I Can Hear a Serial Killer's Voice in My Head

I enter the autopsy room, the sharp scent of disinfectant assaulting my senses. The fluorescent lights cast a harsh glow over the sterile environment. Sung's body lies on the cold metal table, a white sheet draped over him.

The NFS officer nods at me and pulls back the sheet to reveal Sung's hands. I lean in, my eyes focusing intently on his fingers. Just as reported, several nails on his right hand are partially polished. The colors are vibrant - blues and purples - but applied unevenly. Some nails look smudged, as if the polish was disturbed before it could properly dry.

"Has the NFS analyzed the nail polish itself?" I ask the officer, my voice echoing slightly in the quiet room.

He shakes his head. "Not yet. We didn't think it was significant enough to prioritize."

I straighten up, my mind racing with possibilities. "I'd like to make an official request for that analysis. Every detail could be important."

The officer nods, reaching for a form on a nearby desk. "Of course. I'll put in the request right away. Anything specific you want us to look for?"

I pause, considering. "Chemical composition, any unusual additives. And... check for any biological material mixed in with the polish."

As I exit the autopsy room, Aileen's voice pipes up in my head, sounding excited. "Oh, I see what you're getting at now! Clever, detective. Very clever indeed."

I hesitate, then mentally ask her, "Is my theory possible? About Sung and Detective Kim Eunji?"

Aileen's tone turns serious. "It's definitely possible. And you're right to be concerned. Some of those products can be... problematic if used improperly. Especially in...

sensitive areas."

I nod slightly, my suspicions seeming more plausible by the minute. This could be the connection I've been looking for, a potential motive hidden in an intimate encounter gone wrong.

As I walk back to join the team, my mind is whirling with the implications. The unfinished nail polish, Eunji's discomfort, the potential for a harmful reaction - it all starts to fit together like pieces of a grim puzzle.

If I'm right, this case just got a lot more complicated – and potentially a lot more personal for one of our suspects. But I know I need more evidence before I can bring this theory to light. For now, I'll have to tread carefully, watching Eunji closely while I wait for the nail polish analysis results.

I take a deep breath and knock on Han's office door. His voice calls me in, and I step inside, closing the door behind me.

"Sir, I need to share something with you," I begin, my voice low. "It's about my suspicions regarding Sung and Detective Kim Eunji."

Han leans forward, his eyes sharp. "Go on."

I explain my theory – the possibility that Sung and Eunji were together during the time she claimed to be video chatting with her sister, the unfinished nail polish, and the potential for a harmful reaction.

Han listens intently, his brow furrowed. When I finish, he sits back, looking impressed but cautious. "It's an interesting theory," he says slowly. "But we need to be careful here. The possible infection you're suggesting is purely speculative at this point, and it would be nearly impossible to prove without Eunji's cooperation."

I nod, understanding his reservations. "I know, sir. That's why I've requested an analysis of the nail polish on Sung's fingers. If we can find any trace evidence..."

Han is about to respond when there's an urgent knock at the door. A junior officer bursts in, looking flustered.

"Sir, Detective Kim Eunji has just officially requested medical attention. She's developed flu-like symptoms, including a high fever. They're transporting her to the hospital now."

Han and I exchange a loaded glance. This development could change everything.

"Thank you," Han dismisses the officer. Once we're alone again, he turns to me. "Well, this certainly adds weight to your theory. But let's not jump to conclusions. We need to wait for the nail polish analysis and Eunji's diagnosis before we make any moves."

I nod, feeling a mix of anticipation and frustration. "Understood, sir. What should we do in the meantime?"

Han stands up, his expression determined. "We continue investigating all angles. This case is far from solved, and we can't put all our eggs in one basket. Keep your eyes and ears open, and let me know immediately if you discover anything else."

As I leave Han's office, I can't help but feel that we're on the cusp of a major breakthrough. The nail polish analysis and Eunji's diagnosis could be the crucial pieces of the puzzle we need to crack this case wide open.

Now, all we can do is wait – and hope that the evidence we need doesn't slip through our fingers.

***

I'm sitting in Han's office when his phone rings. He answers, his expression growing more intense as he listens. After a brief conversation, he hangs up and turns to me.

"We've got the results," he says, his voice low and serious. "Both from the nail polish analysis and Eunji's medical report."

My heart races as I lean forward. "And?"

Han takes a deep breath. "There's a match. The chemical composition of the nail polish on Sung's fingers contains compounds that could cause the exact type of... irritation Eunji is experiencing."

I nod slowly, the implications sinking in. "So it's likely they were together during those 40 minutes when Sung was out of his room."

"And during the time Eunji claimed she was video chatting with her sister," Han adds, his brow furrowed.

We sit in silence for a moment, processing this information. Finally, I speak up. "This puts Eunji at the scene, and proves she lied about her alibi. It's not conclusive evidence of murder, but..."

"But it's enough to make her our prime suspect," Han finishes. "She had opportunity, and now we have proof she was dishonest about her whereabouts."

I nod, feeling a mix of satisfaction at the breakthrough and unease at what it might mean. "What's our next move, sir?"

Han stands up, his face set with determination. "We bring her in for questioning as soon as she's medically cleared. We need to find out what really happened that night, and why she felt the need to lie about it."

"One more thing," Han adds, his voice grave. "This information doesn't leave this room for now. We need to be careful how we proceed. If Eunji is indeed our killer, we don't want to tip her off and give her a chance to cover her tracks further."

I nod in agreement, the weight of this breakthrough settling on my shoulders.

As I step out of Han's office, my mind is racing. The evidence we've uncovered points to Eunji being with Sung on the night of his death, but her motive for lying – and potentially for murder – remains as murky as the Han River in Seoul after a storm. I find a quiet corner near the vending machines, their soft hum providing a backdrop to my racing mind.

I lean against the wall, it's cool surface grounding me as I let my thoughts flow.

"If Eunji is the killer," I mutter to myself, running a hand through my disheveled hair, "how did she get access to tetrodotoxin? It's not exactly something you can pick up at a convenience store." I recall the toxicology report, the precise amount of the deadly neurotoxin found in Sung's system.

It would require connections, knowledge – the kind of resources not typically available to a rookie detective.

With renewed determination, I push off the wall and make my way to the computer lab. The room is mercifully empty at this late hour, the glow of monitors casting long shadows. I log into the police database, my fingers flying over the keyboard as I pull up Eunji's and Sung's records.

I start combing through every detail, looking for any connection we might have missed, any thread that could unravel this increasingly complex tapestry.

At first glance, there's nothing. Different precincts, different universities, no overlapping cases. Eunji's file shows a promising young officer, top of her class at the academy. Sung's reveals a decorated detective with a string of high-profile solved cases. But something nags at me, a persistent itch at the back of my mind, urging me to dig deeper.

I go back further, scrolling through years of data. My eyes burn from the screen's glare, but I push on, fueled by coffee and determination. And then, suddenly, I see it. My breath catches in my throat, the air in the room seeming to still.

"They went to the same high school," I whisper, leaning closer to the screen as if the pixels might rearrange themselves under scrutiny. "Gangnam High School. Only for a few months in their final year, but they were there at the same time."

It's a tenuous connection, but it's something. My mind starts spinning with possibilities. Did they know each other back then? Was there some history we don't know about?