Beong Kwun Cho stood with a cocked Smith and Wesson revolver in his hand.
Crouched less than a foot away was his childhood friend, a man he’d known for more than three decades since they were schoolboys in South Korea. Years ago, Yeon Woo Lee had been the one to carry the hahm, the chest full of gifts, at Cho’s wedding -- the equivalent of a best man. Now, Lee was on his knees.
Cho’s mind ran through the events that led them to this moment, in the dead of night on a sparse industrial corner of east Anaheim, miles from the cheery glow of Disneyland. He waited for one bicyclist to pass, then another. He heard the rumble of an approaching train.
He squeezed the trigger, then it was over. He watched his friend slump forward.
Prosecutors call it first-degree murder. Cho says it’s not that simple. A street sweeper discovered the body of Lee, a 50-year-old South Korean national with bulbous eyes and round cheeks, before dawn Tuesday, Jan 25, 2011.
The man lay next to his rental car, blood pooled around his head. On his back were large, muddy footprints and next to his body, a cigarette butt, a flat tire and a jack.
To investigators, the scene seemed self-explanatory: A tourist unfamiliar with the area was changing a flat tire on a poorly lighted street when an attack or accident befell him. But when detectives sent the body out for an X-ray of the head wound, they saw the single bullet that had pierced his brain, back to front, before lodging in the front left side of his skull.
Records at E-Z Rent-A-Car led investigators to Room 146 at Howard Johnson, where the owner said Lee had paid cash and asked to be kept off the registration books. Detectives next retraced his steps to a Fullerton motel he’d stayed at earlier. He had listed two 714 phone numbers. One was for a prepaid “burner” phone. The other took them to a sand-colored home in Cerritos.
Around midnight, less than 24 hours after Lee’s body was found, Cho answered the door at the home where he lived with his wife and two daughters. He agreed to help investigators and drove himself to the police station.
“Looks like it is something important?” Cho asked in Korean, feigning confusion.
Cho claimed that he’d last seen his longtime friend, who was visiting from South Korea, during dinner at a sushi restaurant Monday night. He’d been calling Lee all day Tuesday, and thought it was strange he couldn’t get in touch with him, he told homicide detective Julissa Trapp and a Korean-speaking officer. He thought perhaps Lee had abruptly left for South Korea, Cho told the detectives.
A couple of hours into the interrogation, Trapp switched her tone and asked her what really happened. Cho then took out his cigaratte and started telling the story. Cho’s two daughters grew up considering Lee an uncle, he said. Their families vacationed together. The two men did business together. Then a few months ago, Lee asked Cho for a favor he wasn’t sure he could do, even for his closest friend, he told the detective. Lee’s motel business in South Korea was foundering. His marriage was falling apart. Lee told Cho he wanted to die, but didn’t want to burden his family with the trauma and social stigma that comes with suicide, Cho said.
Lee tried to hire people he’d met at nearby casinos to kill him and make it look like a random crime, Cho said, but they demanded payment ahead of time and he didn’t trust them to go through with it. Ultimately, he turned to his best friend.
“He said there is no other way -- this is the only way,” he told Trapp.
His friend, Cho told police, orchestrated the entire scenario. It was Lee who procured the gun and a box of ammunition. Lee drove around scouting out possible sites, choosing a couple spots near bodies of water because he was superstitious. Lee arranged for them to go to a gun range together for target practice, and took Cho to a Wal-Mart where he bought black knit gloves and size 13 shoes — props to make his death look like a robbery.
Lee then chose the date for the deed, Cho said: his wife’s birthday. It would be his last gift.
After dinner that night, they each drove their respective cars to the spot Lee had picked out. Lee flattened the tire, ransacked the glove compartment of his rental and smoked a final cigarette. He handed Cho the revolver wrapped in a T-shirt before dropping to his knees with his back to his friend, Cho said.