“Was it worth it Julio?”
“Oh yeah, “Kim’s a good kid. She don’t deserve to be treated that way.”
“I think barflies are used to that don’t you?”
“No, you’ve got her all wrong. She just went into that joint to get her brother out of there.”
“What do you mean?”
“He’s bad news, but you know blood and all. She cares about him anyway.” Julio looked thoughtful, then continued, “He went to meet a guy who’s big in the drug trade here. She found out about it when she went to his room and saw a note he had written about the meeting, with the date and time on it.”
“So she’s a princess after all,” Thomas wasn’t convinced. “How did you come to meet her?”
A look of humiliation appeared on the little man’s face. He looked down, unwilling to make eye contact with his questioner. “I know her brother. I bought marijuana from him. She saw us exchanging the drugs for money.” He shuffled his feet slightly, then continued. “That’s when she found out about him, and what he was into.”
“That still doesn’t tell me why you were fighting,” Thomas interjected.
“I saw these guys rousting her, and I felt guilty about before, so I jumped in. Bad move, huh?”
“Not so bad. You probably would have handled them.” Thomas said, with a grin, but without conviction.
“Yeah, right.”
“I’d like to apologize to the girl, what was her name?”
“Kim. Kim Jong”
Thomas was slightly surprised. He’d thought she was Japanese, but her name sounded Korean. “Can you tell me where she lives?”
“Yeah, but be careful. Her brother saw you with your MP band on your arm. He may think you’re there for him.”
Thomas Embree obtained the girl Kim’s address from Julio, and took a taxi a few miles out of town to her house.
She met him at the door. She was dressed in the uniform of the South Korean army, which surprised him. “Am I in trouble now Sergeant?” She recognized him, even though he was in civilian clothes. He was taller than most. Maybe that was it.
“Absolutely not,” he said, taken aback by her attire.
She recognized his embarrassment. It pleased her. She still hadn’t gotten over what had happened when he mistook her for a bar girl. She made no move to explain.
When he recovered, Thomas said, “I came to apologize. It was really stupid of me to jump to conclusions.”
“Yes it was. No call girl worthy of her trade be caught dead working in a bar. The money not as good.”
Now he was really taken aback, until he noticed the twinkle in her eyes. Her grin really gave it away.
“All right. I deserved that.” He said.
“Can I make it up to you?” Before she could answer he continued. “Maybe I can take you out to dinner.”
He was a decent-looking boy, she thought. His light-colored hair was a rarity in her country.
“I have to think about that,” she answered, still obviously toying with him.
This time he didn’t notice her smile, so he turned to leave, rebuffed. He couldn’t blame her.
“Wait!” she said, moving toward where he stood, just off her porch. Their entire conversation had taken place at the door of the small frame house.
“I have thought it over, and I would like to have you spend your money on me. It would be just punishment.” Now it was his turn to grin.
And that’s how it started. He learned that both her parents were deceased, from disease not the war. Her father was Korean, and her mother Japanese. That explained why she had a Korean name, and wore the uniform of her father’s country. He wondered how much time they might have before she must return to the war they apparently were both involved in.
Luckily they never saw her brother, so that perceived confrontation was avoided. Unfortunately his military duties precluded them seeing each other as much as they both seemed to want, which in Tom’s case was constantly.
She was radiant. Her smile lit up any room they occupied. When he was finally alone after dropping her at her door, sadness overtook him. He’d never really been in love, so he didn’t understand his emotions. It wasn’t until their third time together that he finally kissed her. She lifted her face to receive the kiss. It obviously made her happy, because she placed one hand behind his head, caressing his neck and holding him to her for more than the instant that propriety might allow. When he finally broke the embrace, he muttered, much to his surprise, “I love you Kim.” He was embarrassed by the admission, but suddenly he felt it was true. Were he older and more versed in the ways of love and propriety, the words might not have formed on his lips.
“I care for you too Tom, but you must understand that love might take more time for me.” She wanted to be careful not to hurt his feelings, but she was keenly aware of the differences between them. He was an American soldier far from home, fighting a war that might not end well for him, or her. She was also patriotic, defending her country with the same risks. Their cultures were different, and although she had no parents to object to their seeing each other, the restraint from her strict upbringing was imbedded in her conscience. It would be up to her to make the good decisions.
He reached for her again, but she pulled away. “We must take this slow, for I want it to mean more than just wartime fling.”
Tom reacted angrily, “It could never be that for me Kim. I honestly have strong feelings for you. I would never want to hurt you.” His pleading held more resonance than he might have intended.
“Please not to yell at me Thomas. Just accept that I do care, and be patient with me.”
His tone quieted as he replied, “All right. I’ll just have to be content with my dreams of making love to you.”
With that, she laughed, and the spell was broken, and much more in her control. “You make fun of me.”
“No. I would never do that. You have come to mean too much to me.”
They spent all the leisure time they had together, in each other’s arms. Though they touched, wanting to feel the comfort of the other, they never consummated the love that was growing. The future, or possible lack of one, held them back. The time was spent finding out who they were.
Kim told Tom she had wanted to become an artist before the North invaded her country. Even though her mother had been Japanese, she thought of herself as Korean. She dreamed of having her own shop where she could display her drawings, along with those of others. Money was not important to her, though she knew she would need some. She showed him one of her pictures, and he was impressed with her obvious talent. Though he knew nothing about art, everything seemed proportional, and the scenery was outstanding, in his mind.
He told her he had never met his father, but he was told the man had been a hero in the Second World War, perishing while trying to save a friend.
They discussed family, and the lessons they were taught that made them who they were. At times the future drifted into their intimate conversation, and neither wanted to face what might come without the other. Each time, the war reentered their conscience, and they were saddened by the thought that their dreams might be just that, and unattainable.
As was the case with many cross-cultural romances in the early 50s, the war did come between them. With his Military Police assignment put on hold, Thomas Embree was returned to his unit within the Seventh Infantry.
There was little time for Kim to reflect on their relationship, for she too was sent off to what had become the front lines between the North and the South, not far from Seoul.
It would be months before they would see one another again. And everything had changed. He had been wounded in the shoulder. It was little more than a flesh wound, but he was temporarily assigned to the MPs in Tokyo, ostensibly for recuperation.
On one cold dark rainy night he and one other soldier were sent to a residence just outside the city to investigate a disturbance that reportedly involved other soldiers. When they arrived they were met by an old J
apanese woman who, in barely recognizable English, excitedly related what had been going on.
It seems she was the landlord of the shabby house, which was rented to a young man who was also Asian. She had gone there to collect the monthly rent, but she was told to come back the next day by the young tenant. It was as she was walking dejectedly away that she heard yelling, and then a gunshot. She hurried to her own residence a few blocks away and called the Tokyo police, who in turn notified the Military Police, since the house was a known hangout for locally based soldiers looking to purchase drugs. Thomas and the accompanying soldier entered the unlocked house, guns drawn, after notifying whoever might be inside that they were coming in.
They immediately came under fire as they stepped through the doorway. Thomas dove for cover, and instinctively returned fire in the direction of the observed flash in the dark room. He heard an “Ugh” and a thud as something or someone hit the wooden floor.
There was no further sound. After a few minutes of complete silence Thomas rose and found a light switch near the entrance they had pushed through earlier.
Just inside the door, and slightly off to the right, lay the body of his partner. After feeling the soldier’s neck for a pulse and finding none, he looked across the room to see two more bodies, only a few feet apart. One was in an American soldier’s uniform, the other in civilian clothes, obviously Asian. After further scrutiny Thomas determined that both were deceased. Blood surrounded the corpses, staining the floor, and connecting the bodies, as if they had died together.
The next day MP headquarters was visited by an official from Army Intelligence. The man, dressed in the uniform of a Major, asked to speak to Sergeant Thomas Embree. Thomas was summoned, and the two met in an interrogation room of the building. It became apparent to Thomas immediately that the meeting of the two would be confrontational.
“Do you know what you have done?” the officer began.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about” Thomas muttered.
“You’ve set our investigation back months, if it’s not ruined completely by your stupidity.”
“I beg your pardon sir. Can you explain what it is that I’m supposed to have done?”
The major, a small man in comparison to Thomas, sputtered, “By killing a suspect we’ve been shadowing, you stopped our operation in its tracks. We were on the verge of shutting down the smuggling, and arresting all the major players, until you botched the whole thing, and got our operative killed in the process.”
Thomas abruptly stood up from the table between them. “Hold on! If you mean that soldier who was with the man in civilian clothes, he was dead when we entered the premises.”
“How do you know that?”
“The old landlady heard a shot before we went in. That’s why we were there. It had to be that he was killed by the suspect.”
“That hasn’t been determined. In your report you stated that you fired in the dark at an unknown target.”
“Then maybe we should wait for the forensic team to finish their investigation before jumping to conclusions,” and Thomas added, “Sir.”
The major ignored Thomas statement and continued, “At any rate that man Jong is dead, and now we have no way of tracking the gang who are bringing the drugs into the city, and corrupting our soldiers and marines.”
“Did you say Jong?” That was Kim’s last name. He was hoping he heard the Major wrong.
“Yes.” The Major answered simply.
Thomas fell back into his seat, stunned. Could it be that in the firefight in that house on the outskirts of Tokyo he had killed Kim’s brother?
Chapter Eight
The burial service was held on a hill overlooking a green valley not far from the city’s center. There were very few people in attendance. Of course Kim was there, having been detached back to Japan on emergency leave. She was dressed in traditional Japanese garb, and with a black veil covering her somber face. Thomas stood back, under a tree, in deference to the family, of which there were only two others. He guessed they were an aunt and uncle.
When the brief ceremony ended, and the deceased was laid in his grave, Thomas moved toward the dead man’s sister. She looked up, saw him, and turned her face away. A young man in the uniform of the South Korean Army, who had moved next to Kim, noticed Thomas approaching. When the young girl looked away from Thomas, the soldier took her hand. There was a finality to the scene that he recognized immediately. It seemed there was nothing to be said. A wall had suddenly appeared between them and they would part as strangers. Thomas wondered if she ached inside as he did.
As he walked away Thomas noticed another uniformed man, an American officer. He recognized the soldier as the same one who had interrogated him earlier in the week. The man’s gaze seemed to be fixed on a group of young Japanese men nearby. Thomas didn’t recognize any of them.
It was less than a week later that he received orders to rejoin his outfit and leave Tokyo for good. It was with heavy heart that he boarded the military transport for the states, knowing there was little chance he would every see Kim again.
Chapter Nine
A noise coming from downstairs alerted Ivan to the possibility that someone was in the house. He would be trapped. As silently as possible he opened the window leading to the roof at the back of the big house. He heard voices, both a man and a woman’s. He was relieved when he realized who they were. There was no danger, at least for the present.
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Harry Shields had navigated the mountain road without incident. He wanted to see the accident scene for himself before picking up Rachel at the Sheriff’s substation. When reaching the spot where Ivan’s car had left the road he noticed the skid marks. He pulled over, and walked back to where the Chevy had left the pavement. He looked over the cliff. It occurred to him that if Ivan had not jumped from the vehicle, and had continued down the embankment, the ex private detective would be remembered only as a cop killer that had been dealt his just desserts.
He changed his mind about interviewing the widow. He just couldn’t leave Rachel in that jail. It was then he realized he didn’t even know where the Sheriff’s substation was. He’d gone through El Cajon on his way up the mountain but hadn’t stopped. There was a small village at the foot of the winding road where he found a gas station with a phone. Luckily there was also a phone book. After writing down the address he needed he continued down the narrow road which had thankfully straightened out somewhat.
Rachel was released to his custody without incident. The Sheriff on duty at the desk was sympathetic. He didn’t understand why the wife had been detained in the first place. She wasn’t a criminal, obviously.
They hugged briefly, and he could see that she had been crying.
“Don’t worry young lady, we’ll sort this out. There are people working on your side too.” He knew they were empty words, but he had to say something.
“I know. But how did we get here? My husband is no killer!” She emphasized the word killer, lest there be any doubt that she believed her words.
As they headed out toward Rachel and Ivan’s home, Shields realized that Rachel didn’t know what had happened to her husband. “What have you heard on the radio?”
“Just that there was an accident, but my husband was not in the car when they found it. They are looking for him.” She sounded fearful. “What if he wandered off into the woods, and is laying in a ditch somewhere, hurt and unable to call for help.”
“He called me, Rachel, after the accident. He’s bruised but okay.” Harry was ashamed he hadn’t told her immediately that her husband was safe.
A sigh of relief escaped the worried young woman’s lips. “Thank God for that! I didn’t know what to think. Where is he?” and before the agent could answer, “Can you take me to him?”
Shields looked at her. He had trouble believing Rachel was over forty. He often marveled at the different shapes and looks of the women he encountered. None of them were the same. Her dark r
aven-colored hair flowed in ringlets down to her fairly broad shoulders. Her questioning brown eyes with slightly upturned eyebrows gave her an exotic look, as if she might have some Asian blood. He was reminded of the Polynesian women depicted in the movies that were popular in the late forties. She was wearing the casual clothes a vacationer might be expected to don when alone with her husband or lover. On her it looked extravagant. Watch it, he thought. This was a friend’s wife. If he didn’t go out and get laid soon, he’d be ready for the loony bin.
When they arrived at the big house in the La Jolla hills, Shields pulled up behind the squad car left to watch the premises. The deputy exited his vehicle and walked back to greet them.
Shields drove an unmarked car, and the officer had his hand on his holster just in case, as he approached the driver’s side. The FBI man held his credentials out the open window for the Sheriff’s deputy to see. The uniformed man’s free hand reached out and took the encased document, while leaving his other resting on his gun. “Why is the FBI interested in this case?”
It was a good question. “I’ve met the accused. I just want to make sure justice is done here. I know there’s a lot of emotion when you lose one of your own.”
“Damn right! That son of a bitch had better turn himself in before we catch up with him.” His face turned red, as if to emphasize his point.
“This is Mrs. Dunn. She’s innocent in this whole thing” Shields pointed toward Rachel, who was sitting quietly while the two officers exchanged words. “I’m taking her into her house so she can shower and change clothes. She’ll be available for questioning anytime.”
The deputy waved his arm as if to say “go ahead.”
Once inside the house, Rachel collapsed on a big beige sofa in the huge living room just off the foyer. Shields looked toward the kitchen just on the other side of the big room. “Can I make you something Rachel? Have you eaten anything at all today?”
“No thank you. I had some soup earlier.” Her gaze suddenly became fixed on an object on the table in front of her. She nervously said to her visitor, “I’m really tired now. Do you mind if we cut this short so I can get some rest. That cot in the jail left something to be desired.” She hoped she was convincing. It was imperative that she convince Shields to leave before he noticed Ivan’s wallet in plain sight on the coffee table!
Shadow of a Killer: the Dark Side of Paradise Page 4