of Corporal Jill Matthewson and, in particular, we were searching for a woman known as Brandy, a bartender at the Black Cat Club. Why had we been out after curfew? Because we weren’t able to find her before curfew.
Why had we fired a weapon at the Black Cat Club? Simply to convince a few local citizens not to interfere with an ongoing police investigation.
Then the big question: Had we been in the western district of Tongduchon earlier this evening, at the office of a man known as Pak Tong-i? This is where the truth became inconvenient. We both answered no.
Had we ever talked to Mr. Pak? I didn’t know. The name didn’t ring a bell.
Had we ever visited the office of Kimchee Entertainment? I couldn’t be sure. I’d have to review my notes. And on it went like this. No violence. Only the threat of it. While Captain Ma grinned, another cop paced the room, cussing in vulgar Korean and slamming his black leather-gloved fist into his open palm.
Of course the Korean cops weren’t stupid. They’d spotted two foreigners at the scene of the Pak Tong-i murder and they knew those two foreigners were most likely me and my partner, Ernie Bascom. But they also knew that the body of Pak Tong-i was as cold as a KNP’s heart. He’d been dead for hours and it wasn’t likely that we’d have hung around that long if we were the ones who had murdered him. That’s why Ernie and I could afford to stonewall. Eventually, they’d realize they had no evidence against us and they’d let us go. Discharging a firearm within city limits and being out after curfew were crimes for normal citizens but not for law enforcement officers. Still, the KNPs wanted whatever information we had and they wanted it badly.
But I’d developed a certain level of skepticism since I’d arrived in Tongduchon. I wasn’t sure who was responsible for the disappearance of Corporal Jill Matthewson or the stripper, Kim Yong-ai, nor for Pak Tong-i’s death, for that matter. Until I knew more, I didn’t feel like trusting anyone.
Captain Ma, under the Status of Forces Agreement between the United States and the Republic of Korea, was required to notify the 2nd Division MP duty officer concerning our arrest. That much he promised. Nothing more.
Through the entire interrogation a third man sat in a chair behind me, off to my left, observing. The foul odor of his cigarette smoke permeated my nostrils. Kobukson, I figured. Turtle Boat brand. I couldn’t see him clearly; he was careful to avoid my line of sight, but using peripheral vision, I formed a picture of him. Korean. Older, maybe mid to late forties. Wearing civvies. Jacket and tie, overcoat, even a cloth porkpie hat that he kept on the table next to him. He smoked occasionally, only half as much as Captain Ma, and he held his cigarettes in some sort of holder. Plastic? Ivory? I couldn’t tell. He wore gloves that he slipped on and off. He gave the impression of a man who performed every movement, even the tiniest act, with precision.
Captain Ma and the other cop in the interrogation room ignored him. For them, he wasn’t there. And for his part, the mystery man didn’t say a word.
Just after dawn, representatives from the 2nd Infantry Division arrived. August personages both: Lieutenant Colonel Stanley X. Alcott, the 2nd ID Provost Marshal and Military Police Investigator, Warrant Officer One Fred Bufford. Colonel Alcott shook hands all the way around-but not with me-and grinned a lot. Warrant Officer Bufford stood awkwardly in a corner, shaking hands with no one, studying me.
I sat up as straight as possible in my chair-as straight as the handcuffs would allow-and thrust my shoulders back as far as they would go. As I did so I checked my peripheral vision. The mystery man had disappeared.
Colonel Alcott peered at me. “What the hell did you do, Sueno?”
I didn’t feel like answering. Colonel Alcott should’ve demanded that I be released from my handcuffs immediately. I was a U.S. military investigator, innocent until proven guilty-under American jurisprudence anyway- and the benefit of the doubt should’ve been automatic. Instead, Alcott was busy glad-handing with the KNPs, ignoring me, showing them by inference that they could do with me whatever the hell they pleased.
Although I was tempted to show my disdain for Colonel Alcott by refusing to answer him, finally, I piped up.
“I didn’t do anything,” I replied. “My partner and I were out after curfew trying to track down a lead.”
“But you fired your weapon.”
“Only when someone attempted to interfere with our investigation.”
Bufford, leaning against the wall, could no longer contain himself. He pointed a bony finger at me.
“You were in west Tongduchon,” he said. “A man was murdered out there.”
I stared directly at him. “Your ass,” I growled.
That shut him up. Colonel Alcott shook his round head. “Sueno, your attitude is not good.”
“Take these handcuffs off me,” I said. “My attitude will make a miraculous recovery.”
Colonel Alcott continued to shake his head. “Unfortunately,” he said, “that’s not my decision to make.”
“The hell,” I said. “If you vouch for me, these Korean cops would release me in a heartbeat. And my partner, too.”
Colonel Alcott responded with a tone of exaggerated reasonableness. “But how well do I know you? You and Agent Bascom are sent up here to the Division area of operations, supposedly to search for Corporal Matthewson, but you end up investigating god knows what. What am I supposed to tell the KNPs? You’re up here doing something but I don’t know what it is, and you’re out after curfew and weapons are fired and a man turns up murdered and I’m supposed to risk the prestige of the Second Infantry Division to have you released? Based on what?”
“Based on you could call the Eighth Army provost marshal. He’d order it.”
“Ah, yes. The Eighth Army provost marshal. That will be done. As soon as the Division chief of staff is fully briefed.”
“When will that be?”
“Don’t be impertinent.” For the first time since I’d known him, the round, pleasant face of Colonel Stanley X. Alcott flushed red. “You don’t hurry the Second Infantry Division. We have procedures. We observe protocol. Maybe something you and that Agent What’s-His-Name..”
“Bascom,” Bufford said.
“Yes. Agent Bascom. Maybe you two don’t know what it is to follow procedures but up here in Division we have procedures, and we’re damn sure going to adhere to them.”
Through the entire conversation, Captain Ma kept puffing on his cigarette, smiling, amused that people who appeared to him so foreign could hold such a long conversation. He reminded me of a zoologist observing baboons.
The 2nd Infantry Division chief of staff would be briefed in an hour or two at the daily staff meeting. Then the decision would be made to inform 8th Army about our arrest and then the 8th Army provost marshal would discuss the situation with the 8th Army commander and finally-hopefully-word would be sent down to request transfer of custody from the KNPs to the 2nd Infantry Division.
That gave the smiling Captain Ma, puffing serenely on a cigarette, many hours to mess with me.
It was midafternoon by the time the doors of my jail cell clanged open.
Two KNP recruits, their khaki uniforms pressed to glistening creases, entered the cell, handcuffed me again, and walked me down a long, wood-floored corridor and upstairs into another interrogation room.
This time Captain Ma wasn’t there. Instead, the mystery man entered, a middle-aged man in jacket and tie and overcoat and porkpie hat and, what I could see now, were goatskin gloves on either hand. He sat down on the chair opposite mine.
“Mian-hamnida,” he said. “I’m sorry. The KNPs have treated you very badly.”
His face was full, not fat, with fleshy cheeks that bobbed when he shook his head. He lit up a cigarette. I was right. The brand was Kobukson and the holder was made of ivory. Or faux ivory.
“Are you a cop?” I asked.
“Not exactly.”
His English-what I’d heard of it so far-was perfect. No hesitation in answering me, each word pronounced crisply, precisely. This wasn’t your usual KNP.
“Then what exactly are you?”
“First, let’s have those handcuffs removed.”
He barked a command and the two young KNPs who’d escorted me into the interrogation room burst through the door. He barked more commands and my hands were freed.
“The rest of my clothes?” I asked. “And my identification?”
“Soon. Someone’s arrived from Eighth Army to fetch you.”
