{"product_id":"the-ville-rat-isbn-9781616956851","title":"The Ville Rat","description":"\u003cb\u003eHow much can murder buy on the black market in 1974 South Korea? \u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003eSouth Korea, 1970s: A young Korean woman dressed in a traditional \u003ci\u003echima-jeogori\u003c\/i\u003e is found strangled to death on the frozen banks of the Sonyu River with only a carefully calligraphed poem in her sleeve. George Sueño and Ernie Bascom, sergeants in the US 8th Army CID, are called in by the formidable KNP detective Gil Kwon-up to investigate. George and Ernie's job is to liaise with Korean law enforcement on matters that may involve or implicate 8th Army American servicemen. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eBut as they learn about the case, George and Ernie realize this isn't their jurisdiction—the nearby village of Sonyu-ri is occupied by the US Army's 2nd Infantry Division, a disciplined and often brutal force that won't stand for outside officers questioning its men. All that George and Ernie are able to glean before being kicked out of town is that they are close to the truth—and that a mysterious smuggler, known locally as \"the Ville Rat,\" holds the key to the woman's murder.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eLuckily, the pair is officially assigned another investigation in the area, which allows them to continue nosing around for answers. They are to elucidate the circumstances of a shooting incident between a young African American private and his white supervising chief. Racial tensions run high, and George and Ernie must tread carefully to solve both cases. But they aren't exactly known for going out of their way to avoid stepping on US Army toes, and this is no exception.\u003cb\u003e\u003cu\u003ePraise for \u003ci\u003eThe Ville Rat\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/u\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Action-filled.\" \u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003e\u003ci\u003e—The Wall Street Journal \u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"\u003ci\u003eThe Ville Rat\u003c\/i\u003e, the [10th] in Limón’s series, confirms the author’s knack for creating sturdy plots, solid writing and well-rounded characters.\" \u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003e\u003ci\u003e—The Seattle Times\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"Propulsive . . . If you’re not familiar with this superlative series, \u003ci\u003eThe Ville Rat\u003c\/i\u003e will give you a taste of everything you’ve been missing. The books palpably recreate the tension that existed in the decades after the Korean Conflict as Vietnam raged—while offering a vivid picture of military milieu.\" \u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003e—\u003ci\u003eThe\u003c\/i\u003e \u003ci\u003eArizona Republic\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"\u003ci\u003eThe Ville Rat\u003c\/i\u003e, set 40 years ago, provides insight into tensions and conflicts—racial and otherwise—in the military and society as a whole that are still relevant today.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003e—Shelf Awareness\u003c\/b\u003e \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"The chemistry between intense Sueño and laconic Bascom is the clear reason to follow this series, but alongside that chemistry as a draw for these books is Limón’s masterful evocation of military life.\" \u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003e—Open Letters Monthly \u003c\/b\u003e \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Pulse-pounding . . . This police procedural, with its unusual locale, admirable protagonists, and well-developed plot, stands as a superior entry in a consistently impressive series.\" \u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003e—\u003ci\u003ePublishers Weekly\u003c\/i\u003e, Starred Review\u003c\/b\u003e \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Often praised for his knowledge of Korean society and culture and the massive footprint of the U.S. Army on Korea, Limón has an outstanding series going, and this one may be the best installment yet.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003e\u003ci\u003e—Booklist\u003c\/i\u003e, Starred Review\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Sueño and Bascom's [tenth] appearance has vivid characters, and its searing portrait of the sins of our recent past bids fair to transcend the genre.\" \u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003e\u003ci\u003e—Kirkus Reviews\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003e\u003cu\u003ePraise for the Sueño and Bascom series\u003c\/u\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Limón is one of the best military writers ever.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003e—Lee Child\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Amazingly vivid . . . [Limón’s] wild men heroes are just as good company.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003e—\u003ci\u003eLos Angeles Times\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“As always, the author vividly contrasts adventures in the seamy side of Seoul’s nightlife with a sensitive appreciation for Korea’s ancient culture.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003e—\u003ci\u003eThe Seattle Times\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Limón, who was stationed in Korea for the Army, writes with empathy for the Korean people as well for the young GIs dropped into a foreign culture.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003e—\u003ci\u003eThe Boston Globe\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“This series is a must not only for procedural fans but also for anyone who enjoys crime fiction set in distinctive international locales.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003e—\u003ci\u003eBooklist\u003c\/i\u003e, Starred Review\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \u003cb\u003e\u003ci\u003e\u003cb\u003e\u003ci\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\"Excellent . . . A vivid view of Asia, from the Demilitarized Zone to the Yellow Sea, and an insightful look at the era.\"\u003cb\u003e\u003ci\u003e\u003cb\u003e\u003ci\u003e\u003cbr\u003e—\u003cb\u003e\u003ci\u003ePublishers Weekly\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cb\u003e\u003cb\u003e, Starred Review\u003c\/b\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003c\/b\u003eMartin Limón retired from military service after twenty years in the US Army, including ten years in Korea. He is the author of nine previous novels in the Sueño and Bascom series, including \u003ci\u003eJade Lady Burning\u003c\/i\u003e, \u003ci\u003eSlicky Boys\u003c\/i\u003e, and \u003ci\u003eThe Iron Sickle\u003c\/i\u003e, and the short story collection \u003ci\u003eNightmare Range\u003c\/i\u003e. He lives near Seattle.\u003cb\u003e1\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eWe left the Main Supply Route and turned onto the two-lane blacktop that led toward the village of Sonyu-ri. The road dropped off precipitously and we both held onto the overhead roll bar as the jeep bounced downhill. When we reached ground level, the tire chains caught and began to crunch reassuringly on freshly fallen snow. Still, even though the time was already an hour past dawn, visibility was poor. Ernie switched on the headlights.\u003cbr\u003e     “Are you sure you’re using the right map there, pal?”\u003cbr\u003e    “Official army map,” I told him, slapping the folded sheet.\u003cbr\u003e    “What’s the date on it?”\u003cbr\u003e    I aimed the beam of my flashlight and checked. “Twenty years ago.”\u003cbr\u003e    “Right at the end of the Korean War,” Ernie said. “This area north of Seoul has changed since then. Half the roads probably aren’t even listed.”\u003cbr\u003e    And half the villages, I thought. With two million dead out of a population of twenty million at the end of the war, the Republic of Korea was only now beginning to recover. And they were still nervous about another North Korean invasion. With 700,000 bloodthirsty Communist soldiers on the far side of the Demilitarized Zone, just a few miles from here, who could blame them? On the trip from Seoul, we’d passed two ROK Army checkpoints and driven around a mile-long row of armor-blocking cement pilings, and rolled beneath tank traps set to explode if the northern hordes ever decided to come south again.\u003cbr\u003e    My name is George Sueño. My partner Ernie Bascom and I are agents for the 8th United States Army Criminal Investigation Division in Seoul. The call had come in at oh-dark-thirty. Our presence was requested at a crime scene some fifteen miles north of the capital city in a village known as Sonyu-ri. Said presence was requested now. Or, as 8th Army liked to say, immediately if not sooner.\u003cbr\u003e    We continued to roll down the snow-covered road, passing the Paju-gun County Health Clinic on our right and then a few idle three-wheeled tractors parked along the edge of a four-foothigh berm. Rows of small farmhouses sat cozy in the brisk winter breeze. Fifty yards farther along, just where the map told me they would be, a cluster of blue police sedans waited atop a rise. As we bounced up the dirt pathway, all eyes were on us, even Mr. Kill’s.\u003cbr\u003e    His real name was Gil Kwon-up, chief homicide inspector for the Korean National Police, but “Kill” is what the American Army MPs had taken to calling him. Changing “Gil” to “Kill” made some sort of sense, at least in GI minds. Whenever they could turn a Korean name or word into something American, they did it. Ernie and I had worked with Mr. Kill before, on more than one case, and somehow we had won his grudging respect. Ernie for his ability to blend in with GIs everywhere, under any conditions, and me for my facility with the Korean language and interest in Korea’s five-thousand-year-old culture.\u003cbr\u003e    Ernie drove up closer to the other vehicles, turned off the engine, and set the emergency brake. We pushed open the stiff canvas doors, climbed out of the jeep, and trudged to the top of the rise.\u003cbr\u003e    Mr. Kill wore a broad-brimmed fedora and a dapper overcoat made of thick material. He stood with his hands shoved deep into his pockets, staring at us. He was tall for a Korean but at six-footone Ernie loomed over him. I was three inches taller than Ernie, but to show respect for Mr. Kill’s rank, I stopped lower down on the ridge. We were eye to eye. I nodded a greeting. So did Ernie. Kill pulled his right hand out of his pocket and motioned for us to follow. We did, downhill to the ice-encrusted banks of the Sonyu River.\u003cbr\u003e    In the stray beams of a half-dozen flashlights, it was the splash of color I saw first. Bright red. Ernie saw it too. We both stopped. Mr. Kill took two steps forward and then crouched, both to get himself a better view and to give us time to absorb the scene. The rays of illumination coalesced around her, like a spotlight introducing a star. It was then I saw the stiff flesh and the raven black hair.\u003cbr\u003e    She was beautiful. Like an ice princess.\u003cbr\u003e    Somehow her body had been washed up against the shore and any further drift had been stopped by a foot-high shelf of crystalline white snow. She was wearing a \u003ci\u003echima-jeogori\u003c\/i\u003e, a traditional Korean dress made of flowing red silk. The skirt had been tied breast-high, as was the custom, and embroidered with white cranes flapping broad wings to the sky. The short blouse was made of a sturdier material and was canary yellow and tied in the front with a long blue ribbon. Her eyes were open, staring into the opaque gray sky, and the smooth flesh of her face seemed to have been bleached pure white by death. A cold breeze blew down from the north. I shuddered. So did Ernie. So did every cop milling about the crime scene, except for Mr. Kill.\u003cbr\u003e    He was known to be impervious to petty feelings. Heartless, some called him. But I knew that when he was on a crime scene he didn’t have time for emotions, only thought. And the processes of his mind, coupled with his vast investigative experience, were not good news for the perpetrators of any crime scenes he was assigned to.\u003cbr\u003e    I stared at the woman again. Who could have done such a thing? Who could have so cruelly abandoned her in this frigid, unrelenting stream?\u003cbr\u003e    The Sonyu River does not run deep. No more than three or four feet now and even less in the dry summer months. But due to the cold snap that had drifted down from Manchuria in recent weeks, it was frozen almost solid, except for the five or six inches of frigid water that rushed by beneath the ice. The river was about twenty feet wide and at its center, for a width of about two yards, it ran quickly and freely.\u003cbr\u003e    Ernie looked upstream. “How far did she drift?” he asked.\u003cbr\u003e    Mr. Kill nodded at the question but didn’t answer.\u003cbr\u003e    Upriver, a basketball-sized chunk of ice broke free and swirled toward the body. It spun madly and crashed into the red skirt, lifting it lewdly up pale legs.\u003cbr\u003e    “No underwear,” Ernie said.\u003cbr\u003e    Which was unusual. Part of the traditional female outfit during the winter was a wool tunic and long underpants and warm socks under cotton-stuffed slippers. All designed to combat the long Korean winter. None of these appurtenances were worn by the Lady of the Ice.\u003cbr\u003e    The silk string that was used to secure the wrapped skirt was loose, trailing limply in the slow current.\u003cbr\u003e    As if we were thinking the same thing, both Ernie and I turned and gazed upriver. The meandering stream ran through rice paddies and past small animal pens and near farmhouses, and although we couldn’t see it from here, we both knew that just over the rise was an installation we were both familiar with: Camp Pelham, home of the 2nd of the 17th Field Artillery, which maybe explained why Mr. Kill had called for us. Even though he was the chief homicide investigator of the Korean National Police, under the Status of Forces Agreement signed between the US and the Republic of Korea, he had no jurisdiction on American military compounds.\u003cbr\u003e    A large van pulled up and a team of forensic technicians climbed out. They all wore blue smocks and a few of them toted metal briefcases. Stenciled on their backs in block hangul script was the word \u003ci\u003ekyongchal\u003c\/i\u003e. Police. Mr. Kill left us and gave them a quick briefing. Soon, they were plotting their grids and slipping on knee-high rubber wading boots.\u003cbr\u003e    Another group of cops had apparently been canvassing the neighborhood and reported back to Mr. Kill. He listened to them and nodded and then barked further orders, pointing at the homes off in the distance. The men saluted and left.\u003cbr\u003e    He walked back to us. Wearily, he nodded toward the corpse. “Your thoughts,” he said.\u003cbr\u003e    I let Ernie go first.\u003cbr\u003e    “Nobody but a madwoman would leave her house dressed like that, not in this weather.”\u003cbr\u003e    Mr. Kill nodded.\u003cbr\u003e    “And the knot holding her skirt came loose,” Ernie continued, “probably tied in a hurry.” He paused. “Do we know the cause of death?”\u003cbr\u003e    “No,” Mr. Kill replied, “but did you see her neck?”\u003cbr\u003e    We all turned and studied the body. Mr. Kill switched on his flashlight. The technicians were closing in on her now, one of them examining the silk skirt.\u003cbr\u003e    “Bruises. She was strangled,” Ernie said.\u003cbr\u003e    “Yes,” Mr. Kill replied. “The river is much too shallow for her to have drowned.”\u003cbr\u003e    Ernie glanced toward the invisible compound upriver. “I bet Eighth Army won’t see it that way.”\u003cbr\u003e    If an American GI was in any way involved, the powers that be at the 8th Imperial Army would do their best to deny it. A young woman, maybe inebriated, staggers around in the dark. She trips and falls into the frigid waters of the Sonyu River, she struggles,\u003cbr\u003emaybe hits her head against a rock. She’s disoriented and starts gulping down water. She passes out. Before you know it, she’s history.\u003cbr\u003e    Was that scenario possible? Barely. But all cops, military or otherwise, play the percentages. And with a battalion full of horny American artillerymen just a couple of hundred yards upriver, the percentages were that one of them had something to do with this. One of the technicians squatted in the stream. Wearing plastic gloves, he searched the dead woman’s clothing. We waited expectantly. At first, he found nothing. No jewelry, no money, no laminated Korean National Identification Card, nothing that would make our lives easier. Finally, from the inner sleeve, he pulled out a piece of paper. He waded out of the water and handed it to Mr. Kill. The paper was wet but appeared to be made of cloth vellum. Thick. The type of paper used for official documents. \u003cbr\u003e    Kill, having similarly slipped on plastic gloves, unfolded the paper.\u003cbr\u003e    We held our breath.\u003cbr\u003e    Finally, he twisted the dripping paper toward us. It was a torn shard. Some of the ink had run but it was still legible, composed of the phonetic hangul script interspersed with Chinese characters.\u003cbr\u003e    “What does it say?” Ernie asked.\u003cbr\u003e    “You might recognize it,” Mr. Kill said. “It’s about a night and a meeting and something being stretched.” He surveyed our blank faces and almost smiled. “It’s poetry,” he said. “I’ll have it identified.”\u003cbr\u003e    “And the calligraphy,” I said.\u003cbr\u003e    “Yes, another key point. It’s clearly written with ink and a brush, not a ballpoint pen. That in itself is a lead. Very few people write this way anymore.”\u003cbr\u003e    Except for Mr. Kill himself. He was an expert calligrapher. He’d been educated in classical Korean, which included Chinese characters, and he’d attended university in the States, which was why he spoke English so well. And it probably explained why he so quickly recognized this snippet of writing as a fragment of a longer work of poetry.\u003cbr\u003e    “So maybe we can leave now?” Ernie said.\u003cbr\u003e    Kill stared at him quizzically.\u003cbr\u003e    Ernie glanced back toward Camp Pelham. “None of those guys is an expert calligrapher, or is likely to have anything to do with anybody who is.”\u003cbr\u003e    “How can you be so sure?”\u003cbr\u003e    “They’re nothing but a bunch of know-nothing GIs. Lowlifes.” Ernie jabbed his thumb into his chest. “I ought to know. I’ve been working with them all of my adult life.”\u003cbr\u003e    “You harbor such a high opinion of your fellow soldiers?”\u003cbr\u003e    “I’m being generous. These are guys who read comic books and watch cartoons on AFKN on Saturday mornings. Hell, anybody who can pass a fifth-grade spelling test, like my partner Sueño here, they think he’s a freaking \u003ci\u003egenius\u003c\/i\u003e.”\u003cbr\u003e    “Still,” Kill said, looking back at the body floating in the frozen river. “She was a beautiful woman. They are men. They would’ve been watching her.”\u003cbr\u003e    “Maybe,” Ernie said, “but the Second D MPI isn’t going to like it.”\u003cbr\u003e    He was referring to the 2nd Infantry Division military police investigators. They controlled the three-hundred-or-so-squaremile area in which the US 2nd Infantry Division operated. Even though the 8th US Army was the higher headquarters, and theoretically in charge of all operations in Korea, the 2nd D cops wouldn’t want us 8th Army investigators poking our noses into what they would consider to be none of our business. A jurisdictional dispute could be overcome, but it would take some high-level phone calls. And the Division would like even less the Korean National Police sniffing around one of their compounds. \u003cbr\u003e    “We will let the evidence lead us,” Mr. Kill said. With that, he turned and started to walk back to his blue police sedan.\u003cbr\u003e    Ernie called after him. “So that means we can’t leave?”\u003cbr\u003e    “No,” he replied without looking back. “I’ve already made some phone calls. Your fate is being determined as we speak.”\u003cbr\u003e    “Shit,” Ernie said, turning to me. “Division’s going to have a case of the ass.”\u003cbr\u003e    We’d dealt with the honchos of the United States Army’s 2nd Infantry Division before, and it hadn’t been pleasant. In fact, with all that firepower at their disposal—tank battalions, howitzer batteries, and gung ho infantry units—it could be downright dangerous.","brand":"Soho Crime","offers":[{"title":"Default Title","offer_id":46299916140773,"sku":"NP9781616956851","price":15.95,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":false}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/1842\/7735\/files\/9781616956851.jpg?v=1767742083","url":"https:\/\/k12savings.com\/products\/the-ville-rat-isbn-9781616956851","provider":"K12savings","version":"1.0","type":"link"}