“Yes,” I said. “We found you.”
“Why you come here? You wanna catchey girl?”
“No,” I said. “No girl.”
I noticed a flimsy plastic armoire, unzipped and bereft of clothes. The same spangled handbag I’d seen in the UN Club lay at the far end of the bed.
“Why’d you move here?” I asked.
“You know,” she said, suddenly angry. “Mama-san keep all my clothes. She say, pay rent first, then get back. I come here to make money.” She puffed on her cigarette, blew the smoke out long and slow. “But no can make money. Too many GI kokcheingi. How you say? Stingy.”
“So what are you going to do?” Ernie asked.
“I don’t know,” she said, stubbing out the half-smoked cigarette.
“Where were you last night?”
She frowned. “Where you think? Where can I go? No money. I stay here. Work.”
“There’s a place called the Dragon King Nightclub,” I said, “on the MSR, across from the Crown Hotel. Have you ever been there?”
She stared at me blankly.
“Your friend,” Ernie said, “Major Schultz, he went there last night.”
“I know,” she said softly. “I hear.”
“He’s dead,” Ernie continued. “Stabbed to death in the alley behind the Dragon King. Maybe ten knife wounds. Some people think you did it.”
She looked at us calmly, first at Ernie then at me.
“He big man,” she said. “How I do?”
Ernie continued. “Maybe you had some help from your friends.”
“My friends,” she said, laughing, her gaze fixed on the ground. “My friends.”
“Tell us what happened,” I said. “Otherwise, we have to turn you over to the KNPs.”
She laughed again. “Anyway, you turn me over to KNPs. They ask me anything. I have to answer what they want. If I answer they no like, they knuckle sandwich me.”
She clenched her small fist and held it out to us.
Based on her reaction, I immediately felt that she was innocent. I knew it was unprofessional of me, but none of it made sense. Of course she’d held a grudge against Major Schultz, and with good reason. He and his pal, whoever he was, had beaten the hell out of her. But this was a woman with no power, with no money and, as far as I could see, no friends. Who would agree to attack a burly American officer for her? Who would agree to commit murder for her? It made no sense. But what she said about the KNPs did make sense. They would be under tremendous pressure to solve this murder quickly. Miss Jo Kyong-ja had a motive for that murder, and even if the facts didn’t fit the crime, the KNPs would make them fit. She had no leverage. She was a convenient-and obvious-scapegoat.
“Do you have witnesses who saw you here last night?”
She waved her left arm. “Many business girls.”
“Any GIs?”
Briefly, she looked ashamed, then she tilted her face up, defiant. “Three.”
“Do you know their names?” Ernie asked.
“Timmy, one is called. I think.”
This wasn’t good. The 8th Army Judge Advocate General didn’t give much credence to the testimony of Korean business girls. The Korean judicial system, even less. And whether or not we’d be able to find the three GIs was problematic to say the least. Miss Jo’s three customers had no reason to admit they’d been out here. Paying for sex is embarrassing to most men, both professionally and personally. This despite the fact, that from my experience, when given the opportunity, most are more than willing to cough up the cash, as long as they believe the transaction can be kept secret.
“Okay,” Ernie said, standing up. “You’re going to have to come with us.”
Miss Jo stared at the floor for a moment, but after the pause she rose to her feet. She was already prepared, wearing the one black dress she still owned. She reached for her jacket on the bed as I grabbed her handbag and lifted it up for her. Unexpectedly, the contents shifted in the flimsy material and tumbled to the floor: makeup, a mirror, brass coins, a small brush, her national ID card, and a thin fold of Korean and US bills. What caught my eye, though, was a card with a young girl kneeling in prayer, staring up at a golden light.
Many Korean Christians carry these cards, with pictures of an angel or a saint or, more often, a sweet-faced young girl praying to the sky. On them was usually imprinted the name and address of their church, and sometimes the name of their pastor. I was surprised that Miss Jo was a Christian. Statistically, Christianity was the second most prominent religion in Korea, but ever since the days of Western missionaries, it had been associated with the upper-class educated elites. Not with business girls.
Without a word, Miss Jo knelt and shoved everything back into her purse. Straightening her dress, she walked serenely out onto the porch and slipped on a pair of low-heeled shoes. I led the way. Ernie took the rear. Some of the other business girls stood at their doorways, watching us as we escorted her out.
When we reached the mama-san’s hooch, Miss Jo stopped to talk to her. In Korean, she told her she’d be back when she could to collect the money she’d earned last night. Apparently, she thought it would be safer here than it would be at the KNP headquarters. The old woman nodded, face impassive, but with a slight hint of amusement in her eyes. She probably thought Miss Jo would never return.
They talked through what the total would be, mentioning how long she’d spent with each GI and how much she’d made from each one, then deducting the old woman’s percentage. After listing off the men and the times, it seemed as if Miss Jo was a little confused and then she paused and said “Koshigi . . .” I’d never heard the word before and wanted to ask what it meant, but figured this was neither the time nor the place.
As we left, the business girls continued to stand and stare. None of them said goodbye.
We pushed through the small door in the gate and marched our little parade, single file, through the dark passageways of the back alleys of Itaewon. Occasionally, we could see the flickering neon of the nightclub district above the high brick and cement block walls. As we rounded a bend and dodged a trash cart, I thought of how the interrogation should go. Mr. Kill would want first crack at her, and we’d probably defer to that wish since Miss Jo Kyong-ja was a Korean National. I’d insist on observing through one of the two-way mirrors at KNP headquarters to be sure they didn’t abuse her, but I couldn’t guarantee her safety twenty-four hours a day.
I should’ve been more alert. Instead, those were the thoughts I was mulling through when something that seemed like a giant bat zoomed toward us. I ducked, and heard a grunt and a thud behind me. Miss Jo started running. Before I could turn to stop her, a dark figure enveloped Ernie. He was down. I ran toward him and momentarily sensed something behind me, whistling through the night. The air around its path seemed to vibrate, and then like a resonant wave it touched me, ever so gently. I lost my balance, my head exploded in pain, and light wavered in front of me. I struggled to maintain consciousness.
Ernie shouted.
Someone cursed. My eyes popped open to feet shuffling around me. Apparently, I’d fallen down. Without thinking, I reached out and grabbed one of the feet and then I was on my knees and somebody was pounding on my back. I grabbed someone else’s arms and pulled myself upright. Two Korean men. Ernie tried to wrestle himself away from the one who was hitting him and the one in back of me turned to grab Miss Jo. He dragged her into a run through the dark alley. I tried to follow them but was still so groggy from what seemed like the ton of cement that had fallen on me that I reached instead for the guy who was punching Ernie.
They’d gotten the drop on us. Literally. From the roof, they’d leapt down upon us. We’d both been surprised, but fought back gamely. The guy punching Ernie saw me coming and planted a final roundhouse kick onto Ernie’s ribs, then swiveled and took off running. Holding his side, Ernie staggered after him, as did I.