Alfred Hitchcock Mystery Magazine. Vol. 49, No. 1 & 2, January/February 2004

“Wake up,” he told me. “We have to go to work here in a minute and you’re still sleeping.”

We sat in the 8th Army snack bar on Yongsan Compound, wearing clean white shirts and ties and jackets, having one last cup of java before heading up the hill to the CID office to begin our regular workday.

“And you’re developing bags under your eyes,” Ernie continued. “The Widow Lee is putting you through one serious workout.”

“Can it, Ernie.”

“Oh. That much in love, are we?”

I pushed my coffee aside, placed both my hands on the small Formica covered table, and stared him straight in the eye. “So what if I am?”

Ernie’s eyes widened and he leaned back. “Easy, pal. I didn’t know you were taking this so seriously.”

“Yeah. I’ve been taking it seriously. I’ve been taking her seriously. The last couple of weeks have been about the best couple of weeks of my life.”

“Okay. Fine. So what’s bothering you?”

“What’s bothering me is that I don’t know what to do.”

“Hey, relax and enjoy it. Just don’t get married.”

“That’s not what I’m talking about.”

Ernie’s eyes crinkled in puzzlement, something that doesn’t happen to him much. He has the world figured out. Or at least he thinks he does.

“Then what are you talking about?” he asked.

“I’m meeting her tonight at the same yoguan in Kimpo. Drive me out there in the jeep. Hang around. You’ll see what I’m talking about.”

Before he could ask more questions, I rose from the table, strode out of the big, fogged-glass double doors of the snack bar, and marched up the hill to the CID office.

That night the Widow Lee and I went to the best restaurant in Kimpo. I ordered kalbi, marinated short ribs braised over an open charcoal fire. When we were finished, we walked arm in arm back to the yoguan. After we hung up our coats and relaxed, she pulled a wad of paperwork out of her purse. She sat next to me on the warm floor and held my hand and spoke earnestly to me for what must’ve been almost an hour. Most of what she said, I didn’t listen to. The bills of lading she handed to me, those I did pay attention to. Duplicates. With differing amounts of product listed on each.

I guess I knew from the day out at Freedom Park overlooking the Yellow Sea. Maybe General MacArthur had made me aware of it. Or maybe it had been the hidden stone steps that Ernie and I had stumbled on, as had almost every Korean cop who approached the scene: She had breezed past as if they were an item of furniture in her front room. She’d been there before, and recently, to the murder site of her husband.

Sergeant Dubrovnik, an experienced M.P. and a man on the run for his life, had either shot himself in the ribs with his own .45 or he’d allowed someone he trusted to stand very close to him. Who else but a woman? And a woman he knew well?

And the job she’d received on compound. Sure, the union would work very hard to make sure that as a widow of one of their deceased members she found employment, but starting as a billing clerk? That was a relatively high-paying job that required extensive experience. The union usually gets people jobs at the lowest entry level, and the person who lands it is happy to get it. The work is steady, the benefits better than most jobs in Korea, and advancement will depend on how hard they work.

The Widow Lee had started near the top. Somebody, probably a man, had cleared the way for her.

And now me. I was next on her list. She’d learned from her husband’s mistakes; Sergeant Dubrovnik, an M.P., was no longer in the picture, so a CID agent was her next step up.

I held the duplicated bills of lading in my hand. The proof I needed. Ernie was waiting in a nearby teahouse, the jeep outside.

But could I do it?

Her eyes widened when I told her.

“A drive? Why should we go for a drive?”

“Because I say so.” I ripped her coat off the peg in the wall and tossed it to her. “Kapshida,” I said. Let’s go.

She refused, so I slapped her once. Something I never do to a woman. But she was no longer a woman to me. She was a criminal.

At the police station in Inchon, Captain Rhee studied the bills of lading and listened patiently to my explanation. She wanted me to go into the scam with her. She had taken her husband’s job and now I would take Sergeant Dubrovnik’s place. And working in the CID headquarters, I’d be in even a better position to cover things up. Captain Rhee nodded, understanding what I said.

He held the Widow Lee overnight for questioning.

In a way I was proud of her. Captain Rhee told me later that she denied everything.

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