by Brian Haig
“That’s the question of the hour, isn’t it? There was a lot of confusion at the massacre site. A number of ROK police cars were dispatched to the scene, but nobody was taking a roll call as they arrived. He made his getaway in a police car. That proved to be a very clever move, because the ROK police dispatchers immediately put out a net call for every unit to look for a ROK police car and… well, you can imagine how chaotic that became.”
“And you believe they honestly don’t know who he was?”
“Who can tell? Maybe they’re just covering up. Or maybe they really don’t know. It’s terribly convenient for their side of the story not to have him around for questioning… but it’s also inconvenient, isn’t it?”
“And the shooter I chased, he’s dead, so there’s nobody to say why they opened fire.”
She stood up and straightened her dress. “That’s the gist of it.”
“And it’s their country.”
“Basically, yes,” she replied, picking up the recorder and placing it in her purse. “I’ve got to hurry and get this transcribed and sent back to Washington. For obvious reasons, your testimony is considered crucial.”
Before she could walk out on me, I said, “Hold on. What’s my position in this thing? I mean, if the two police officers were merely responding in self-defense, where do I stand? And what about the fact that the guy I was chasing popped a South Korean in the head?”
“That’s all under continuing investigation. The ROKs admit that you were very brave for chasing him off that hillside. It saved lives. They also think it’s possible he committed suicide. They’re doing an autopsy on his body now. But you’re still being charged with assaulting a police officer, and for stealing his weapon. As for the other body that was found in the alley, there’s still questions about who popped him in the head, as you put it. The bullet that killed him passed through his cranium and hasn’t been found. The poor guy was a mentally handicapped adult.”
Her eyes suddenly narrowed. “I don’t mean to imply that you murdered him in cold blood, but you were involved in a gunfight. You were tense and under great strain, probably on a hair trigger. You didn’t shoot him, did you, Drummond?”
Which I guess was a fairly good indication of what she thought of me.
My response was fairly short of being politically correct. But then, I’m a lawyer. If she tried to slap me with one of those gender crime suits, well, I was drugged and delirious with pain, and therefore wasn’t responsible for my filthy tongue.
CHAPTER 27
Imelda and Katherine showed up two hours later. Make that two hours after I started frantically calling them. I wasn’t happy about it, either.
But after one look at Katherine’s face, I softened my mood. There were deep, dark circles under her eyes. They were puffy and swollen and bloodshot, the way eyes get when somebody’s been crying a lot. She’d obviously gotten no sleep since the massacre.
Imelda, I noticed, was being very custodial toward Katherine. She was holding the door for her, getting her a chair, hovering over her shoulder like an anxious aide-de-camp.
Imelda looked down at me, studied my face, blew some air out of her lips, then returned her attention to Katherine. Imelda Pepperfield, after all, was a woman. In the female Hierarchy of Miseries, physical beatings are a few notches down from afflictions of the soul.
Katherine sniffled. “You look like hell.”
“Yeah, well, I feel like hell. Thanks, though, for getting me out of that rathole. I couldn’t have taken another beating. One more and I was ready to confess I’m your co-counsel.”
She smiled and acted like she got the joke, but you could tell from her eyes she’d lost her sense of humor. Actually, she’d never had much of a sense of humor. At least none I’d ever been able to tap into.
“What you did, Sean… it was incredibly brave. The cameraman called me as soon as he was able to review his tape. He wanted to know who you were. He said he had this film of a complete wildman running through the crowd, people dropping over dead all around him, rushing the assassin.”
“Yeah, well,” I said, blushing beneath my bruises. “So how you doing?”
“It’s been the worst day of my life.”
“Yeah, mine wasn’t so hot, either,” I complained, because I just couldn’t let her score higher on the misery index.
Then Katherine and Imelda exchanged some kind of private look, and Katherine looked even more tortured.
She made a very obvious effort to exert control over her emotions. “Uh… Maria got shot.”
“Maria? Maria the grum – uh, our Maria?”
Katherine looked down at the floor and nodded.
I felt a small knot in my stomach. “How is she?”
Katherine never took her eyes off the floor. “Dead.”
I had to take a moment to consider that. It’s not like I knew Maria real well. We’d shared some room space, but we’d barely said ten words to each other. Except for a few odd smiles, the sum of our communication had been to either exchange frowns or vaguely ignore each other.
I said, “I’m sorry,” which is an entirely inadequate thing to say, but because it’s so commonly muttered in situations like this, it’s a passable sentiment.
Katherine nodded.
“How’s Allie?”
“Not well. They’ve lived together for ten years. They… uh, they were very much in love.”
I nodded because again I was at an embarrassing loss for words. I sort of liked Allie, partly because she was so wildly eccentric you either liked her or hated her, and I had no reason to hate her, which I guess left me sort of liking her. And partly because she was so damned tough and I just naturally admire that quality, even in a six-foot-three lesbian with a face like a South American parrot.
Anyway, Katherine spared me the need to mutter more empty sentiments. She stood up and started pacing. “I knew these people. They were my friends. I’m angry and I’m frustrated. The South Koreans are trying to cover it up. They murdered my friends and now they’re trumping up some horseshit about how the first shot came from us. Like we started it.”
“The first shot did come from our side of the fracas. I heard it and so did you. Is it possible one of the protesters had a gun?”
She angrily shook her head. “Come on. They all took civilian flights over here. They passed through metal detectors and customs.”
“So what? It’s possible to smuggle plastic guns through metal detectors. It’s possible to smuggle disassembled weapons in your luggage. Hell, it’s possible to acquire a weapon here. American servicemen are even allowed their own private weapons, as long as they register them with the MPs. No offense, but some of your friends are angry social misfits. Maybe one of them decided to make a bold point.”
“Don’t be stupid. Why would our people fire on the South Koreans?”
“Reverse that question. Why would the South Koreans fire on us? With television cameras right there?”
I could see from her expression she wasn’t in the mood to discuss this in a rational way, so I asked, “What’s the status of the trial?”
“I’ve filed for a two-week postponement.”
“And have you heard anything?”
“Only that Golden’s fighting it. He claims the massacre is irrelevant to the case.”
“I could’ve guessed that. He’s got all his ducks lined up. He wants his moment in the sun. Eddie’s in a mad rush to be famous.”
“Well, the judge is here, the witnesses are here, everything’s ready. How do you think they’ll decide?”
“It’s up to Spears and Brandewaite to make the decision. Brandewaite’s a diplomat, so I’m sure he wants to get this over with yesterday. He’ll see an early conviction as a way to start healing the rift.”
“There’s only one hang-up. It seems two of Thomas’s co-counsels could be facing charges with the civilian authorities.”
“Really? What are they looking to charge you with?”
“Filing
a misleading statement to get authority for the protest. Inciting a riot. Also, it seems South Korea has this law called the National Security Act. They say I may be charged with something called ‘endangering the security of the Republic of Korea.’ ”
I was vaguely familiar with the law she was talking about. It was a controversial statute that had been on the books for thirty years, ever since one of the earlier dictators imposed it. It’s the kind of law every dictator dreams of, since it’s amorphous enough to be twisted and contorted in any direction.
I should’ve been sympathetic, but I couldn’t let her have the upper hand. “You think you got problems? I’m charged with assaulting a police officer and theft of a weapon. Oh, and I’m also under suspicion for murdering a mentally handicapped man.”
Imelda, who’d been quietly listening to the two of us talk, suddenly moved around Katherine until she was close to my bed.
“You two done?” she asked in a sharp tone.
“What?” Katherine asked, looking up in surprise.
Imelda glared down her short, pudgy nose at both of us. “Are you two done with this woe-is-me shit? Have you got all that shitty self-pity outta your systems?”
I drew a deep breath, scratched my hair, and looked away. I could smell what was coming. Katherine had no idea. She’d never experienced an inspirational assault from Imelda, which I’ll briefly describe as a conversation where Imelda does the talking, and you keep your mouth shut and nod your head at all the appropriate moments, and generally try to look inspired as hell. Oh, you can try to ignore her, or argue, but I really don’t recommend it.
Katherine had a baffled look on her face.
“Okay,” Imelda said, sliding her feet back and forth like a boxer, “you got a client in jail. His trial might or might not start Friday. You got one lawyer laying on his ass, actin’ hurt. You got the other with a case of the self-moanies. At least you two’re alive. Least it ain’t neither of you iced up in one of them meat wagons parked out back. Right?”
I nodded enthusiastically and looked wildly inspired. Yes, yes, that’s right, Imelda. At least it’s not me.
Katherine looked even more bewildered. Wrong answer.
“You got a problem with this, girl?” Imelda barked, bending over and spitting her words into Katherine’s face. “You not hearing ol’ Imelda right?”
Katherine’s lips opened, but Imelda’s finger popped up right in front of her nose. Imelda’s face was now directly in front of Katherine’s, scrunched up in fury, and her eyes were sizzling.
“Don’t you talk,” she barked. “Don’t you dare talk. If it was me was your client, I’d shoot you two. I shit you not, girl. All this moanin’ an’ groanin’. Hmmph! Hmmmph!” she stomped a boot on the floor like she was crushing a bug.
Katherine’s eyes peeked over in my direction. She quietly observed me nodding my head so hard I was about to break my neck. My eyes, at least the one I could get open, communicated awed reverence.
As I said earlier, Katherine’s no dummy. She started nodding… weakly at first, then like a piston.
“All right, now.” Imelda spun on her heels and faced me. “I’m gonna get me a wheelchair and roll your bony ass outta here. Don’t let me hear no bitchin’ from you, boy. You ain’t hurt. You only think you’re hurt.”
Yes, yes, I only think so, I nodded. Forget these bruises and stitches and bandages. Figments of a fevered imagination.
She turned back and faced Katherine. “Forget about what happened yesterday, hear me? Focus on that boy in that cell. Let me and the major handle them South Koreans, got it?”
Katherine was nodding even more ferociously than I was. Her neck was snapping like a birch tree in a hurricane. I swear I saw saliva fly out of her mouth.
Of course, I then made an effort to look even more wildly inspired than her, and let me tell you, that’s not easy when your face is all swollen and bruised and you’re missing a front tooth. I looked like an overanxious Halloween pumpkin who just couldn’t wait for the big night.
I said, “Raring to go, Imelda. Hot damn! Can’t wait. Go get that damned wheelchair. Get me the hell out of here.”
She studied my face a moment, decided I was sufficiently galvanized, turned and examined Katherine, who was still jerking her head up and down. Instant and unquestioning obedience was all Imelda ever wanted, so she yanked up her trousers and stomped noisily out of the room, clicking her teeth and grunting curses, which was her way of expressing rabid satisfaction. She made the same sounds after polishing off a really good steak.
As soon as the door shut, there was the sound of two people letting a roomful of air out of their lungs.
“Jesus,” Katherine said, gently massaging her neck. “I never imagined. She’s so tiny.”
As for me, I was trying to get my damaged face to recover its normal expression of rubbery nonchalance. “Well, you asked for it,” I said. “Sitting there feeling sorry for yourself like that.”
“Attila,” she said, with a murderous look, “don’t go there.”
“Only kidding,” I replied, and I’ll be damned if she didn’t giggle.
Then I said, “Hey, Moonbeam, we got what, three days?”
“Three days. Right.”
“He was framed, right?”
“No question about it. Framed.”
I stretched out my hand and we shook.
I grinned and appeared completely sincere, but if you think I was buying it, you haven’t been paying attention. This was Katherine Carlson. I had to test the limits of our new partnership.
I grinned harder and said, “So, when were you gonna tell me about Frederick Melborne?”
Surprise popped onto her face. It quickly turned into a sly smile. “You found out about Fred, huh?”
“Yeah. Who is he? Really.”
“A crackerjack PI. He was once an Army officer. He knows how to get around and he specializes in gay cases.”
“Hah! Exactly what I figured from the start.”
She smiled. “Of course you did, Drummond, of course you did.”
“Well, I did,” I lied.
“Drummond, Fred had your number the instant he laid eyes on you. Christ, he had you so fooled I thought you were going to faint. You should have seen your face when you shook his hand that first night. He did that Liberace act and you sprinted over to the corner like a frightened squirrel.”
I felt a rush of blood to my face. “What? That was an act?”
“Of course it was an act.”
“Well, he is gay, isn’t he?”
“Of course he’s gay. He’s also quite macho. He was testing you.”
I guessed I hadn’t done real well on that test. Anyway, I wasn’t going to let her dwell on it. “So what was he doing?” I quickly asked. “Running background on Lee, Moran, and Jackson?”
“Just Lee. Moran’s an open book. Fred ran some checks with a number of OGMM members who’ve been assigned with him over the years, and they helped us compile a profile. A promiscuous male hunk, and an accomplished bar brawler, but he’s never beaten or threatened a lover. Appearances aside, he’s supposed to be a very tender lover. As for Jackson, he doesn’t matter. We judged him to be largely irrelevant. He was there that night, but we think he was bewildered by everything that went down. Lee No Tae is the key.”
“And what did Melborne find out?”
“Nothing.”
I gave her a dubious look. “Nothing?”
“I swear. Lee was never seen in any of the bars local gays frequent. He’d never dated anybody but Thomas. He never flirted with anybody, never got propositioned, never gave any hint he was gay.”
“But if he did, he probably ran with Korean gays, right? Maybe Fred was looking for love in all the wrong places.”
Forgive me for that, but I’d always wanted to use that line.
Katherine leaned back into her chair and shook her head. She was back to not getting my bad jokes. “Of course we considered that. Fred even hired some local PIs.
He had them ask around with Lee’s high school and college classmates. He threw a pretty wide net.”
“Could Fred have been meeting with somebody that night in Itaewon? Maybe somebody found something?”
“Possibly. He liked to operate without my breathing down his back, so maybe.”
The door slammed open and Imelda reentered pushing a wheelchair with a cane hanging from it. I had to ask her and Katherine to give me a hand getting out of bed. Thankfully, I was wearing underpants, although to be perfectly technical, being naked in front of two lesbians probably isn’t a whole lot different than walking around a men’s locker room without a towel. Anyway, Imelda threw a hospital gown over me, then started wheeling me out.
That’s when Doc Bridges showed up. He blocked the doorway, crossed his arms, and said, “And where are we going?”
I said, “We’re leaving. Right now.”
He was shaking his head so I said, “By the way, have you met my attorney, Katherine Carlson? She’s a patients’ rights advocate. She’s here to see I get my way.”
In case you haven’t heard, there’s no love lost between doctors and lawyers. This is because doctors sometimes make mistakes and kill or maim people… and, well, you know how it goes.
Doc Bridges stared at Katherine like she was the bogeyman, and she bared her teeth at him once or twice for good measure. He politely nudged himself aside and yelled at the top of his voice, “Okay, I’ve given you my best medical advice. You’re leaving here of your own volition. Die of an infection and I’m legally absolved.”
As I passed him, he actually winked. A man after my own heart.
CHAPTER 28
Here’s what intrigued me the most. What made that Korean cop commit seppuku? For those who don’t know, seppuku’s the Japanese version of suicide.
One scenario was the South Koreans were telling the truth – the cop saw one of the protesters pop off a round and lost his cool. He opened up, and then, once he saw me running up at him, he dropped his weapon and fled. The act of changing magazines gave him a moment to cogitate and realize that shooting wildly into a crowd was a very bad thing. During the time it took me to catch up with him he did some further thinking and realized he’d done not only a bad thing, but a stupid thing – he’d killed a slew of innocent people, he’d overreacted, and he was going to be in very big trouble. There was going to be an investigation that would bring great shame on himself, his badge, and his family. Then he found himself cornered and had no idea what an awful shot I am, so he figured he couldn’t get away and suicide was preferable to capture and everlasting shame.
