An Unacceptable Death - Barbara Seranella Read online

  Munch put a hand on his sleeve. "It's all right. Just one minute and I'll leave."

  Galvan appraised her for a moment. "Wait here, and I'll see if he's presentable."

  "Thanks."

  Galvan returned a moment later and asked her to follow him. They walked down a hallway devoid of pictures. The floor was concrete, and though there was no draft, the temperature had dropped ten degrees. Galvan pushed through a wide knobless swinging door. He reached back a hand to her as one might to a child when crossing a busy street.

  "I'm okay," she tried to say, but she didn't have the wind to push the syllables through her voice box. She filled her lungs, taking with that air the oddly sweet odor of formaldehyde. An embalming pump gleamed in the corner. Glass canisters with stainless steel tops held cotton balls, disposable razors and gauze pads. Scissors, hairbrushes and black plastic combs were spread across the top tray of a wheeled cart.

  Rico was laid out on a metal gurney. A sheet covered his body. His skin had almost a greenish tint and his eyelids were flat as if he'd been deflated. The hair above his right ear had been shaved close to reveal an irregular hole. The edges of the jagged wound were charred black. Black bruising extended to his jaw.

  Galvan lightly touched the top of Rico's head. "We'll have him looking more natural in time for the viewing."

  "Cut the hair and trim the mustache. That wasn't him. He was working undercover."

  Galvan looked at her knowingly, as if he had heard it all before. "One ear is pierced. Would you like it to remain empty?"

  "What happened to his stud? He had a gold crescent moon."

  Galvan checked his paperwork. "There's no mention of it in the property report."

  When she had seen the one that bitch Christina was wearing at the house on Hampton, she had assumed it was the other half of the pair. What if it were the same one he had worn? Had he given it to her or had she taken it?

  Munch took a deep breath, and to Galvan's dismay, pulled back the sheet covering Rico's body. She gasped at the sight of the autopsy incision, sewn casually shut with widely spaced black stitches.

  Galvan gripped her elbow and attempted to pull her away.

  "I was hoping . . ." But she never finished her sentence. Her eyes focused unblinking on the torso wounds. There were six, maybe seven holes the diameters of dimes. Cleaned of soot and blood, but looking very unnatural on Rico's familiar chest. For an instant, she had the weird thought that he had grown multiple nipples. Red navels was more like it, innies. Someone had circled the wounds with black ink and numbered them. The numbers began with two. The head shot must have been the first cataloged. He'd received the wound at a close enough range to cause muzzle burn.

  Oh, Rico, she thought, what have they done to you?

  Something also seemed to be written on Rico's shoulder. No, not written. Tattooed. A five-color rainbow with Munch's name written across the top in stylized letters. The symbolism was clear: "Somewhere over the rainbow." It was one of the songs from The Wizard of Oz, the same movie that had given Munch her nickname.

  She pulled the sheet back up, tucked it in around him, and stroked the cheek that wasn't bruised.

  "Treat him good," she told Galvan.

  "Of course."

  Galvan took her elbow again and she allowed herself to be guided into his office.

  "Can I get you anything?" he asked. "You can sit in here as long as you need to, or I can call someone for you."

  "I'll be okay," she said, trying to reassure him that this was true. "Thank you. You've been very nice."

  * * *

  Munch left the funeral home surprised to see the world still going on as usual. She had time and then some to get home, pick up the mail, and check her answering machine before Asia's school let out.

  St. John had called. He was worried about her and wanted to know how she was. Ditto with her sponsor, Ruby, and Lou from the gas station. Jasper came and sat at her feet with his head on her knee. She stroked his head as she returned St. John's call.

  "How are you?" St. John asked. But unlike other people, he waited for the answer.

  "I just came from the funeral home," Munch said. She felt deflated and in need of a long sleep. "He's really dead." She described what she had seen in vivid detail.

  "What can I do?" St. John asked.

  "The funeral mass is tomorrow. I was hoping—" Munch didn't finish her sentence. A loud, unmistakable roar filled the air. Jasper barked at the door, begging to get outside and protect his house.

  "Munch?"

  "I·Iang on a second." Munch dragged the phone cord after her to the window and looked out. A dozen Harleys were heading down the street. She locked the dead bolt on her front door. The windows rattled from the vibrations of unmuffled tailpipes. Jasper kept barking at the door, stubby tail wagging in excitement. She looked out the window again and saw that the bikes were backing up to the curb across the street. They gleamed in the midday sun, like so many chrome dominoes. She spoke into the phone, "A bunch of bikers just pulled up across the street."

  "Anyone you know?" he asked.

  "Uh-oh," she said.

  "What?"

  "A couple of them are wearing patches."

  "What club?" St. John asked.

  She squinted. "Satan's Pride. Shit, this is all I need." She told him about the supposed bounty on her head, but not the part about how Rico had promised to put an end to it. She wasn't sure if St. John would approve of blackmailing bad guys, and she didn't want to give anyone more ammo to slander Rico's reputation. Not even St. John.

  "You want me to send some black-and-whites over there?" he asked.

  "They're leaving now. My neighbor is with them. Nobody's looking this way. I think I'm okay for the moment." She thought about Rico's gun, hidden on the top shelf of her closet. She was going to need it a lot closer than that if it was going to do her any good. "I'm about to pick up Asia from school. Is it all right if she stays with you tonight?"

  "Sure, both of you are welcome."

  "I'll be okay. I just don't want to be worrying about the kid. I'll bring her dress clothes for tomorrow. You were planning on coming to the mass, weren't you?"

  "Of course," he said.

  "Thanks. I'll drop her off in a few hours."

  "I won't be home, but Caroline will."

  "Okay." She was a little relieved not to be seeing him. He might have more questions, and he wouldn't like her answers.

  Munch called Bayless next.

  He answered his phone like most cops, giving only his rank and last name. He sounded bored and a little annoyed.

  "It's Munch Mancini," she said. "I've just come from the funeral home."

  "I'm glad you called. I have some good news for you."

  She wondered how that was possible.

  Bayless cleared his throat. "The department has made a ruling.

  They're going to bury Detective Chacón with full public honors. I think it's also possible we can reach a settlement so that his survivors receive a stipend."

  "Not good enough," she said. She heard the mail truck coming up the block. The mailman liked to rev his engine between stops. The truck also had a bad muffler and squeaky brakes, so every five seconds she and the neighbors were treated to a four-cylinder roar followed by a screech. People who didn't want their ears bent for five minutes also knew to hide when he approached. Munch had learned this the hard way one Saturday. He had waved her mail just out of her reach for ten long minutes discussing world affairs until she finally had to tell him she had left a hose running and a burner on and that she thought she heard her kid crying.

  "Don't fight this," Bayless said. "You can't win and it's a good offer. The money will be something to help his daughter through college. You don't want to piss these people off. They'll take the offer off the table and then where will you be?"

  About where she was now, she imagined. "In your investigation, did you come across a woman named Christina?" Munch reached down and scratched Jasper's ears. "I d
on't have a last name. She's Latino, might have some gang affiliations, in her twenties, kind of slutty? Probably sporting a fat lip."

  "What about her?"

  Munch realized he hadn't confirmed or denied. "Do you know who she is?"

  "Listen, take my advice here. Keep your memories. The poor guy isn't around to explain, so just give him the benefit of the doubt."

  "That's not going to get it. I know she knew him, maybe even loved him. I also know Rico didn't love her back. I was at the mortuary and I saw Rico's body. He had a new tattoo with my name on it. Why would he get my name tattooed on his arm if he was seeing another woman? What if this bitch was an informant? Maybe she had feelings for Rico that he didn't return, and she set him up."

  "Maybe that's so. Not everything adds up. I said that before. Take the deal. And do us both a favor: Forget we ever talked."

  "What about the narcs you're investigating?

  "It's handled. Don't worry about them."

  "But I have an in, thanks to you."

  "I don't know what you're talking about," he said.

  She stared at the phone in amazement. What could have possibly happened in the short time since they arranged to work together that would cause this reversal? Who had gotten to him and why? "I can't walk away. "

  "But that's exactly what you have to do," Bayless said. "You have to walk far away. I'm telling you as much as I can. The officers under investigation have been cleared. You're going to have to trust me. I know you don't know me and you feel jerked around. When I can, I'll tell you more. Keep your head down, go through your grief process, and try to remember you still have a future. You've worked too hard to get where you are. Don't throw all that away."

  "Nobody's throwing anything away." She hung up thinking he didn't understand. She had to prove their whole life hadn't been a lie. The mailman was turning the corner at the end of the block. Munch hung up the phone and turned to Jasper.

  "You want to go for a ride?"

  She didn't have to ask twice.

  They went out the front door. She opened the car for Jasper and grabbed her mail. There were bills, the usual junk, and a condolence note from the florist who was going to supply her wedding flowers. He probably still wanted her business. Then she came to a cardboard mailer with her name and address written in familiar block letters. The postmark was dated a week ago. There was no return address, but she knew who it was from.

  She ripped open the thick envelope and found several Xeroxed documents. The first was a copy of a Confidential Informant application. The document was dated five years earlier, in June of 1981, and the CI was Pete "Petey" Donner, code name "Desert Fox." The other document was a murder indictment dated July of 1981 against members of the Mongols Motorcycle Club, most specifically against the club's president, Albert "Red Al" Cunningham. The district attorney's office named their source and star witness only by his number and code name, "Desert Fox." Munch looked carefully through the pages for some small personal note from Rico. She found it on the back of the last document, written on a yellow Post-it note.

  The note read: "Make them protect you."

  She rubbed the message he had hand-printed across her cheek and tried to imagine his fingers touching her again. She put the papers back in the mailer and slammed her hand against the roof of her car. Someone had taken him from her, and for that they would pay.

  Jasper cocked his head in surprise. He had never seen his mistress get so emotional over the mail before.

  * * *

  Munch drove to the schoolyard but didn't get out right away. She spotted Asia by the jungle gym, surrounded by her group of best friends. Asia was already taller than most of them. Always skinny, her legs had lengthened another inch in the last six months; even her face seemed to have stretched. Soon she would be as tall as Munch, then she would pass her. How weird was that? The little baby Munch had rocked in her arms was closing in on her tween years.

  Munch tried to peer into the future, to see the woman Asia would become, but the smoke refused to clear. One thing was certain: The kid was going to be something. She'd been strong-willed from day one, confident and coordinated. One of those kids who led, and others willingly followed.

  Asia would be turning heads, Munch was certain of that. Her birth mother's hair had been brown, her daddy's black. Asia's color was a bit of both, a rich brown with some golden highlights from long afternoons in the sun. Even now she ran her fingers through her curls as she talked. Her moves were casually theatrical, and probably unnecessary. She already held her audiences in thrall, whether they were boys or girls. Munch could only pray she would use her powers for good.

  Asia also had her daddy to thank for her dark skin, thick lashes and straight nose. She could easily be mistaken as hailing from a number of ethnic groups—Native American, Middle Eastern, Italian, Greek, or Hispanic. If she persisted with her desire to be an actor, her looks would serve her well. Her daddy had been a fine-looking man, a real charmer. If it weren't for his love of dope and his criminal tendencies, he really might have made something of himself. He also might have lived to admire the beautiful kid he had created. Dope and the needle spawned many orphans.

  Asia turned and spied Munch. Her expression didn't change, nor her mannerisms. Asia showed the same face to everyone. Munch wondered if that was a privilege of youth—to get to be the same person no matter who you were with.

  Asia broke away from her friends and skipped across the parking lot to join her mother. Munch took her schoolbag and threw it in the back seat. Jasper jumped from the back to the front and made whimpering excited noises. Asia held out her face to be licked and the dog obliged.

  Asia climbed into the passenger seat and strapped on her seat belt. Jasper settled next to her with a contented sigh and rested his head on her thighs. "You didn't go to work today?" Asia asked.

  "No, I had to take care of some things." Munch kissed Asia's cheek and stroked some stray wisps of hair away from the girl's eyes.

  "What happened to your face?" Asia asked.

  Munch came around to her side and got in. "A cat scratched me."

  "We got a cat?" Asia asked excitedly. Jasper lifted his head. The word "cat" was in his vocabulary, probably under the subheading; chew toy.

  "No, she was an alley cat."

  Asia's expression was critical and slightly disbelieving. "Uh-huh. She must have put up some fight."

  Munch checked the scratches again. They were a little thick to have been caused by claws. She adjusted her sunglasses and started the car. "So how was school? Did you guys play that math game today?"

  "Every Thursday."

  "Caroline and Mace invited you to spend the night. They'll take you to school tomorrow and pick you up."

  "What about you?"

  Munch started the car. "I have some stuff I have to do. I'll see you later at the church."

  Asia sat up straighter and her face brightened as if she had suddenly thought of something. "Do you know what I saw at recess?"

  "What?"

  "A rainbow, only it was round, like a piece of a regular rainbow cut out and pasted to a cloud."

  "Sounds pretty."

  "I think it was Rico and he was waving to me on his way to heaven."

  Munch could only nod, unable to speak for a minute. "Tomorrow, at the mass . . . at St. Monica's . . ." She stopped and swallowed, blinking back tears. When she spoke again, her voice was thick. "We'll both get dressed up real pretty and wave back. Okay?"

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  ELLEN SPENT AN HOUR ON MAKEUP AND CLOTHES. SHE was going for a look that said I'm not a slut, but I like my fun. When Humberto arrived at eight that evening, he didn't stand a chance. She was pleased to see he had also taken some extra pains with his appearance. His embroidered guayabera shirt and his slacks were freshly pressed. There was also a shine to his snakeskin boots, and he'd put some product in his hair that tamed his short curls. His forehead was creased with worry lines and his smile wasn't as relaxed as it had b
een when they met that morning.

  "Tough day, honey?" Ellen asked.

  "I'm not used to your freeways," he admitted.

  "I'm glad you found your way here all right."

  He thrust a plastic shopping bag toward her. "This is for you."

  "Well, bless your heart." Ellen pulled out the contents, unwrapped the white tissue paper, and saw that he'd brought her a light blue Members Only jacket. The tags were still on the sleeve, but the price had been removed. A lot of men wouldn't think to do that. "Aren't you the sweetest thing."

  She took the coat draped over his arm and hung it up in the closet. A quick exploration along the way revealed two sets of keys. One had the car rental company tag, the other (according to the rubber fob) was to a motel in Santa Monica.

  He was glancing out her window when she returned to the living room. He gestured around him, taking in the matching furniture, floor-length drapes, and the coffee table with the burl wood base and kidney-shaped glass top. "Nice place."

  "Mi casa, su casa, " she said. "What can I get you to drink?"

  "Coffee."

  "I'll be back in a jiff," she said. "Make yourself at home." In the kitchen, Ellen put on the teakettle and wondered if the coffee would be a problem. She knew sodium pentothal dissolved fine in water or alcohol, but she'd never put it into a hot drink. She poured a tea spoon of the yellow crystals into a dark mug. To mask the slight garlic odor of the drug, she sprinkled cinnamon and a tablespoon of cocoa in with the instant coffee granules before adding the hot water. Humberto stood before her mantel, studying the photographs there. Her mom and stepdad smiled uncertainly from one of the frames. Another picture showed the Colonel in full military uniform.

  "That's my daddy," Ellen said, arriving with a tray of cookies and Humberto"s coffee. She had made herself tea, just so there was no mixup. "Was my daddy, anyway."

  "He has passed away?"

  "Him and my mama both. Been about six months now."

  "I am sorry for your loss. I am also orphaned."

  Ellen set the tray on the coffee table and brought him his cup. She wasn't trying to render the big guy unconscious, more like relaxed. Just a little narcotherapy to loosen his tongue.