The smoky glow from the remains of the buring factory was still hovering over the skyline as I drove towards the Lee's house. I did not enjoy being summoned from my bed at six-thirty on a chilly Wednesday morning, right in the middle of a particulary good dream, but when Chief Inspector Park Jeong-su wants something, he usually gets it. On the occasion, it was me that he wanted.

Inside the house everyone was wide awake, sitting around the huge living room and drinking tea. The Chief introduced me to the family apparently, Lee Joon was an old golfing friend of his and filled me in on the facts. 

It was a small factory, making children's clothes. Lee Joon owned and managed it, employed six full-time staff, and was well known in the trade for his low prices. The Chief was eager to get this one solved as soon as possible, as a favour to his friend, and made it clear he wasn't even going to wait for the fire officers' report before starting our investigations. The uniform boys were already down there at the scene. It looked like someone had broken in during the night, sprinkled the place in petrol and put a match to it, leaving clues all over the place. This was undoubtedly arson, and the sooner the culprit was caught, the better.

"Obviously an amateur job, Kim," the Chief told me. I wish he wouldn't call me that. None of the others down at the station do. Sergeant would do, or just Nara might be nice, but the Chief is an old-school policeman, and that's the way he's always done things. Surnames only.

"There was an empty petrol can left at the scene," he went on. "And our villiam escaped over the fenc, by the look of it, leaving some very distinctive footprints in the mud. Pretty big ones, too. Size twelves, I'm told."

And, with that, he shook Lee Joon by the hand, pulled on his gloves, and left me to it. There were three people with me in the room Lee, his wife SuYoung, and their teenage son Jihoon. 

"I'd like to speak to each of you in turn, if you don't mind." I tried to stifle a yawn as I reached for my notebook. "Perhaps Mr Lee first..."

I waited until the others had left the room and sank down into an armchair, gesturing to Mr Lee to do the same.

"I'm sorry to see it all go like this," he said, his voice unexpectedly calm. "But it's not the end of the world, is it?" He spread his arms, indicating the size and grandeur of his home. 

"As you can see, Sergeant, we won't stave." I asked him all the usual question, but he seemed to have no idea why anyone would want to do this to him. Did he have any enemies? Disgruntled employees? People  he owned money to? He said not, shaking his philosophically. 

"Probably just some youngster," he said, "doing it for the thrill."

With so emotion on show, I couldn't help wondering whether Lee Joon might have started the fire himself, or at least paid someone to do it for him. 

Insurance fraud is common enough, although it's rare for anyone to get away with it in the end. It happens all the time, when people need the money. Still, looking around me, it seemed unlikely. The Lees didn't appear to be short of a few wons. It could all be mortgaged to the hilt, of course. Something to check on later, perhaps. Last of all, I asked him the szie of his feet. They were eight and a half. Mrs Lee next,  her hair immaculately brushed and clipped in place, even though she was still in her nightdress and dressing-gown. She gave the distinct impression of being the kind of woman  who could take disasters in her stride, as she sat ramrod straight, utterly controlled, and gave me the coolest of stress.

"Joon's too easy-going, Sergeant Kim. He always has been. Thinks everyone's his friend." She stopped to sip the last of her sea, seemingly unaware that nobody had offered me one and that, having dashed straight here without any breakfast, I was already starting to droop.

"Did he tell you about Jung Byung Hee? No, I thought not. They used to work together, years ago, but they don't get on now. Business rivals, I suppose you'd call them. You know, I wouldn't put it past him to have something to do with all this..."

Lee Jihoon was the only one of the three who seemed genuinely upset, his thin face pale with shock as he took his turn to be interviewed. He told me he would be leaving school in the summer and had been due to start work as his father's assistant. He already did odd jobs around the factory in the school holidays, and had been looking forward to joining the family firm. The poor lad had just seen all his future prospects go up in smoke. 

"So you know all the people who work for your father, Jihoon?"

"Oh, yes," he said. "And they're all very fond of him, if that's what you mean. Jobs aren't easy to come by around here. They'll all have trouble getting work anywhere else if we have to close down. Unless Jung Byung Hee takes them on, of course. 

"It's funny you should mention Mr.Jung. Your mother's just been talking about him. Sounds like he and your dad have some history. No love lost there, from what I hear..."

Jihoon looked a bit bemused for a moment. "No," he said slowly.

"I don't think Dad has any axe to grind. If anything, it's Mum who seems to dislike Byung Hee so much. They don't talk about it well, not in front of me, anyway but I suspect he may have been an old boyfriend of hers."

"Really?" Now things were getting more interesting! "Since your parents have been married, do you mean?"

"Of course not!" Jihoon shot to his feet, which at a quick glance I assessed to be around a size ten ay most. 

"I meant years ago," he said, indignation evident in his raised voice. "Before she was even engaged to Dad. Her marriage our family life means a lot to her. She's not cheat. She just wouldn't do a thing like that. No, Sergeant, if anyone's doing any fooling around, it certainly isn't my mother."

He sat down again, leaned forward and suddnely lowered his voice to a whisper, his eyes on the closed door to the hall. 

"Did you know my father has a mistress?"

"No, Jihoon. No, I didn't" I watched him wipe the back of his hand across his eyes.

"Are you sure about this?" He sat upright again, pulling his attention back in my direction. 

"Pretty sure yes. I don't know her name, but I've seen him meet her outside the factory. A dark-haired woman, a good few years younger than him, I'd guess. They get into Dad's car sometimes and drive off together. They're not very discreet about it. And people talk, don't they?"

"Does your mother know? Or suspect, maybe?"

"I don't think so. And I don't want her to. He often comes home late after twelve and says he's been working on a new contract or meeting a client, but I know that isn't true. Working indeed! The worst thing is that she believes him. She has no idea what's really going on. She's much too trusting, but I don't want her hurt. You won't tell her what I've said, will you?"

And, with that question still hanging unanswered in the air between us, he abruptly rose to his feet and stormed out of the room.