“Who is this man?”
“That’s what we all want to know.”
He raised his finger and pointed it at me.
“I received your reports. They told me nothing. You are Americans, so I am patient with you, but if you keep me from this killer, your life in Seoul will be most miserable.”
He pointed his forefinger at Ernie. “You will not leave Korea.”
Ernie nodded. “Can do.”
Lieutenant Pak pivoted and walked back to the technicians in the alleyway, barking orders.
When they forgot about us, we slipped down to the end of the alleyway and disappeared.
On the ride back, Ernie couldn’t stop jabbering.
“The son of a bitch!” He pounded his fist against the steering wheel. “He’s been following us since this investigation began. First in the U.N. Club, then the Kayagum Teahouse, and even down here to Mukyo-dong. When we got close to Miss Ku, he took her out.”
I leaned back in the seat, trying not to show my terror as Ernie whizzed within millimeters of careening kimchi cabs that charged like cavalry through the narrow streets. “He’s been following us, all right. Whoever he is.”
“Who does he kill next?” Ernie asked. “The guy who owns the print shop?”
“Maybe. Miss Ku saw his face. Now she’s dead. So did Mr. Chong, the print shop owner.”
“So we ought to tell Lieutenant Pak about it so he can get there first.”
“The print shop guy can take care of himself. Besides, if we tell Lieutenant Pak, he’ll have to go through regular procedures for search permission at the Namdaemun Police Station and this print shop Chong is liable to hear about it. He’s making good money. Maybe somebody in the police precinct is on his payroll. If he gets wind of it, he hides any important information. I want to take another approach.”
Ernie glanced at me. “You’re not crazy enough to go back there and break in yourself?”
“No. Those boys in the shops are liable to lynch us. I’ll send somebody else.”
“Like who?”
“You’ll see.”
No sense letting Ernie know everything. This whole case was about to explode in our faces. And if we went down, the less he knew about my plans the better.
Ernie wasn’t the type to press if I told him I didn’t want to talk about something. We rode listening to the screech of brakes and the honking of horns and the pitiful pleadings of the dying Miss Ku.
When troubles start they don’t stop. Back at the CID building Ernie let me off while he parked the jeep.
Inside, the Nurse sat in the First Sergeant’s office, her dimpled knees peeking out from beneath the hemline of a neatly pressed brown skirt. Her long black hair was tied back in a bun and she clutched a cheap plastic handbag primly on her lap, nodding patiently as the First Sergeant spoke in loud English.
I hurried down the hallway and grabbed Riley.
“What’s going on?”
“She came in a few minutes ago,” he said, “demanding to talk to the Provost Marshal.”
“About what?”
“About Ernie. And his ‘crimes,’as she put it. The First Sergeant knew it was trouble. She looks so cute and innocent that if she latches onto the right colonel or one of the dorks over at the Inspector General’s office, she’ll make the whole CID look bad.”
“What sort of ‘crimes’?”
“Going out with girls. Not staying home. Drinking too much.” Riley shrugged.
“But they’re not even married.”
“I don’t think she sees it that way.”
Korean women often went to their husbands’ superiors to complain about off-duty behavior. In Korea, the role of the boss is so revered that he is considered to have the right-even the responsibility-to provide personal guidance to his subordinates. The Nurse was doing what came naturally. Trying to convince the men who controlled Ernie’s professional life to control his personal life.
Miss Kim, the Admin secretary, kept her head down and pounded furiously on the keys of her electric typewriter. Having her rival here in the office, being treated like a queen by the First Sergeant, wasn’t doing much for her mood.
“I have to warn Ernie,” I said.
“Do that,” Riley said.
I ran out to the narrow parking area between the buildings. Ernie had just parked the jeep and was walking toward the building. I grabbed him.
“The Nurse is here. Talking to the First Sergeant.”
“Oh, shit. About what?”
“About you going out nights. Not coming home.”
“Nothing in the Code of Military Justice says I can’t.”
“No. But the honchos don’t like innocent-looking girls on their doorstep complaining about debauched GIs. Bad for the CID’s image.”
“Fuck the CID’s image.”
I squeezed his arm. Somebody had to lecture him. Somebody had to keep him from screwing up his life at every turn. If not me, who?
“Ernie. You have to make the First Sergeant happy. Let him know you’ll do whatever it takes to avoid embarrassment for him and the Provost Marshal. Otherwise, he might restrict us to compound or worse, who knows. Conduct Unbecoming is a court-martial offense. They could lock you up. What with this new murder, we have to keep our freedom of movement. You have to take care of it, Ernie.”
“Shit, George. You worry too much about the small stuff.”
“It isn’t small, Ernie. You and I sent Cecil Whitcomb to his death.”
He sighed.
“Besides, you ought to treat the Nurse better. She’s a good chick. She deserves it. Get in there and make nice with her.”
“I was going to anyway. Tonight.”
“Do it now.”
“Relax, Reverend. I get the point.”
He shrugged off my grip and stormed up the steps. Before I went back into the Admin Office, I watched him knock on the open door of the First Sergeant’s office and enter.
I leaned over Riley’s desk. “What’d you get on those former GIs?”
He handed me a stack of messages. “A couple hundred names. Seems that foreigners aren’t as bashful as I thought about ending up on KNP blotter reports. Of course, a lot of them are just traffic accidents, things like that. But there’s a few fights. Even a few alleged robberies. When you pick out some names, let me know and I’ll ask for details.”
“Thanks, Riley.”
“What was all that shit about at the kisaeng house?”
“Woman got killed.”
“Anybody we know?”
“A friend of Ernie’s.”
“He’s not having a very good day, is he?”
“No. He’s not.”
Neither was I, but I didn’t tell Riley that.
I thumbed through the blotter reports the Korean National Police Liaison had provided. As Riley had said, most were just traffic accidents or disputes over hotel bills. Of the serious incidents, four were alleged robberies by Americans, three of which turned out to be underpayment to prostitutes. Only one was an out-and-out theft, from a fellow traveler on a package tour. A Japanese camera. Virtually all the people listed, and all of those involved in the serious incidents, had already left the country.
The next stack of paperwork was a little more interesting. Each page was a short biographical sketch with a
