Mortal Allies (60 page)

The interpreter barked something in Korean and she nodded her head.

She said, “He came here weeks before the rest of them. He was nosing around. He interviewed Bales two days after he arrived, so we began watching him. Then, uh, later, he and Carlson . . . later they returned to interview Bales together . . . He was handed a glass of water. Bales took fingerprints off it. He sent them to the FBI. He wasn’t an attorney. He was a private detective.”

“Who tried to kill him?”

“Other people handled it. Two agents from Inchon. We didn’t want to risk having any of our people identified.”

“Why?”

“At first he focused his efforts on trying to prove Lee was a homosexual. Later, he suspected Whitehall was framed. But he had no facts.” She stopped and stared at the floor a moment. “Still . . . we began to worry. Would he start looking at Bales and Choi?”

“How did you learn this? Did you bug his room, too?”

“No, only Whitehall’s apartment in the months before his arrest. Melborne was a detective. We thought, maybe . . . he knew how to check. We used other means to eavesdrop on him.”

Her head slumped forward again. We saw the interrogator’s back move toward her, and then he shook her a few times, harshly enough that her head flopped back and forth. She seemed to come back to consciousness.

She said, “We overheard Merritt discussing his suspicions with Carlson, Whitehall’s lawyer.”

“And how did Melborne arrive at that suspicion?”

“He was guessing. But it was too close.”

“So you lured him to Itaewon?”

“Choi thought of it. One of our people called Merritt and said they needed to talk. Melborne was told to walk down the street and shop. Our man told him he had seen his picture in the paper. They would meet and talk.”

There was a brief pause and I wondered about Melborne’s discussion with Katherine about a frame-up. How come Katherine never mentioned those suspicions to me? Was that why she’d told us to employ a frame defense?

Then before I could think any further about it, the unseen voice said, “Tell us about Whitehall.”

Again she hung her head, as though she needed to work to recall the details. Considering that she probably hadn’t slept in five or six days, I was amazed she could do anything except babble and drool.

Then the camera went dark again, and there were the sounds of more slaps and yelps, then her whimpering and saying something in Korean that sounded like begging, then the interrogator’s voice sounding harsh and uncompromising.

The woman came into focus again. “We learned of Whitehall’s affair with Lee four . . . maybe five months ago. They thought they were discreet. The fools. When an apartment is rented to an American, the landlord must report it to the precinct.”

“Is that how Choi knew?”

“He always watched for that. Usually the Americans are seeking a place to keep their mistresses, to conduct affairs.”

“Why didn’t you try to recruit Whitehall?”

She looked directly into the camera. “He was too unimportant. He held only a minor position on base. I directed Choi to have some assistants see what Whitehall was doing.”

“And you discovered Lee No Tae?”

She nodded. “Two, sometimes four times a week they would meet in the apartment. Eventually, we bugged it.”

“Whose idea was it to murder Lee No Tae?”

For a brief millisecond, you could see a spark of her earlier defiance. Or maybe it was pride.

“I ordered it.”

“Why?”

“Isn’t it obvious? To drive the Americans off Korean soil.”

“Why that night?”

“They were about to separate. It would be our last chance.”

I inadvertently turned and looked to the back of the room where Minister Lee was seated. His eyes were on the television screen. His arms were crossed and his face was expressionless. I didn’t even want to imagine what he was feeling.

“How did you get inside the apartment?”

“We didn’t.”

“You didn’t?”

“Lee always awoke at three-thirty to go back onto base. Privates have to be present when their sergeants go through the barracks to awaken the soldiers. Otherwise he would’ve gotten into trouble.”

“So he was killed outside the apartment?”

The camera focused on her a moment until it was evident she was sound asleep. Her chin was back on her chest and you could tell by the way her breasts were moving that she was in la-la land. The film went through the dark-again-whack-ouch-whack-ouch-whack-ouch routine, then there were more words in Korean, then her face came back on the screen.

“We killed him in the stairwell. Lee put up a fight. He even struck Choi several times. Finally, though, the men held him. They beat him for a while. He had to appear roughed up.”

“How was he killed?”

“Choi pulled his . . . uh, belt out of his pants and strangled him.” She paused and her lip curled upward, ever so slightly. “It turned out, when Lee dressed, he took the wrong belt. It was Whitehall’s. Lucky,” she mumbled.

The interrogator said something sharp, like he didn’t think there was anything the least bit happy about any of this. She stared back at him, her face completely exhausted, but something in her eyes let you know she thought she’d won one here.

The questioner said, “How did you get him back into the apartment?”

This time I already knew the answer before she gave it.

“A key to the apartment . . . in Lee’s pocket. Whitehall gave it to him, months before. Choi used it then, then, uh, laid his body next to Whitehall’s. The door had an automatic lock. It relocked when they closed it.”

“How did you make it appear the body had been raped?”

“Choi brought along a . . . ?” she suddenly appeared perplexed, then said some word in Korean.

“A dildo,” the hidden voice translated for her.

She nodded. “They inserted it and left it in his body for twenty minutes. Choi has investigated many sex crimes. This was his idea. It was a nice touch.”

This time when I turned back around and stole a look at Minister Lee, he was staring down at the floor and there were tears rolling down his cheeks. I felt a shudder of pain for him. One of the few facts about this case I’d been able to establish on my own was how much he and his wife loved their son. No parent should have a child murdered. Worse, no parent should ever be forced to listen to one of the murderers recount the tawdry details of the crime.

The questioner asked, “Then Choi returned to the precinct?”

She shook her head.

“Where, then?” the man yelled. “Where did he go?”

“Home. He waited there for the call. Bales waited with me.”

“You mean Bales was there?”

“Of course. He enjoys these things. As I told you, he is a sadist.”

Then the hidden questioner and some other hidden male voice exchanged a few words in Korean, and the screen went dark.

It took the minister a few seconds to turn the light back on. When I turned around to look at him, his back was just going out the door.

The rest of the room was silent. Eddie was slumped over in his chair looking like death warmed over. That’s one of the many things I don’t like about that bastard. He really didn’t give a damn that a man had been brutally murdered, or that an innocent man had been framed. He was feeling despondent that he wasn’t going to win this case.

Carruthers surveyed the psychic carnage in the room, then asked everybody to leave except the two opposing lawyers and me. It took nearly a minute for the rest of them to clear out, until all that was left were raw emotions, one judge, and three lawyers.

T
he other three gathered around my bed like a coven of witches. Eddie had a sourpuss, Kip’s face was elated, and mine was, well, pained. As happy as I was to finally have the facts on the table, I was closer to the victims of this case than anyone else in this room, and I’d been sickened to hear that coldhearted bitch talk about murdering a young kid and destroying the lives of countless other people.

She and her buddies ran a meat market.

Carruthers’s face simply looked grim and purposeful.

Kip said, “The murder, rape, and necrophilia charges have to be dropped.”

For a brief second, Eddie looked like he was going to have a heart attack, but I gave him a positively murderous look, and, to tell you the truth, even though I was lying in bed, and I still had a big hole in my back, if he’d tried to raise an objection I might very well have climbed out of bed and gone over and knocked his pretty lips right through the back of his head.

Carruthers said, “I agree. They’re dropped.”

Then I asked, “What about the rest of it?”

The judge had his nostrils pinched between his forefinger and thumb. “That, I don’t know about. Nor do I have the latitude to decide. The preponderance of evidence suggests there was homosexual activity between an officer and some enlisted soldiers. That’s not a minor offense.”

I thought about saying something, but I had nothing to add Carruthers didn’t already know, so I kept my mouth shut.

Carruthers said, “Not a word from any of you on any of this until I announce my decision.” Then he formally recessed the court, such as it was. A moment later the technicians returned to collect the TV and VCR and the camcorder that had been running this whole time.

Before I knew it, I had my hospital room back. I thought about everything that just happened, and my eyes closed and I floated off to sleep. The thing about being seriously wounded and drugged to the gills is that you don’t realize how very little exertion it takes to sap every bit of your energy.

I was awakened about four hours later by Doc Bridges, who rushed in with three frantic-looking nurses and started running around, straightening up the room, smoothing my sheets, and changing my hospital garb into something starchier and spankier-looking. Doc Bridges even had on a neatly pressed and completely spotless white lab coat, and his hair was neatly combed — well, as neatly combed as he could make it, meaning he looked like a porcupine.

If there’d been a paintbrush and bucket of lime green paint around, I’ll bet they would’ve slapped a fresh coat on the walls. As an experienced Army guy, I recognized the drill. Somebody important was about to come visit, and the hospital commander had ordered Bridges to get me and my room looking presentable, toute suite, as they say in the ranks.

Then the door flew open and General Spears and Acting Ambassador Brandewaite and Minister of Defense Lee walked in. General Spears hooked a finger in the direction of the door and Doc Bridges and his nurses nearly left a smoke trail, they moved out so fast.

I was struggling to sit up in bed. Spears said, “Stay the way you are, Drummond.”

I said, “Yes sir,” which wasn’t witty or bright but fit the occasion.

The three of them then gathered around and stared down at me. If you think I was apprehensive, you’ve got that right. Here were three of the warlords of Korea and here was little old me with a hole in my back so if things got bad I couldn’t even get up and run away.

I had no idea what they wanted, but I wasn’t betting it was good. I’d just blown the lid off the Lee No Tae case and thrown a terrible dilemma into their collective laps. I’d proven the minister’s kid was gay, despite a thousand warnings by a thousand people that this was utterly taboo. I gulped a few times and looked at their collective faces.

Finally, Brandewaite stroked his handsome chin and said, “We seem to have a most incredible situation on our hands.”

“Indeed we do,” Spears agreed. “But sometimes, in the midst of tragedy, you find opportunity.”

“That’s right,” Brandewaite said.

This might almost have been funny if I’d had even the slightest idea what they were talking about.

Brandewaite said, “Drummond, this afternoon we’ve been in contact with the White House and the president of Korea.”

I nodded like I understood, which I didn’t.

But before he could say another word, Minister Lee stepped forward. “Please. Let me handle this. I’d like a private moment with Major Drummond.”

Spears and Brandewaite both nodded respectfully, then stepped out of the room.

“Major Drummond,” the minister said, “I want you to know something.”

“Yes sir.”

“My wife and I, we . . . we loved our son very much.”

He had to stop for a moment, because it was evident he was having difficulty. He took a few heavy breaths, then said, “I am not ashamed of No. You understand that.”

“Yes, Mr. Minister.”

“He struggled against what he was. He wanted us to be proud of him. And we
were
proud of him. Always. It was not his fault, what he was.”

“No sir.”

“We knew, of course. We knew our son loved men. Children cannot hide such things from parents.”

I’d already suspected this. I’d suspected it from the moment the three of us had entered No’s bedroom together. When the minister had opened his lips and struggled to say something, I’d thought he might have been on the verge of admitting he knew his son was gay.

Why hadn’t he admitted it? I think because he felt he owed the gift of silence to his son’s memory. Koreans are funny that way. Despite the fact that they’re the most Christian nation in Asia, they still worship and honor their dead ancestors. They even have this big national holiday called Chusok, where they all go like lemmings to graveyards around the country to honor their dead forefathers and foremothers, or whatever.

I couldn’t imagine the agony he and his wife had been through. And I suppose that accounted for why he’d bent over backward to be fair to Whitehall. I think he’d suspected from the beginning Whitehall hadn’t done it. I think he hoped his son wouldn’t hook up with a man who would do such terrible things to him. I think he wanted us to prove Tommy was innocent. I think he wanted us to find the real killers. Maybe I was kidding myself, but that’s what I thought. That’s what I’d thought ever since I’d left him and his wife in their house.

He put his hand on my arm. “I’ve asked the president of South Korea to order the release of Captain Whitehall. And I’ve asked General Spears to drop all charges.”