The Nurse's Bodyguard

He glanced back at her and then looked down to scrawl something on his pad. “In what capacity?”

“What difference does that—”

“Please just answer the question.” Luke kept his voice without inflection.

“I work on a hematology-oncology unit with children fifteen and under.” She squirmed and sighed. “We’re collecting data on play therapy involving three different activities—computer games, pets—particularly dogs—and musical instrumentation... We actually teach the children how to play either the piano or a flute. The dependent variable—or rather variables—are symptom experiences and side effects of their therapy—usually a combination of chemo, radiation and sometimes bone marrow transplant.”

He didn’t respond so she licked her lips then continued. “Specifically, I collect information on when and to what extent the children experience symptoms, including nausea, pain, anorexia, insomnia and depression. I periodically measure salivary cortisol levels and take daily blood samples looking for signs of infection or anemia. We also evaluate other parameters such as anemia, leucopenia, weight gain or loss, vital signs, alopecia and dehydration.” Her rapid, matter-of-fact explanation was done in monotone and she stopped abruptly. “Does that answer your question?”

Sometime during her recitation, Luke had stopped writing. He was watching her eyes. Several seconds passed where he tried to come up with a response, but his brain seemed to have clicked off. His mouth was dry and he had to clench his teeth to keep his face expressionless. He knew he was staring and forced himself to look down at what he’d written. Finally, he managed to come up with what he hoped was a reasonable response.

“Hematology-oncology. Is that like leukemia?” He scribbled something.

“Yes, for the most part.”

Luke knew it was his turn again. He feigned looking down at the form. “So you’ve been here a month? How long is your...um...assignment?”

“The fellowship is for three months. I should be here through May.”

He jotted something down then sat back in his chair. Staring at her with renewed intensity, he said, “Tell me about last night.”

In a few sentences, she told him about being assaulted by two men in the hospital’s parking lot. When she concluded, he watched her for a moment. “Ms. Olsen, I’m sure people have told you that physical assaults such as you describe are very rare in Seoul.”

“Well, yes... I was told Seoul is very safe. But, evidently not...”

“So, why do you think someone would attack you?”

“Mr., er, Lieutenant...I’m sorry I don’t recall your name—”

“Llewellyn,” his response was curt, and he motioned toward the name pin above his left chest pocket.

“Lieutenant Llewellyn, I’ve no idea why someone would attack me. It was dark and I was alone. I guess I looked like an easy target.”

“Target for what?”

“I’m sorry?” she said.

“What were you targeted for?”

She blinked several times and sat back in apparent confusion. “Why, my purse, of course. They stole my purse.”

“Ms. Olsen, that seems to be the case. But purse thieves don’t typically resort to violence. Why do you think you were attacked with a knife?”

“I...I guess it was because I fought back.”

“How were your approached? Did they try to grab your purse from the outset?”

She considered his question for a few seconds. “I...er... Now that I think about it, maybe at first they were trying to grab me...”

“Did they say anything?”

She looked pensive. “One kind of yelped when I kicked at him, but he didn’t say anything to me. They might have talked to each other, but I really wasn’t attuned to that, and it would have been in Korean....” She blinked and shifted again.

“Why did you fight back? Why didn’t you just give them your purse?”

“I don’t know. I didn’t stop to think about it. It happened really fast. I was frightened and I just...reacted.” Each word was spoken with emphasis and mounting irritation. She sat up even straighter and her tone carried a hint of belligerence. “Lieutenant, I don’t like being questioned as if I was somehow responsible. All I did was walk across the parking lot. Two men attacked me! I lost my purse, some credit cards and my passport. Plus I’ve got a gash on my arm that’s really throbbing right now. I came here to follow up with someone at the embassy. That was what I was told to do, and for some reason you’re treating me like it was my fault.” Her face was flushed.

This whole case was bothering Luke. He watched her expression through the outburst...she seemed overly defensive, so he persisted with his questions..

“Ms. Olsen, you weigh—what—115? How were you able to fight off two men, at least one of whom had a knife, and come out with only a cut on your arm?”

She lurched from her chair. “That’s it. I’m leaving.” Her voice was blunt.

Jessica stood, too, and joined the conversation for the first time. “Lieutenant, this type of questioning seems inappropriate—”

Luke remained seated and his expression didn’t change. Interrupting both women, he said, “Ms. Olsen, sit down, please.”

“I was the victim! I thought someone here was going to help!” Her voice grew louder and her face redder.

Luke stood then, extending to his full height, looming over the two women. He stared into the oddly colored eyes and repeated, “Ms. Olsen, please sit down. You’ll need to answer a few more questions.” His eyes remained fixed on Claire’s although he addressed her roommate. “Ms. Tyson, you can stay or go, it’s your choice.”

A brief staring match ensued before Claire exhaled then sat down on the edge of her chair. Jessica glanced at her roommate and copied her.

* * *

AS HE WATCHED THE EXCHANGE from his station near the door, Tony was becoming exasperated. He was surprised by Luke’s brusque manner and tough interrogation. The lieutenant’s scowl was uncharacteristic. He was usually obliging and sympathetic, particularly when working with civilians. Tony’s agitation edged toward anger as his superior officer’s questions and manner grew increasingly harsh.

Despite Tony’s growing consternation, he snapped to attention when Luke addressed him. “Sergeant Mancini, the police report notes that there were surveillance cameras in the parking lot. Have one of the translators contact the precinct office and ask for a detective. See if they can send me a video file or web link so I can review the encounter.”

Tony gave an almost indiscernible nod and replied with a crisp “Yes, sir.” Immediately, he departed to follow the order.

* * *

LUKE CONSIDERED the now-tense women and decided to try to defuse the situation. Addressing Claire but including her friend he said, “Ladies, I’m sorry if my questions seem unsympathetic, but I need to file a complete report.” He tried a wry half smile and gave a brief wave to nothing in particular. “You know, the brass and all. They’ll have my head if I’m not thorough.”

That was actually stretching the truth. He would not be expected to do much beyond cursory data collection, and it was very unlikely that the Marine Duty Officer or any of the consular staff would do more than skim his report on Monday. But something bothered him about the whole episode. Physical crimes of that sort were virtually unheard of—even purse snatchings were rare. Looking at Claire and talking with her, he couldn’t conceive of how she could fend off two armed men who were intent on stealing her purse.

But she’d answered his questions about her work without pause—he was certain that part of her account was true. Plus, her roommate had seemed honest—although he would check her story after the women left.

Liars came in all sizes, and gorgeous, arresting eyes aside, the details of the attack didn’t make sense. It was conceivable that she’d harmed herself, in some kind of attention-grabbing situation, or maybe she was involved in something sordid or illegal that went wrong. If there was surveillance video, though, he could get a few answers fairly quickly.

“While we’re waiting, can I offer you something to drink? We have coffee or all kinds of soft drinks... Water?” His drawl became more pronounced.

Luke’s change in manner and engaging grin worked with Jessica. She smiled. “A Diet Coke would be wonderful, if you have one.”

“Can do. Ms. Olsen?”

“Just water, please.” Her response was flat, and Luke realized the only expressions she’d exhibited so far were frustration, irritation and anger, with maybe a hint of fear or timidity.