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At the mention of her brother\'s name, Yuri seems to flinch, her eyes widening with a sudden, desperate intensity. "My... my brother?" she stammers, her voice trembling with barely contained panic. "What about him? Why are you asking about Hosu?"

I lean forward, my gaze locked with hers as I speak, each word carefully measured and deliberate. "I know about the letters, Yuri. The photos you\'ve been sending to your brother. I\'m giving you a chance to explain, to help me understand what\'s really going on here."

For a long moment, Yuri is silent, her face a mask of conflicting emotions. Fear, guilt, desperation - they flicker across her features like shadows, each one a glimpse into the tempest raging behind her eyes.

And then, with a shuddering breath, she begins to speak.

"Hosu and I... we haven\'t been close, not for a long time," she whispers, her voice barely audible above the hum of the fluorescent lights. "Our parents divorced when we were teenagers, and I was told... I was told not to reach out to him, not to try and maintain a relationship."

She pauses, her eyes distant and haunted as she stares down at her clasped hands. "But I missed him," she continues, her words coming faster now, tumbling out in a rush of pent-up emotion. "I missed my brother, and I knew... I knew he loved art, loved the same twisted, surreal style that I did. So I started sending him photos of my paintings, my sketches.

Just to feel close to him again, to share a part of myself with the only family I had left."

I nod slowly, my mind racing as I try to process her words, to fit them into the larger puzzle of the investigation. "And why didn\'t you tell me about this before?" I ask, my voice gentle but insistent. "Why keep it a secret, if it was just a way to stay connected with your brother?"

Yuri\'s eyes fill with tears, her lower lip trembling as she struggles to maintain her composure. "Because I was afraid," she whispers, her voice cracking with emotion. "I was afraid that if you knew about Hosu, if you knew I had been sending him my artwork, you would think... you would think he was involved somehow. That he could be a suspect in these horrible, terrible murders."

She leans forward suddenly, her hands gripping the edge of the table with a desperate intensity. "But he\'s not!" she cries, her voice rising with each word. "Hosu has nothing to do with this, I swear it! He\'s innocent, he would never hurt anyone, never be involved in something so cruel and twisted!"

Her words hang in the air between us, a plea and a prayer all in one. The interrogation room seems to grow smaller, the walls closing in as I lean forward, my eyes locked with Yuri\'s. "If you and your brother have been apart for so long," I ask, my voice low and steady, "how did you find his address? How did you know where to send those letters, those photographs of your artwork?"

Yuri shifts in her seat, her gaze darting away for a moment before meeting mine once more. "It\'s not that hard these days," she says, her voice trembling slightly. "You can find almost anything on the internet, if you know where to look. I just... I just wanted to reach out to him, to share a part of my life with the only family I had left."

I nod slowly, my mind racing as I consider her words. It\'s true, in this age of digital information, tracking down an address isn\'t the herculean task it once was. But still, something about her story doesn\'t quite sit right, a nagging doubt that whispers at the edges of my consciousness.

"And did you ever receive a reply?" I ask, my voice carefully neutral. "Did your brother ever write back, acknowledge the letters and photos you sent?"

Yuri\'s eyes widen, a flash of panic crossing her features before she shakes her head vehemently. "No," she whispers, her voice cracking with emotion. "I swear, I never received a single reply. Not one word, not in all the years I\'ve been sending those letters."

As I sit there, watching the tears well up in her eyes, the desperation and sincerity etched into every line of her face.

After all, our search of her apartment had turned up no evidence of any replies from Hosu, no indication that he had ever acknowledged or responded to her attempts at communication.

"The thing is, Yuri," I say, my voice gentle but firm, "finding someone\'s address on the internet isn\'t always as simple as it seems. It\'s not foolproof, and in your case... it seems that the address you found, the one you\'ve been sending those letters to all these years... it\'s not your brother\'s address at all."

Yuri\'s eyes go wide, her mouth falling open in shock as she stares at me, her face a mask of disbelief and confusion. "What?" she whispers, her voice barely audible above the hum of the fluorescent lights. "What do you mean, it\'s not his address? How... how is that possible?"

I give her a moment to process the information, to let the reality of the situation sink in. And then, with a deep breath, I lean forward once more, my voice low and urgent.

"But this means that your brother, Hosu... he doesn\'t need to be on our suspect list," I say, my words carefully measured. "If he never received your letters, if he has no knowledge of your artwork or your attempts to reach out... then he can\'t be involved in these murders, in the twisted crimes that have been plaguing our city."

Yuri\'s eyes fill with a sudden, desperate hope, her hands clasping together as if in prayer. "Yes," she whispers, her voice trembling with emotion. "Yes, that\'s... that\'s what I\'ve been trying to tell you, all this time. Hosu is innocent, he has nothing to do with any of this."

I nod slowly, my mind already racing ahead to the next steps, the new avenues of investigation that have suddenly opened up before me. "But Yuri," I say, my voice low and serious, "if we\'re going to find the real culprit behind these murders... we need your help."

Yuri\'s face is still etched with confusion and desperation as she leans forward, her voice trembling as she speaks. "I… I don\'t understand. What can I do to help? I\'ve told you everything I know, and I swear, I have nothing to do with these murders. Neither does my brother. We\'re innocent in all of this."

I meet her gaze steadily, my voice calm and measured as I utter a single sentence that seems to hang in the air between us, heavy with implication and promise.

"I want you to write one more letter to your brother."