“Maybe that’s the way he gets his kicks, or maybe it was an accident, or maybe she had something on him and he wanted to keep it quiet, or maybe somebody else killed her and he wanted to cover it up to avoid scandal, or maybe…”
“All right, all right. I get the point. We don’t know.”
“Not yet.”
“How do we find out?”
“Follow him. See what he does. Then ask questions when it seems appropriate.”
“How do you put a tail on a major general?”
“The same way we normally do. Only it will probably be easier.”
“I guess you’re right. Everybody’ll just figure we’re extra security.”
“Yeah. Even he’ll probably figure that.”
“Big ego.”
‘The biggest.”
Ernie had been in a good mood after that. We had a chance to nail a big shot. But the Nurse must have put him through the wringer last night. Sitting in our cramped little jeep, his mood was foul and evil.
I heard heavy breathing and rhythmic crunching on the snow before I could see him. An Airedale, a big prancing puppy, bounded out of the morning mist, Major General Clarence T. Bohler plodding after him. Determined. Grim.
The general ran past us down the hill and then turned left, heading for the South Post gymnasium, which had been forced to begin opening at 0600 ever since he took over as Eighth Army’s chief of staff.
‘The son of a bitch didn’t even pay any attention to us.”
“Probably figures we’re waiting to escort one of these officers somewhere.”
Focusing his anger on the general seemed to make Ernie feel a little better. He sat up and started the jeep. We rolled down the hill a few feet and then he turned around and headed toward General Bohler’s residence. Ernie sped up the long driveway, past the halfasleep gate guard, and pulled up in front of the house.
The gate guard was up now, and walking towards us. Another khaki-clad Korean paced the far fence, staring at us curiously, an M-1 rifle slung over his shoulder.
A rock planter fronted the house, and the windows were large and very clean. It was a big place and the old guy must have had plenty of room in there to knock around by himself.
I grabbed my clipboard, hopped out of the jeep, and strode towards the approaching gate guard.
“Security inspection,” I said. I flashed my badge at him. “Why didn’t you stop and check us at the gate?”
“1 tried to but…”
I scribbled something on the clipboard. “Never mind. Show us the rest of the grounds.”
A GI with a clipboard can do no wrong.
The guard walked us across the frozen lawn and explained how many guards were on duty at any one time and told us how the shift changes worked.
“Anyone in the house?”
“The housemaid. She always comes in early to help General Bohler with his jogging shoes.”
“Help him with his jogging shoes?”
“Yes. Tie them for him.”
Ernie’s eyebrows just about ripped themselves off the top of his head.
“Who else is on the staff?”
‘The cook. He’ll be in first and later his assistant. And of course the housemaid’s assistant.”
We were behind the house now and had a good view of the Frontier Club, the skeet range, and far off in the misty distance the Chamsu Bridge stretching across the rolling Han River.
In the back were two oversized dollhouses. Plastic bowls sat in front of them.
‘The dog?” I asked.
“Yes.”
“Why are there two of them?”
“General Bohler, he had another dog, the brother of the one that he has now.”
“She’s a bitch?”
“What?”
“A girl. A girl dog?”
“Yes. But her brother, he disappeared, ran away. Almost two weeks ago.”
“Was this dog a cherry boy?”
The guard looked up at me and his eyebrows arched.
“A cherry boy,” I said. “He never caught a girl dog. Young dogs are very strong and if a man eats a young dog, then he will be very strong, too.”
The gate guard smiled.
“And whoever finds this strong young dog, this cherry boy, he will be able to sell him to one of the special places in Seoul and make a lot of money.”
The gate guard’s frown returned.
“Maybe a hundred thousand won. Maybe more.”
“I don’t know. I never do that. I never eat dog meat.”
“You ought to try it sometime,” Ernie said. “It makes your jamji hard.” He clenched his fist and held his forearm rigidly in front of his chest.
I stopped writing on my clipboard and I think the gate guard was starting to wonder if this was a real inspection.
“Who’s working tonight?”
“Mr. Jung. He will be the chief. Starting at eight o’clock.”
“Tell him we will be back to talk to him tonight.”
The gate guards huddled in the center of the lawn and mumbled among themselves as Ernie careened the jeep down the slippery incline.
“Yo, Sarge. How goes it?”
The crewcut NCO looked up at Ernie from his chipped beef on toast, a little startled at friendliness so early in the morning. He was a stocky man, with a little gray at the temples and the weathered skin that comes when your face has been scraped by a razor about a jillion times. A tiny American flag pinned his black tie to his neatly pressed poplin shirt.
“Okay, Bascom, okay. How are you?”
“Hanging in there.”
Ernie plopped his plate atop the plastic-coated tablecloth and sat down at the small table. So did I. One of the Korean waitresses, carrying a heavily loaded tray, shuffled over and offered us coffee, juice, or milk.
I took one of each.
The Eighth Army mess hall is huge and noisy but the food is cheap. Forty-five cents for breakfast. All you can eat.
‘The old man treating you okay?”
The sarge snorted.
“Late hours?”
“Not so much that. He likes to be by himself at night. It’s the seven days a week. He always has something going.”
“From what I can see, the headquarters pretty much closes down on Saturdays and Sundays.”
“For everybody else. But that’s when he meets all these Korean businessmen. Plays golf with them. Goes to their houses.”
“Why doesn’t he just get their drivers to pick him up?”
“He likes his own sedan, I guess.”
“None of those Koreans has a Lincoln.”
“Only two in the country. Mine and the commanding generals.”
There was pride and affection in the NCO’s voice. For the car. I didn’t detect any for Major General Bohler.
