facing away from us, watching the Armed Forces Korea Network on a black-and-white portable television. He looked almost like a teenager relaxing on his mother’s couch. When he heard us come in, he fumbled with the knob, turned off the set, and swiveled on the chair to face us. His rank was second lieutenant. His name tag said Timmons.
I showed him my badge.
“Lieutenant Timmons,” I said, smiling. “Looks like you caught the duty tonight.”
“Do I know you?” he asked.
“No. I’m Agent Sueno. And this is my partner, Agent Bascom. We’re from the Seoul CID office.”
“All the way down here?”
“All the way down here,” I said.
Ernie took a seat on a padded gray vinyl chair. He usually let me handle bureaucratic transactions, as long as we got what we wanted.
“What can I do for you?” Timmons asked.
“What we’re here about,” I said, spreading my fingers, “is the security of the USO show.”
“The Country Western All Stars,” he said.
“The same. We’re supposed to keep an eye on them, all five musicians, and we understand that there was a problem at Camp Carroll last night.”
“So I heard.”
“I want you to help us find Captain Freddy Ray Embry.”
Timmons’s face darkened. “The accusations they’re making about him, they’re not true. Captain Embry is one of our finest officers.”
“I’m sure he is. Still, we have to talk to him. Where can we find him?”
“I’ll get him on the horn right away.”
Timmons reached for the phone. I stayed his hand.
“No. It’s better if we talk to him in person.”
“Where’s he work?” Ernie asked.
“At the logistics supply depot. He keeps our eighteen-wheelers running up and down the spine of the Korean peninsula.”
“He’s off duty now,” I said, “so where are his quarters?”
“I’m not sure.” Timmons rose to his feet and walked across the room to a large metal cabinet bolted to the wall, fiddled with a combination lock, and finally pulled back the sliding doors. He searched until he found the right key, took it out, relocked the cabinet, and told us to follow him down the hallway. Timmons entered an office with a sign that said Officer Records. He switched on the light, unlocked a filing cabinet, and, after searching for a few minutes, found the personnel folder of Captain Frederick Raymond Embry. He pulled out the billeting assignment sheet and, as he did so, Ernie and I studied the black-andwhite photo of Captain Embry.
Maybe I shouldn’t have been surprised, but somehow I was. We all project our stereotypes onto people, and somehow I didn’t expect a female country-western singer from Austin, Texas, to have been married to a black man. And I hadn’t expected a former Texas A amp;M cadet of the Reserve Officer Training Corps to be of African descent. Of course, the color barrier at Texas A amp;M had been broken years ago, but still most of the graduates during the sixties were white.
I studied Ernie’s face. His expression didn’t change. At least this went part of the way toward explaining Marnie’s suggestion that the intruder very well could have been black.
Lieutenant Timmons jotted down Captain Embry’s billeting assignment and handed me the slip of paper.
“Here you are,” he said. “I’m sure Captain Embry will be happy to see his former wife.”
“I’m sure he will,” I replied.
I slipped the paper into my pocket and Ernie and I left the 19th Support Group Headquarters building. The Bachelor Officer Quarters were on the far side of the compound; still, the walk took us less than ten minutes.
“Timmons knew,” Ernie said, “that Captain Embry had been married to one of the Country Western All Stars.”
“G.I. s gossip,” I said.
More than old ladies, I thought, but I left that unsaid.
When Ernie and I reached the BOQ area, we entered Building C. At the door to room C9, Ernie knocked. Nobody answered. Ernie pounded on the door again. Finally, the door creaked open. The room was dark.
Ernie said, “Embry? You in here?”
Nobody answered. Ernie repeated himself. Finally an exasperated voice said, “Who the hell is it?”
Ernie stepped inside.
I swept my hand along the wall, searching for the light switch. I found it and switched it on. Light blazed into the room, blinding me.
Someone shouted, “Turn that damn light off!”
I did. Ernie, meanwhile, had found a window and opened the shades. In the fading afternoon light, a man sat on the edge of an army-issue bunk, his face in his hands.
“Captain Embry?” I said.
“What the hell do you want?” he asked.
I told him. Then I started asking questions. Captain Embry denied having hit any MP last night and denied having entered the women’s latrine. He vehemently denied stealing a red bra and panties.
“She wrote to me,” he said. “Asked me to come see her when the show arrived. I did. I checked out a jeep last night, drove up to Waegwan. I was sitting outside their BOQ, trying to decide if I should really talk to her or if I should just let the past be the past.”
He remained on the edge of his bunk, his head drooped, his big hands spread over square knees.
“Do you have the letter?” I asked.
He stared up at me, brown eyes luminously moist. Finally, he snorted. “Yeah. I have it. There. On the desk.”
Ernie switched on a green-shaded desk lamp, rummaged through paperwork, and lifted a letter into the light and examined the envelope. When he was finished, he tossed it to me. By now the sun was just about down, but I had left the door open and there was enough illumination from the desk lamp and the fluorescent bulbs in the hallway to read. I scanned the letter quickly.
It was postmarked two days ago, in Seoul. Staff Sergeant Riley had evidently succumbed to Marnie’s charms and located Captain Embry’s address for her. The letter was formal in tone, not emotional, explaining when she’d be arriving in the Taegu area and under what circumstances, not inviting him to see her but not telling him to stay away either.
“Did you answer the letter?” I asked.
Embry shrugged. “No reason. By the time it got there, she would’ve been on the way down here.”
“Did you see the MP on patrol around the building?”
“Yeah. I saw him. But I don’t think he saw me. I was parked across the street next to a warehouse about twenty yards away. It was dark.”
“Did you see anybody else there?”
“No. But I wasn’t really watching. After they pulled up in the van and the girls went inside, I mainly just sat there smoking and thinking.”
“Thinking about what?” Ernie asked.
“About whether or not I should really talk to her.”
“Did you hear anything when the MP was attacked?”
“That was on the far side of the Quonset hut. I didn’t hear anything.”
“Did you see someone enter the front door?”
“Like I said, I wasn’t really watching.”
“But someone could’ve entered the front door?”
“They could’ve.”
“How about the scream? Did you hear that?”
“I did. And then I looked up and somebody darted out of the door. The light was bad and he was moving fast so I couldn’t make out much, but I was sure it was a G.I., a G.I. wearing fatigues.”
“Where did he go?”
