Lee counts: the walk from Sooyoung Choi’s office to the elevator will take two minutes. The elevator ride to the lobby will take a minute and a half, two probably if there happens to be some stops. In total, she can have three minutes, four at most. If a question takes 15 seconds to be asked and 45 to be answered, that leaves her with only three to four chances to voice and get them answered—warrantless and if Choi is willing to cooperate, that is. 

Where should I start, she wonders. She has informed Choi that the police are still searching for the missing pages of the document stolen by Ryeowon Kim. Choi kind of dismisses their importance, saying that whether they are found or not would not change the fact that they are part of an unsigned document. However, if Lee still wants to see the complete, original document, she will have to have proper warrant. A requirement that Lee has understood well over time and doesn’t resent, really.

Choi closes the door of the safe, slides the painting back into place. She straightens, moves to Lee’s left side, smiles. Lee thinks back of the woman in the photographs that she asked Hyoyeon Kim to file and send to her last night. What was it again about camera? Ah yes, camera adds ten pounds to one’s self. Telephoto lenses make one appear thinner; wide-angle lenses make one appear bloated. All Sooyoung Choi’s public photographs she saw last night was taken with the former, Lee guesses, because up close Choi looks worryingly thin.

That again. She scowls to herself. First legs, and now this? Where does that come from? I’m not worried about her, or about anything. A case is a case. 

“Lee?”

She doesn’t realize she’s said that part of her thought aloud. “Sorry. Just telling myself what I need to prepare for the warrant.”

Smiling again, Choi extends her right hand. “I look forward to hearing good update from you,” she says. Lee takes Choi’s hand, grasps it firmly, pumps it twice, bows a little. After she lets go, Choi clasps her hands in front of her. “I really appreciate your visit.”

Lee brings her hand up to scratch her nose. She makes her decision. “Director, do you smoke?”

Seemingly unprepared for such a sudden turn, it takes Choi some time before she can respond. “No. I used to, a couple of times, a few years ago. You know, stress and stuff. Did funny things to people.”

Phrasal, terse, clipped. Lee notices the change in Choi’s sentence structure. “I see.” She nods twice. “Thank you again for your time today, Director Choi.”

That PR smile is back in place.

Once outside the Choi Pharmaceutical building, Lee walks to her car and makes a call. Hyoyeon Kim picks up after only one ring. “Hyorengi, get your hand on Choi’s lines of communication from these last two weeks. Her cell, landline—office and home, everything. Get Liu on her emails, too.”

On the other end of the line, Hyoyeon Kim hesitates for a while. “Chief, I trust you have a good reason for this request, what's with the investigation still on an early stage.” Kim, too, understands the legal requirements of an investigation.

“Not a request.” She tells her driver to go back to the headquarter. “She lied to me, and I want her dirt now.”

Silence again before Kim answers, “Got it.”

Lee ends her call, pockets her cell phone, and leans back to rest her head. She brings her hand to her face, and again the smell of peach still reaches her nose, faint as it is.

-.-.-

 

Juhyun Seo frowns at the smell her that lingers around Tifanny Hwang as soon as she sits down across her in the café they have agreed to meet. Looking up, Hwang readily fixes a smile on her face. Seo cannot find it in her to return the smile as genuinely.

“Unnie, I wish you’d quit it altogether,” she says, though gently.

Hwang stands and envelopes her in a brief hug over the table. “Why, hello, how are you, nice to see you again.” She pats Seo on the arms once, twice. “Is what you’re supposed to say first. And how many times have I told you to stop calling me unnie?”

“Hello, unnie. How are you? It’s very nice to see you again,” Seo dutifully mimics. “Though, as I’ve said, I can be happier if you do not resort to smoking whenever you’re stressed out.”

Hwang hands her the menu. “Extremely stressed out,” she grumbles. “The hotspot Jess and I are in now is killing me.” Then she realizes what she has said. There is nothing funny about it when she is factually involved in an investigation of a homicide. "Sorry. As I said, extremely stressed out."

A waitress comes to take Seo’s order. Café au lait. Hwang smiles at that. Some things don’t change—café au lait has always been Seos’ go-to in their outing. Years ago, she said that she ordered it because she wanted to appear mature, Hwang’s equal. Nowadays, it is because she genuinely likes it. If only familiar things remain familiar, Hwang muses. A wishful thinking, she knows.

“Has Jessica-unnie contacted a criminal lawyer?” Seo asks.

“No. And cut it out with the unnie business.”

Seo’s order comes, and she thanks the waitress. When she refocuses on Hwang, there’s a smile in her eyes. “A test-tube baby who was delivered half an hour late is still younger.” She pauses, which Hwang thinks is for mere dramatization, then adds cheekily, “Unnie.”

“Aish, you.” Hwang smacks the back of Seo’s hand. “Anyway. The thing I told you.”

“Ah, yes.” Seo takes a folder of documents from her bag, but she holds onto it when Hwang grabs it. “How about I trade this with the pack of poison I know is in your bag, unnie?”

Hwang narrows her eyes at her. “The nerves,” she hisses.

Seo smiles wider.

When they leave the café half an hour later and go their separate way, Seo has Hwang’s pack of Pianissimo Peche. Hwang sighs and can only looks forlornly as Seo throws the pack into a trash can. There go her beloved cancer sticks: Japanese-made, peach pink in color, peach in flavor.

-.-.-

 

Hyoyeon Kim knows from experience how stubborn Lee Soonkyu can be once she has made up her mind. SG Lee hates it when anyone in the corps bring up the fact that she comes from police royalty, so she works twice harder than any ranking officer Kim has ever known. Last year, Lee personally led a crackdown on a long-tracked trade ring, brokered an underhand standoff between the corps and Seoul’s second most infamous street gang, and shielded two underage girls in the raided warehouse from harm's way during the raid. She came out with her right kneecap dislocated and fractured, had to undergo a series of treatment for the next six months, and was promoted to superintendent general. Of the promotion, Kim, Yuri Kwon, and the rest of Lee’s old division were forever torn about. Happy for Lee, but also unhappy to have to lose an excellent leader.

Kim shakes her head. Remembering Lee’s promotion also brings back the horror from that day.

She refocuses by staring at Lee’s back, this person who now favors leaning on her left leg, who is now facing the oak doors of Sooyoung Choi’s office and waiting for them to open. What’s behind the doors, Kim knows, is not going to be worse that what she has seen in the raided warehouse last year. However, her line of work as a technical analyst teaches her that sometimes a lawsuit can be a hundred times worse than a dead body. The saddest part of the progress of human civilization, she reflects.

Kyungho Jung opens the door. Husband, lawyer, shareholder, Kim lists. Not someon