Mr. Kill by Martin Limon Read Free Book Online

was part of the reason Ernie Bascom and I were not popular in the hallowed hallways of the 8th Army Criminal Investigation Division. We pursued cases, regardless of whether the honchos of 8th Army were embarrassed by that pursuit or not. Other CID agents played the bureaucratic game. They trod softly. They investigated only when and where they were told to investigate, like dumb hounds on a very short leash.
    Colonel Brace knew as well as we did that the Blue Train rapist was a G.I. If he attacked again, and his US affiliation were proven, 8th Army would be blamed for not doing enough to stop him. But if he never attacked again—which is what Colonel Brace was counting on—and we continued the investigation, that would be tantamount to admitting publicly that the rapist was a G.I.—and, more importantly, besmirching 8th Army’s reputation for no good reason. Besmirching 8th Army’s reputation is something that would be frowned on by the 8th Army Chief of Staff, criticized at the 8th Army Officers’ Club, something that would reflect poorly on Colonel Brace’s efficiency report. If Colonel Brace ever wanted to pin the silver star of a general on his shoulder, he needed nothing but topnotch efficiency reports.
    Colonel Brace snuffed out his wooden match and tossed it in an amber-colored ashtray.
    “We’ll hold off for now,” he said. “You have enough to do with that theft investigation of the USO show.”
    “There was no theft, sir,” Ernie told him. “The microphone that went missing was found two days later in one of the musicians’ traveling bags. The cowboy boot was probably just left behind when they packed in a hurry to beat the midnight curfew back to Seoul. And, as has already been reported, the electric guitar was recovered.”
    Colonel Brace stared at Ernie. “Has the band retracted their complaint?”
    “No,” Ernie replied. “They’re convinced they’re being targeted.”
    “Targeted? By who?”
    “By G.I.s peeking through the windows of their dressing rooms.”
    Colonel Brace pulled his pipe out of his mouth and shook his head. “Put a stop to that, will you? And until this band retracts their complaints, you stay with them.” He thought about that for a second and then added, “And even if they do retract their complaints, stay with them anyway. I don’t want any problems coming down from the Stateside headquarters of the USO.”
    “And the rapist?” I asked.
    Colonel Brace lowered his pipe and stared at me steadily. “Like I said, Sergeant Sueño, you are to take no further action on that case. For the moment, it falls under Korean jurisdiction, not ours. Understood?”
    “Understood,” I replied.
    We resumed the position of attention, saluted, and left.
    In the admin office, Miss Kim was smiling, not looking at us but smiling nevertheless. The green paper had been unwound from the stem of the rose and water poured into the vase. Someone had delicately fluffed out the red petals. Maybe it had been a mistake to present the rose to her secretly. Apparently Miss Kim thought Ernie had given it to her. Ernie, for his part, didn’t even notice the rose.
    “During the day,” Riley told us, “the Provost Marshal wants you working on the black-market detail. At night, you escort the USO show.”
    “When are we supposed to get any rest?” I asked.
    “A soldier is on duty,” Riley said, “twenty-four hours a day.”
    Something I’d heard since the first day I enlisted in the US Army. But only some of us were on duty twenty-four hours a day. Others seemed to be on duty hardly at all.
    Ernie and I drove along a tree-lined lane to the headquarters of the Long Lines Signal Battalion North at Camp Coiner. It was less than a mile from 8th Army headquarters, on the way to Huam-dong, adjacent to the north gate of Yongsan Compound, across the street from the ROK Marine Corps headquarters.
    I showed Major Rumgarde, the XO of the battalion, the list of names of the men sent to him on TDY from