MPI

“In the criminal justice system, sexually based offenses are considered especially heinous. In New York City, the dedicated detectives who investigate these felonies are members of an elite squad known as the Special Victims Unit: These are their stories.” *Dun Dun*

TV crime shows have always fascinated me. In college, I watched Detective Olivia Benson, played by Mariska Hargitay, solve crimes on Law and Order: Special Victims Unit. Detective Benson was beautiful, smart, and she kicked ass. I wanted to be just like her. So, in real life, I became a military police sergeant in the US Army. And even though I didn’t have Fin, Rollins, and Carisi watching my back, I served with pride…on the graveyard shift at a guard shack, checking the ID cards of soldiers and civilians coming and going. It wasn’t long before I craved more excitement. Det. Benson didn’t get where she is today by riding a desk. So, I became a military police investigator or MPI for short.

There are MPI’s in all branches of the military. And like Detective Benson, MPIs investigate crimes, interrogate suspects, write reports, and testify in court. After I finished my MPI training at Fort Leonard Wood, Missouri, the Army sent me to Camp Humphreys, South Korea. I'm Korean, so I thought it would be interesting to go back there as an American soldier.

Camp Humphreys, the largest American base overseas, is south of Seoul. Once at Camp Humphreys, I checked in with my new boss, Master Sergeant Aaron Holeman, the provost marshal from the 94th Military Police Battalion. Originally from Baltimore, Maryland, Holeman was a short, white male in his late fifties. And he had an unusually high-pitched voice for a man. After 20 years as a provost marshal in Korea, MSgt. Holeman had evolved from a white short American to a traditional old Korean man who discouraged women from taking leadership roles. Old traditional Korean men preferred women to be beautiful, cook great meals, and not too say

much all while smiling a lot—kind of like Holeman’s wife who was a tall, thin model who spoke very little. Modern Korean men, like my dad, advocated for women’s rights and empowerment. I realized that Holeman thought of me like he thought of all Korean women, which made it all the more confusing for him that I was an Army sergeant and a foot taller than him. But Holeman was my boss --a man with power and connections, and I needed to get on his good side.

At the station, I knocked on the last office door in the hallway. “Sergeant Cho reporting.” “Come in,” said Holeman. Plaques and framed pictures of Holeman with visiting local politicians and generals covered his office walls. He didn’t even bother getting out of his chair, so I leaned forward to shake his large hand. Holeman’s soft handshake and the smirk on his face told me that it was going to be a very long year. He gave me a cell phone and said, “When that phone rings, it means something’s happened, and you need to respond immediately. And you need to call me immediately and tell me what’s happened.”

Just like Detective Benson, I would be on call 24 hours a day, seven days a week. But since I was the only MPI at Camp Humphreys, I would not be working with a partner. That was okay, though, because as Detective Benson would say, “I don’t need anyone to hold my hand.”

Unlike the thrill and excitement that I saw every week on Law and Order: SVU -- I was

disappointed that, after almost a year at Camp Humphreys, all my cases had been misdemeanor crimes. In fact, I was bored. Things changed one morning in June. I received a call from Joe, a manager at The Royce Club on the base about a fight that had just occurred between two soldiers. He told me that one of them might have lost an eye because of his injuries.

I looked at the clock—1:20 a.m. Joe told me the attacker had taken off his bloody shirt and dropped it on the ground before running off, and there were witnesses. I hopped out of bed and drove to the crime scene at a high speed. I requested additional patrol units to look for the bloody shirt and the suspect.

When I arrived at The Royce Club, I saw the ambulance parked in the driveway and jumped in the back, where I found the victim, Private Michael Vain, laying on a gurney and looking lifeless. The back of the ambulance smelled of blood and sweat. Michael’s face and neck were covered in blood, and one eye was closed shut. His face was swollen like a blowfish, and his front tooth was missing. He was moaning, wanting to speak, but he couldn’t because his jaw was locked. I grabbed his hand and squeezed it tight. I wanted him to know I was there to help him. I got up and started clicking my camera. I needed pictures before the ambulance guys

wiped the blood off his face—or before he died. At this point, I really wasn’t sure which would come first.

I had never met Michael in my life, but I promised him that I was going to get the asshole who did this to him and bring him to justice. I got out of the ambulance, and it sped away with lights and sirens blaring. I prayed Michael wouldn’t die on his way to the hospital. Then I tried calling Holeman, but my phone was dead.

While my phone was charging a sergeant at the supply company called to tell me that the attacker, who was later identified as Private Jim Johnson, had been seen on surveillance video, running away from The Royce Club and getting on a bus. When the bus driver saw Jim’s bloody hands, he called the desk sergeant. The patrol unit sent a car to the barracks to wait for Jim.

I called Rob Martin, the Judge Advocate General, commonly known as JAG, for a warrant to arrest Private Jim Johnson for the battery of Private Michael Vain. It wasn’t hard to get the arrest warrant from Rob; he and I went way back. After college, I joined the military and Rob went to law school. The next time I saw him was at Camp Humphreys. Upon arriving at the barracks, I arrested Johnson and brought him to the station for interrogation.

Sgt. Cho: “Johnson, do you know why you’re here?”

Johnson: “No, Bitch. Why am I here?”

Sgt. Cho: “We’ve got people, who told us you were seen at the fight, Johnson. We’ve got your shirt, and a bus driver who saw your bloody hands. Anything else you want to tell me?”

Johnson: “Yeah. I want a lawyer.”

I called Holeman and told him about Johnson and then I spent the next 10 hours processing the crime scene, interviewing witnesses, and preparing the case for Holeman’s review.

Holeman: “Sgt. Cho. This is a bad report.”

Sgt. Cho: “What’s wrong with it, Sgt. Holeman?”

Holeman: “You didn’t put in enough information!”

Sgt. Cho: “Everything in my report is relevant.”

Holeman: “Sgt. Cho, you got an attitude.”

Sgt. Cho: Damn straight I have an attitude Holeman. I’ve been up for 24 hours. Not only that, I’m on my period, so yeah, I have an attitude! But… I didn’t say that. I just apologized for my attitude.

Rob and I prepared for the arraignment. The witnesses, including Michael, were called to testify. Yes, Michael survived and courageously showed up in court with a bandage over his injured eye and a swollen face. Rob told me that Jim Johnson would spend five years at Fort Leavenworth and would be kicked out of the Army. After I had testified and the court adjourned, Rob and I went out for a drink. Detective Benson always had celebratory drinks with the prosecutor after

the trial.

It was in this moment I realized that actual police work was very different from my TV fantasy of being Detective Cho. Real human beings were getting hurt. Michael could have died. My work in the Army was rewarding—getting justice for the victim of a violent crime felt like the right thing to do. I decided I wanted to put bad guys in jail and protect the innocent for a living and so when I got out of the Army I pursued a career in law enforcement. I’m now a detective with the LAPD.

Is anyone driving a Silver Toyota Prius California License plate 7JKJKLOL… Ha Ha - Just kidding!

I’d like to think Detective Benson would be proud.

Closing SVU theme song & wolf howl