what are the chances of Tran Van Vinh being alive? I mean, really, Karl, that whole generation of Vietnamese was nearly wiped out.”
“Nearly is the operative word.”
“Not to mention a short natural life expectancy.”
“We have to try to find this witness, Sergeant Tran Van Vinh.” Hellmann added, “Unfortunately, there are only about three hundred family names in Vietnam, and the Vietnamese population is about eighty million.”
“So the phone book won’t be much help.”
“There are no phone books. But we’re lucky this man’s family name wasn’t Nguyen. Half the Vietnamese family names are Nguyen. Fortunately, the family name Tran is not as common, and the middle and first names of Van Vinh and Quan Lee narrow it down.”
“Do you have a hometown and date of birth?”
“No date of birth, but an approximate age, of course—our age group. The envelope was addressed to the brother via an army unit designation, and also on the envelope was Tran Van Vinh’s return army address. We know from these addresses that these two men were in the North Vietnamese army, not the local South Vietnamese Viet Cong, so they’re northerners. In fact, in the letter there is a mention of their village or hamlet, a place called Tam Ki, but we find no such village on any of our maps of Vietnam, North or South. This is not unusual, as you might remember—the locals often referred to their hamlets or villages by one name, and the official maps had another for the same place. But we’re working on that. The village of Tam Ki will be an important clue in finding this man, Tran Van Vinh.”
“And if you find him? What’s he going to tell you that he hasn’t already put in the letter?”
“He could possibly identify the murderer from old army ID photos.”
“After thirty years?”
“It’s possible.”
“So, you have suspects?”
“Not at the moment. But we’re going through army records now, trying to discover the names of all First Cavalry Division United States Army captains who were in or near the city of Quang Tri on or about 7 February 1968. Also, of course, we’re looking at the First Cav lieutenants who were killed or missing in action at the same time and place. That’s all we have—two ranks, a captain and a lieutenant, their division, the First Cav, a place, Quang Tri City, and the date of 7 February 1968, the actual date of the murder that was described in the letter written the following day.”
Karl and I walked away from the statues, and I thought about all of this. I saw where this was going, but I didn’t want to go there.
Karl continued, “We can narrow this down and come up with a list of
possible suspects based on army records. Then, we will ask the FBI to question these former captains if they are civilians, and we will question any who are still in the army. At the same time, we will be looking for the only witness to this homicide. It sounds like a long shot, Paul, but crimes have been solved with even less to go on, as you well know.”
“What do you want from me?”
“I want you to go to Vietnam, Paul.”
“Oh, I don’t think so, Karl. Been there, done that. Got the medals to prove it.”
“Vietnam in January is actually quite pleasant, weatherwise.”
“So is Aruba. That’s where I’m headed next week,” I lied.
“A return trip might do you some good.”
“I don’t think so. The place sucked then, it sucks now.”
“Veterans who’ve returned report a cathartic experience.”
“It’s a totalitarian Commie police state with two hundred thousand tons of unexploded mines, booby traps, and artillery shells buried all over, waiting to blow me up.”
“Well, you need to be careful.”
“Are you coming with me?”
“Of course not. The place sucks.”
I laughed. “Colonel, with all due respect, you can take this case and shove it up someone else’s butt.”
“Listen to me, Paul—we cannot send an active duty man to Vietnam. This is . . . well, an
“Nearly is the operative word.”
“Not to mention a short natural life expectancy.”
“We have to try to find this witness, Sergeant Tran Van Vinh.” Hellmann added, “Unfortunately, there are only about three hundred family names in Vietnam, and the Vietnamese population is about eighty million.”
“So the phone book won’t be much help.”
“There are no phone books. But we’re lucky this man’s family name wasn’t Nguyen. Half the Vietnamese family names are Nguyen. Fortunately, the family name Tran is not as common, and the middle and first names of Van Vinh and Quan Lee narrow it down.”
“Do you have a hometown and date of birth?”
“No date of birth, but an approximate age, of course—our age group. The envelope was addressed to the brother via an army unit designation, and also on the envelope was Tran Van Vinh’s return army address. We know from these addresses that these two men were in the North Vietnamese army, not the local South Vietnamese Viet Cong, so they’re northerners. In fact, in the letter there is a mention of their village or hamlet, a place called Tam Ki, but we find no such village on any of our maps of Vietnam, North or South. This is not unusual, as you might remember—the locals often referred to their hamlets or villages by one name, and the official maps had another for the same place. But we’re working on that. The village of Tam Ki will be an important clue in finding this man, Tran Van Vinh.”
“And if you find him? What’s he going to tell you that he hasn’t already put in the letter?”
“He could possibly identify the murderer from old army ID photos.”
“After thirty years?”
“It’s possible.”
“So, you have suspects?”
“Not at the moment. But we’re going through army records now, trying to discover the names of all First Cavalry Division United States Army captains who were in or near the city of Quang Tri on or about 7 February 1968. Also, of course, we’re looking at the First Cav lieutenants who were killed or missing in action at the same time and place. That’s all we have—two ranks, a captain and a lieutenant, their division, the First Cav, a place, Quang Tri City, and the date of 7 February 1968, the actual date of the murder that was described in the letter written the following day.”
Karl and I walked away from the statues, and I thought about all of this. I saw where this was going, but I didn’t want to go there.
Karl continued, “We can narrow this down and come up with a list of
possible suspects based on army records. Then, we will ask the FBI to question these former captains if they are civilians, and we will question any who are still in the army. At the same time, we will be looking for the only witness to this homicide. It sounds like a long shot, Paul, but crimes have been solved with even less to go on, as you well know.”
“What do you want from me?”
“I want you to go to Vietnam, Paul.”
“Oh, I don’t think so, Karl. Been there, done that. Got the medals to prove it.”
“Vietnam in January is actually quite pleasant, weatherwise.”
“So is Aruba. That’s where I’m headed next week,” I lied.
“A return trip might do you some good.”
“I don’t think so. The place sucked then, it sucks now.”
“Veterans who’ve returned report a cathartic experience.”
“It’s a totalitarian Commie police state with two hundred thousand tons of unexploded mines, booby traps, and artillery shells buried all over, waiting to blow me up.”
“Well, you need to be careful.”
“Are you coming with me?”
“Of course not. The place sucks.”
I laughed. “Colonel, with all due respect, you can take this case and shove it up someone else’s butt.”
“Listen to me, Paul—we cannot send an active duty man to Vietnam. This is . . . well, an
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