ERNIE AND I PUSHED THROUGH A CROWD OF GAWKERS outside of the House of the Tiger Lady. We entered the cool confines of the main ballroom. A uniformed policeman escorted us down the hallway.
The huddled kisaeng, their faces naked and raw in the morning light, almost leapt back in fright when they saw Ernie.
Outside in the alley, Lieutenant Pak was hunched over in a conference with some older men. Our blue-clad escort went out, conferred with him, came back, and asked us politely to wait here in the hallway.
Ernie was nervous, chomping on about three wads of gum, glancing back and forth, fidgeting with the knot in his tie. I told him to wait, took a few steps toward the back alley, turned a corner, and saw the body slumped in a puddle of blood.
Miss Ku. Her eyes still open, mouth slack. Her neck twisted and her stomach gouged with something sharp and long. Blood had dried like a frozen waterfall of cinnabar slime.
She was in her nightclothes: Silk gown with only a bathrobe wrapped around her slender body to protect her from the cold. The job looked familiar. The same long, deft jab below the sternum, slicing into the heart. Probably while holding her from behind with a powerful arm crooked around her frail neck. Then letting her go. Letting her slump to the ground in death.
There were cuts on her arms. Whoever had killed her had toyed with her, as Whitcomb had been toyed with. If it was the same killer, it made sense.
What didn’t make sense were her fingers. The tips were raw and red. The nails had been ripped back one by one.
Another thing that didn’t make sense was that the body was too close to the back of the Tiger Lady’s kisaeng house. On the other side of the wall resided a couple of dozen women, and at least some of them must be light sleepers. Yet the killer had finished his bloody night’s work while disturbing no one.
There was blood on the cobbled road but not much. Not as much as we found beneath Cecil Whitcomb.
I turned, took a few deep breaths, and returned to Ernie.
Something pushed through the crowded hallway. People were jostled, slammed against walls. The Tiger Lady, gray-black hair splayed like the mane of a lion, eyes as intent as the eyes of a viper, plowing through the bending reeds, heading right for us.
Ernie straightened himself and stood away from the wall.
She screeched. “Shangnom-al” You bastard! And launched her crimson claws at his eyes.
Ernie twisted his head away just in time, but she sank her nails into his shoulder. He rotated his body and pushed her, slamming her into the wall. Like some enraged simian, she rebounded and renewed her attack.
Women screamed. Policemen cursed.
Ernie bounced back and grabbed her wrists as she came toward him again. Somehow he managed to retain his balance with her weight pushing against him.
I moved forward to help but three girls emerged from the crowd, swinging tiny fists, and simultaneously punched me in the stomach. I held my belly and looked at them.
“You stay back, Goddamn-uh!” one of them said.
Ernie and the Tiger Lady rocked back and forth like two bulls in a pen until finally the Tiger Lady collapsed and fell to her knees and covered her eyes with her withered palms. She started to cry.
“Nuga, nuga, nuga kurei?” Who, who, who would do this?
Two of the policemen pushed through the crowd of wailing kisaeng and helped the Tiger Lady to her feet. Another emerged from the hallway and called for Ernie and me to accompany him. The girls ignored us as we left, all their attention turned toward the moaning Tiger Lady.
When Ernie saw Miss Ku’s body I thought he was going to collapse. I grabbed him around the waist and helped him down the alley past it, out into the coldness of the morning air. Lieutenant Pak and the other policeman were waiting for us. Ernie pulled himself together although his face was as pale as I’d ever seen it.
Lieutenant Pak strode forward and poked his nose in Ernie’s face.
“You sleep with her,” he said, pointing at the corpse.
I stepped between them. “Wait a minute. He’s in no condition to answer questions. Not yet. He needs a chance to recover.”
There is no right to immediate counsel in Korea. You either answer the policeman’s questions or face the consequences—from a jail cell.
Ernie laid his hand on my shoulder. “That’s okay, George. I’ll talk to him. I need to.” He unwrapped another stick of gum, put it in his mouth, and turned slowly to Lieutenant Pak.
“Yeah. I spent the night with her. I came late. She wasn’t busy, we went to her room and talked.”
Lieutenant Pak tried to keep his face from moving but the eyes crinkled involuntarily around the edges. Korean men weren’t happy about Americans spending time with their women. But since fraternization was inevitable, they preferred that Gl’s stick to the business girls in Itaewon. The ones who’d teen designated for the job.
“In the morning she let me out the back door.” Ernie turned, pointing. “This door here. She was wearing the same clothes she has on now. The silk nightgown. The robe.”
“After you left, did she lock the door?”
“No. She wore slippers and she followed me out into the alleyway.” He pointed again, to a spot about ten yards in front of the back door. “When I reached the main road, down there, I turned one last time and waved. She waved back.”
“So she was standing there, away from the door, alone, when you left her?”
“Yes,” Emie answered: “And it was still dark.”
“We found sandals,” Lieutenant Pak said. “They must’ve fallen off her feet in a struggle, and the tops of her feet are scraped raw, as if she’d been dragged.”
Ernie shook his head. “I don’t know anything about that.”
Lieutenant Pak stared at him. Waiting to see if he’d fidget.
“Check her pockets,” Ernie said.
“Why?”
“You’ll find a stick of ginseng gum. I gave it to her just before I left. It probably has my fingerprints on it.”
Lieutenant Pak studied Ernie some more. Without looking over his shoulder he shouted an order to one of the uniformed policemen. The policeman answered, trotted off to the body, and after bending over it and checking, returned to Lieutenant Pak.
“Nei. Issoyo.” Yes. It’s there.
I spoke up. “He wouldn’t have left such clear evidence if he was planning on killing her.”
Ernie winced.
Lieutenant Pak half smiled. “I said nothing about killing.”
He hadn’t and suddenly I felt embarrassed. But it was what everyone was thinking.
“You know I didn’t kill her,” Ernie said.
Lieutenant Pak’s eyes probed Ernie’s face. “We’ll see.
He turned to me. “This woman who calls herself Miss Ku, she is same woman you saw at Kayagum Teahouse. The one who wanted you to black-market?”
I didn’t answer.
“And maybe she knew something that you didn’t want anyone else to know.”
A chill of fear went through me. Pak was close to finding out that we had been paid to deliver the note to Cecil Whitcomb, thereby demonstrating a motive for Ernie to murder Miss Ku. What with the way military justice works, just the suspicion was enough to get us both locked up. I had to give him something else to think about.
“Miss Ku was able to identify the American who followed us in the U.N. Club.”
Lieutenant Pak thought about that.
“So the American’s been following you,” he said. “And he killed Miss Ku.”
“Maybe.”
“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 small black-and-white photo: GIs who’d gone AWOL in Korea and had not yet been apprehended. The fact that they hadn’t been apprehended wasn’t surprising, since we don’t bother to look for them. The reason is that the ports of embarkation, either by ship or at the Kimpo International Airport, are so tightly controlled by the Korean authorities that we aren’t worried about AWOL GIs slipping out of the country. And if they stay here, eventually they’ll tire of scrounging for a living on the fringes of Korean life. Sooner or later, almost all of them turn themselves in, willing to accept court-martial as long as they can get a ticket back to the States.
Of course, I suppose a few of them went to all the trouble of getting phony passports and slipping out of the country, but the army wasn’t worried about it. Now that the draft was gone and the American economy was in a shambles, men were fighting to stay in the army. Not to get out.
Still, the most likely way to make a living after going AWOL was by way of the black market. A phony military identification card, a phony ration control plate, and you were in business. The danger was that you had to go onto the compounds regularly to do the purchasing. That’s why the guy who was shadowing us had short hair. So he’d look like an active duty GI.
I studied the pictures carefully. None of the faces seemed familiar. I tried to imagine each one in a smoke-filled barroom or on a street, lounging behind us, trying to look inconspicuous. Nothing clicked. Every face was a complete stranger.
I read the names and the biographical notes. Still nothing.
Heels clicked down the hallway. The Nurse marched past the door of the Admin Office, looking straight ahead. The big double doors of the exitway creaked open and slammed shut.
I thought of running after her, trying to console her, but she looked too upset. Anything I said would probably just come out stupid. Like most wives or girlfriends, the Nurse considered the running-the-ville buddy—me—the real cause for all her grief. Ernie was pure of heart. It was just evil guys like me who were leading him astray.
I damn sure wasn’t going to betray Ernie and tell the Nurse the truth about his love life. And I didn’t feel like telling any more lies today. So I stayed where I was.
The First Sergeant called Riley down the hallway, and after a brief chat the skinny Admin Sergeant returned. He was shaking his head.
“What is it?”
“I have to counsel Ernie on the dangers of promiscuity. And too much booze.”
“You?”
“Hey, I’m a Staff Sergeant.” Riley pointed to the yellow rocker beneath his stripes. “This gives me superior knowledge and virtue.”
I thought of the bottle of Old Overwart he kept in his locker and the old hag business girls he sometimes picked up in the ville and dragged back to the barracks.
“Yeah. Virtue,” I said. “You got that.”
Miss Kim had had enough. Holding a handkerchief to her nose, she jumped up from her typewriter, ran out of the office, and clicked her high heels down the hallway toward the ladies’ room.
“What’s wrong with her?” Riley asked.
I shook my head. “I don’t know.”
Riley shuffled through a stack of paperwork. “Must be a virus.”