who isn’t in any of the other photos, and the other is a girl. The boy has dark brown hair down to his ears and thick lips, while the girl is petite with long black hair and delicate facial features.  Seokjin seems to be leaning more towards the girl, even wrapping an arm around her. Another sweep at the polaroids reveals that there are more photos of the girl, capturing her in casual positions with the rest of the boys.  There’s a small tickle in the back of my head as I glance at the brunet.

Why does this boy look ever so slightly-

“Those are photos that Jin hyung took himself.”

Namjoon has returned with a mug of coffee and now stands beside me, staring at the wall nostalgically.  A somber smile graces his features. “He likes-” he coughs, catching himself, “- liked - carrying around his polaroid camera and taking photos when we took trips together.  He always said that even the small moments are worth capturing and admiring too, not just the big life milestones.”

I take the mug from him hastily.  “I’m sorry if I’m intruding.”

“No, it’s fine,” the man dismisses.  “They’re in the open space, there’s no reason to hide them.”  He turns his head to face me. “I already called the boys in, they’ll be here shortly.”

I nod before motioning to the selca with the two mysterious people.  “Who are they?”

“The boy is a friend of ours, Lee Taemin,” he answers.  “He’s one of Jimin’s best friends, but we’re all pretty friendly with him.”

I can’t take my eyes off his smiling face.  His plump lips form a reserved but handsome toothy smile.  The way the light reflects off his chocolate eyes makes me lose focus for a moment.  “And the girl?”

Namjoon hesitates.  “Her name is Park Jihyun.  At one point, there were actually eight of us living here instead of just seven.  She was going through a rough patch and Jin hyung offered to take her in and care for her.  But...she is no longer with us.”

“Oh.”  I’m taken aback by his implication.  “I’m so sorry about that.”

“You didn’t know, it’s not your fault,” Namjoon assures me, a smile returning accompanied by a small dimple.

“She was my older sister,” a melodic but strangled voice comments behind us.

I turn around to meet the face of a brunet with a slightly rounded face and nose, full lips pressed together firmly, hands opening and closing in a fidgety motion.  His delicate eyes hold a world of sorrow in them only for a moment before he forces himself to smile. “But that was in the past. We have something else to focus on, even if it is another tragedy.”

I admire his strength; he must have suffered the most in this house having been through two loses, one of them being family.  “I’m-”

“You don’t have to apologize,” the boy stops me and outstretches his hand.  “I’m Park Jimin.”

I meet his greeting with my own hand.  “Detective Lee Hee Chan.” His hand feels soft and cutely small in my own.

“Please, take a seat,” Namjoon motions to the waiting chair.

I cross the room and sit in the leather dining chair facing the couch set, comfortably sipping the coffee I was given as four boys emerge from their rooms.  I recognize Yoongi and Jungkook as they walk in together, the former’s eyes bloodshot and puffy. The other two boys introduce themselves as Jung Hoseok and Kim Taehyung.  Hoseok sports fiery red hair and Taehyung sports grey hair.

Now that I face all of them, I put on my business persona.  “First, I would like to say I’m extremely sorry for your loss.  From what I see, Seokjin was a very prominent part of all your lives.  I would also like to inform you that his body is ready to be picked up for any funeral arrangements you would like to hold.”

“How did he die?” Yoongi murmurs, his eyes downcast but I don’t miss their murderous glint.  When I hesitate about giving him the answer, his head raises to glare at me. “I want to know.  I’m going to find out anyway.”

I surrender to his death stare.  “His throat was slit, cutting through his windpipe and major blood vessels in his neck,” I confess quickly like ripping off a bandage.

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