Free Mr. Kill by Martin Limon Page A

“You look like shit.”
    “You don’t look so terrific yourself.”
    Red-faced, the lieutenant replied, “Listen, I could have you brought up on charges.”
    “For what?”
    “For being late.”
    Ernie shook his head. “When was the last time a SOFA meeting started on time?”
    The lieutenant’s lips tightened, but he didn’t answer. Finally, he said, “You two stay right here. You are to go nowhere, do you understand?”
    Ernie tucked in his shirt.
    When neither of us answered, the lieutenant said, “I’ll be back. Don’t go anywhere.”
    He swiveled and pushed through the swinging double doors into the SOFA conference room. Ernie sat in the chair next to me, straightening his tie. There was a scratch on his neck, starting just above his collar and extending below it.
    “You broke the news to Marnie,” I said.
    Ernie shook his head. “She likes to get her way.”
    “I’ll say. Any more damage, other than that scratch?”
    “Nothing that major surgery won’t fix.”
    The lieutenant emerged from the double doors and motioned for us to enter. We did, Ernie taking the lead, pushing through the doors and marching regally across the carpeted floor until he reached the skirted tables in front of a row of uniformed men on a dais. The lighting was bright, aimed into our eyes, as if we were going to be given the third degree.
    Ernie stood for a moment; I stood next to him. When they didn’t tell us to sit, Ernie reached across the table and poured himself a glass of water. I did the same. Finally, the chairman of the committee, a ROK Army colonel, told us to take our seats. Then the questioning began.
    Colonel Brace wouldn’t ask us for a rundown on how the SOFA meeting had gone—that would be beneath his dignity. Instead, he’d have Staff Sergeant Riley do it. As we pushed through the big double doors of the CID admin office, I fully expected to be accosted with Riley’s questions. Instead, I saw Marnie.
    She was smiling and laughing, sitting in a chair next to Riley’s desk, leaning toward him, the top button of her blouse open, exchanging confidences as if they were two long-lost friends. They both glanced over at us, frowned, and returned to their conversation.
    Ernie groaned but walked right past them, heading for the coffee urn.
    Miss Kim wasn’t at her desk. Her hangul typewriter was covered and her desk drawer locked. Apparently, she’d gone home for the day. The rose too was missing.
    Marnie had permission to enter the compound. All USO performers were provided with not only a pass to access military compounds but also temporary ration cards, so they could purchase items out of the commissary or the post exchange. Most of them didn’t use the privileges much. After all, they were only here for a few days—two or three weeks at the most—and they were put up in tourist hotels and were pretty much constantly on the go. But somehow Marnie had not only made her way from the Crown Hotel to Yongsan Compound, but she’d also managed to locate the CID office. Resourceful girl.
    Ernie carried his cup of coffee back to Riley’s desk and sat down in a chair opposite Marnie.
    “What are you doing here?” he asked.
    “None of your beeswax,” she said.
    Ernie continued to stare at her.
    “Okay, if you must know,” Marnie continued, “Staff Sergeant Riley here is going to help me find Freddy Ray. Apparently he doesn’t think it’s right for my little girl not to receive the child support that is due to her.”
    “Bull,” Ernie said.
    “I beg your pardon?” Marnie said.
    She was acting extremely ladylike this morning.
    “I mean ‘bull,’” Ernie said. “You’ve got a grudge against this Freddy Ray, and when you find him, you’re going to do something to embarrass the hell out of him.”
    Marnie’s face flushed red. “Well, maybe he deserves it.”
    Riley grabbed his hat. “Come on, Marnie,” he said. “Let’s go talk somewhere where we won’t be interrupted.”
    “Yes,” Marnie