Melanie Mitchell - The Nurse's Bodyguard

Luke grinned and just shook his head. “No. Other than ‘hello’, ‘thanks,’ ‘how much’ and ‘where’s the men’s room,’ that’s pretty much the limit of my Korean. Do you actually teach in Korean?”

“No. I teach graduate courses, so my classes are all in English,” Jessica replied. “Most of my students want to go to the U.S. to study further, and they need to practice writing and conversing in English.”

Luke glanced toward the woman’s silent roommate and asked, “How are you two acquainted? Did you know each other before coming to Korea?”

“Seoul National provides me with a very nice three-bedroom apartment,” Jessica said. “Although I’ve lived here for so many years, it can get pretty lonely being a random American in a big city.” She shrugged. “From time to time I offer one of my spare bedrooms to visiting scholars.”

Luke nodded and turned to Claire. “Is that what you are? A ‘visiting scholar’?” He pointed to the form the sergeant had completed. “It says here you’re a nurse.”

Claire was sitting very erect. Although his question was mild, his tone indicated doubt. She cleared her throat before answering. “Well, kind of.” She shifted as if her chair was uncomfortable. “I’m in a graduate program at the University of Minnesota. I’m involved in a project for one of my professors, so I’m working at Samsung Medical Center...collecting data for a research study.”

Luke had been jotting notes as she spoke. He glanced up, “What is your professor’s name?”

“I’m sorry?” Claire responded.

“The name of your professor in Minnesota...”

“Sung...Dr. Lin-yeong Sung, but she goes by ‘Cindy’ in the U.S. Dr. Sung is Korean, but she’s been working at the Mayo Clinic Hospital for nearly twenty years.” Claire seemed to be growing even more uncomfortable. “What does that have to do with me getting mugged?”

“I’m just trying to get background information for the file.” He made another note. “What do you do for this ‘research study’?”

“I work with children who have cancer.”

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.”