“What up?” she asked.
Service gave her the plastic sleeve containing the photograph.
“Who’s this?”
“Was. He’s dead,” Service said.
“That prof over to Houghton?”
“How’d you guess?”
“Not a lot of Koreans living in the Yoop. Even fewer dying. Why the heck are you carrying the photo of a suicide?”
“It’s a homicide, which hasn’t been announced. There’s a sign behind the guy. Can you read it?”
“Can’t you?” she asked playfully.
Service rolled his eyes.
McCants held the photo in front of her. “The characters are Korean. The sign says Jung Gahn, which means Righteous Room. This is integral to traditional Korean archery. Archers always meet at a place called a jung, which in Korea is an elaborate building, a sort of cross between a temple and a country club. When they arrive, they bow toward the entry sign. In this country, it’s usually just an elaborate sign.”
“In this country?”
“There are a few jungs around.”
“In Michigan?”
She shook her head. “Closest is in Wisconsin, I think. You dogging another homicide?”
Service ignored her. “Why righteous room?”
“Korean archery is intertwined in the country’s history. It’s serious business and very formal. To be an accomplished archer you’re expected to be a righteous person. If you’re righteous, your arrows fly true. It’s all about discipline and living correctly. See the flower on the bow cover? That’s Moogoonghwa—Rose of Sharon. Each level of archery is called a don. The highest level is ninth don, but few people ever get that far, maybe two or three in the world at a given time.”
“This guy is ninth don?”
She smiled. “What’s his name?”
“Pung Juju Kang.”
“Not ninth,” she said with a grin. “There are only two at that level right now and everybody of Korean descent knows their names. It would be like a Canadian not knowing Mario Lemieux or Wayne Gretzky. How old was the guy?”
“Fiftyish.”
“He could be fourth through sixth don. Each level is unbelievably demanding and you can only advance two levels a year, which in itself is rare. Most people take five to seven years to move up one.”
“How do you know all this?”
“In Korea, archery is the sport—for men and women. We all learn to shoot early in school.”
“What’s with the weird bow?”
“It’s traditional, handmade, designed to be shot from horseback. Only a few people in Korea are qualified and licensed by the government to make the bows or the arrows. They make the bow from a composite of water buffalo horn, bamboo, oak, mulberry, or acacia. Everything is joined by a special glue made from some kind of saltwater fish, and the back of the bow is covered with a special birch bark from China to make it waterproof. It takes four to six months to make one bow.”
“Do people hunt with them?”
McCants shook her head. “Like I said, Korean archery is steeped in history. Buddha’s teachings discourage the use of the bow for killing.”
“Even in war?”
“Buddha doesn’t really address war, which makes for a sort of philosophical and theological loophole. In that belief system, war is to be avoided. If traditional archers used their bows to hunt animals, they’d fall off the righteous path.”
“Seems like people would have hunted with the weapons.”
“They did early in the country’s history, but as bow training became more formalized and regimented, it became exclusive to the military and hunting with the weapons was no longer allowed. Soldier archers were sent after animals to hone their skills before they could be formally declared qualified as soldiers, but hunting was banned for civilians.”
“There’s no hunting in Korea?”
“Sure, but only with firearms, and even that’s pretty limited. Even so, a lot of Koreans are interested in western bow hunting. Some Koreans believe that their ancestors were the first Native Americans and they’re very nostalgic about how American Indians lived.” She tapped the photograph of the dead man. “What’s your interest?”
“There was bear scat in his vehicle when the body was found.”
“You mean inside the veek?”
“Yep.”
“How did he die?”
“Food poisoning.”
McCants scrunched her face.
“Some chocolate-covered figs he ate were laced with cyanide.”
“In other words, you are dogging another homicide,” she chided.
“The bear shit is my sole focus. Plus there were bear galls in with the figs. I just go where the cases take me.”