An Unacceptable Death - Barbara Seranella (11 page)

"
Me, too."

It wasn't until she left the restaurant that a new
theory presented itself. A wild one, true, but it all made sense. The
denial of his benefits, the unwillingness to have his body viewed
openly. He was still alive. Rico was still alive. For some reason he
had to stay deep undercover and couldn't tell anyone. It was cruel,
but plausible. Wasn't it? Asia had seen it first. Little kids had
such clarity sometimes. Munch didn't look at herself in the rearview
mirror as she formed these thoughts. She hated it when anyone,
including herself, lied to her face.

The whoop of a siren drew her attention. The
black-and-white behind her flashed its lights and the cop gestured
for her to pull over. She automatically reached down and buckled her
seat belt before complying.

She waited while the cop approached. They preferred
you stay in the car. She never quite got the logic of that. Seemed to
her that she was more dangerous in the car. She could have a weapon
on her lap or just whip it in gear and take off once the cop was out
of his unit."License, please," he said.

"
You want my registration, too?"

"
Are you the owner of this vehicle?"

"
Yes."

"
Miranda Mancini?"

"
Yes."

He opened her door. "Step outside, please."

"What's this about?"

"
Lock up your car. I need you to come with me."

"
Am I under arrest?"

"
Only if you don't come willingly."
 

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

THE COP WAITED WHILE MUNCH LOCKED HER CAR. SHE PUT
her keys in her purse.

"
Anything in your pockets?" the cop asked,
taking her bag.

"
No." She turned them inside out to prove
it.

He opened the back door of his cruiser and she got
in. At least he wasn't cuffing her. The trunk opened behind her and
then was slammed shut. When the cop returned to the driver's seat, he
was no longer carrying her purse.

The patrol car stank of cleaning solvents and some
acrid undertone of human origin. The bench seat was ripped and poorly
repaired with duct tape. It also rocked as they turned corners, the
bolts holding it to its brackets having been dispensed with long ago.
Munch had visions of similar rides years ago and of her younger self
furtively trying to ditch contraband only to have it discovered when
they arrived at the police station.

Munch looked out the window, not recognizing the
streets.

"
Where are we going?" she asked the cop.

"
We're almost there," he said.

Maybe this was a shortcut, she thought. Or maybe it
was a one-way trip. A brief, all-purpose prayer came to mind.

Fuck it.

Minutes later, they pulled into the Pacific Station
on Culver Boulevard. Rico's station.

The cop drove into the underground parking structure
and pulled. The trunk lid opened behind her and she heard men's
voices talking in tones too muted for her to decipher the words.

She sat in the patrol car another five minutes, then
another cop, this one a woman, escorted her through the double locked
doors to the lockup.

"Wait here," the woman said, indicating a
wooden bench along the concrete wall.

Munch glanced at the clock mounted high on the wall.
It too was winged, but she took some small comfort in being able to
keep track of the time. It was one-thirty. Asia's bus would be
delivering her to Munch's workplace in two hours. The Texaco station
was in Brentwood and Munch's car was in Santa Monica.

She doubted very much if her present business would
conclude in time for her to pick up her daughter. Her boss, Lou,
would watch Asia until the end of the business day. A better plan
would be to have Ellen take Asia home; then Jasper would be covered,
too.

Munch was alone except for the woman cop, who was now
typing in the cubicle across the room. The nameplate on her desk read
FRANCIS NEAGLEY. Munch leaned over and saw a hand-painted rock
weighing down a stack of reports. A misshapen clay bowl held paper
clips. Munch had similar treasures crafted by Asia adorning her home.

"
Excuse me."

Officer Neagley stopped pressing keys and looked at
Munch. "I need to check on my kid." Munch pointed to the
telephone on the women's desk. "May I use your phone?"

"
No." Neagley resumed typing.

Bitch. So much for motherhood solidarity.

Another fifteen minutes passed while Munch watched
the clock and jiggled her leg. Frances Neagley crooked a finger at
Munch.

"Stand by that door. When you hear the buzz,
push it open."

"
And the magic word is . . . ?"

"
Now," the bitch cop said.

Munch flushed with anger and embarrassment. She got
sober so she wouldn't have to put up with these power games. If Rico
were still here, still alive, none of this would be happening.

The buzzer sounded and she pushed the door open. The
cop who had brought her there was waiting for her. He printed her,
stood her against the wall and took her picture with a Polaroid
camera. She cleaned the ink from her fingers while the picture
developed.

The cop showed her the finished product. "You
look pissed off," he said.

"
Imagine that." She wished he hadn't said
"pissed off," because now she realized she had to use the
bathroom. Rather than risk another no, she held it.

The cop took her to a room filled with file cabinets,
legal storage boxes stacked against the wall, and two desks in
opposite corners. In one corner, a large-gutted Latino detective
talked to another guy with multiple tattoos. Munch sat in the chair
next to the unoccupied desk. She scanned the desktop, looking for
clues, but the file folders were all closed. Corners of photographs
peeked out from beneath the midden, but nothing more than background
showed. The nameplate next to the in-tray read DET. CHAPMAN. She
fantasized accidentally knocking it all over with her elbow.

Finally a second detective entered the room and
strode across the floor toward her. The suit jacket hanging on the
rack behind his desk matched his pants. He dropped a large Hle on the
blotter. It landed with a slap. Munch flinched, though she tried not
to.

Chapman sat behind his desk, black-rimmed cheaters
perched low on his nose, and perused the file. Periodically he looked
at Munch, then back at his reading material.

"
Okay," she said, "you win. What's
this all about?"

"
I win what?" he asked.

"
I'll talk, I'll sing, I'll stand on my head.
just give me a break with the silent treatment."

Chapman said absolutely nothing for the next five
minutes. Munch timed him.

"
Can I use the phone?" she asked.

"
Who do you want to call?"

Munch looked at the clock, remembering what St. John
had said about narcs, how they'd use anything against her. "I
thought I'd order pizza."

Chapman gazed at her over the top of his reading
glasses. "A smart-ass, huh?"

"
Hey, this is your party."

He threw the file down. "You've had quite the
life."

"
I'm still having it."

He smiled despite himself. "Why do you think
you're here?"

"
My fiancé is dead. You think he was dirty and
that I might know something about that."

He nodded thoughtfully. If he was surprised that she
skipped the dance, he didn't show it. "Do you want to help us?"

"
I want everyone to get what they deserve."
She watched his face and body language closely, hoping to get a read
on this guy. Did he want what he was due or did he fear it? In the
immortal words of Jiminy Cricket, Let your conscience be your guide,
motherfucker. Okay, maybe Disney characters didn't curse, but you
could tell they were thinking it.

Chapman's reaction, whatever it was going to be, was
cut short by his ringing phone. He answered on the first ring.
"Narcotics." He looked at her as he spoke into the phone.
"Uh-huh. Thanks. We'll be right there."

She was led to a small room. Acoustical tiles covered
the walls as well as the ceiling. There were three chairs and no
table, and, as far as she could detect, no camera either. A second
cop joined them. He was dressed in jeans, T-shirt, and work boots.
His hair was down to his collar and a lighter brown than his Fu
Manchu mustache. He wore his badge on a chain around his neck. She
realized that they were the two cops she'd seen in Rico's driveway.
The ones in the Shelby.

Munch remained standing. "Are you supposed to be
Starsky or Hutch?"

He smiled like a Boy Scout. She hoped he didn't grin
like that when he was undercover or he was looking at a short and
unsuccessful career.

"
Munch, isn't it?" He patted the seat of
one of the chairs, and perched on the arm of another. "Call me
Roger. You've met Detective Chapman, I see."

She sat. "Not formally, Rodge."

Chapman closed the door. The remaining chair had no
arms. Detective Chapman dragged it over to the wall opposite the door
and sat. Munch's back was to the door, but she didn't mind. She
already knew she wasn't going to leave until she reached a working
agreement with these guys.

Roger leaned toward her. She mirrored his gesture.

"
Let me begin by saying that I know it's been a
rough time for you."

"
Thanks." She looked around her pointedly.
"Every day keeps getting worse."

Roger was all sympathy. "I'm sure."

"
I know there are things you can't tell me,"
she said, "but someday the truth will come out."

Chapman spoke now. "And what will that be?"

"
What I've said all along. That Rico was a good
man and a good cop."

Chapman loosened his tie. "A lot of people
wouldn't agree with you."

"
How can we prove them wrong?" Roger asked.

Munch raised a hand. "Let me ask you one
question first."

"
What's that?" Roger said.

She locked on his face. "Were you the ones who
killed him?"

They were temporarily dumbfounded, too surprised to
be angry at being asked a question by the subject they were
interrogating. When they answered, it was in unison. "No."

Munch wasn't sure what to believe. In her experience,
lies came out quicker than the truth, especially rehearsed ones.

"
So what's it going to take?" Munch asked.

"
How far are you willing to go?" Roger
asked.

"
I can try to get close to the guys Rico was
supposedly in with."

A look passed between the two detectives. It was the
mental high five between con men when their plan falls into place
quicker than they had anticipated.

Detective Chapman's eyes narrowed first as he
remembered his character's role in this production. "Why would
you do that?"

"Because everyone else seems pretty content to
accept the idea that Rico was crooked. Shit, the city saves itself a
bunch of money. How hard are they gonna want to look?"

"
This isn't about money," Chapman said.

Munch shot him a yeah, right look.

Roger scratched his head. "But what makes you
think you'll be able to find out anything?"

"I'll be hanging with the women and children. If
the old ladies don`t talk, the kids will."

"
We'll have to check with our lieutenant and
there's some paperwork that will have to be done."

"
What kind of paperwork?" Munch hoped she
was putting just the right amount of suspicion into her tone.

"
A contract," Chapman said, tightening his
tie. "If you work with us, it will be in the capacity of a
confidential informant. We can do this now, get it out of the way."

"
When does Asia get out of school?" Roger
asked.

"
Three-thirty." Munch knew she shouldn't be
surprised. Of course they knew about Asia. For that matter, these
cops might have been Rico's friends—as in the who-needs-enemies
variety. "If I could make a quick call, I'll arrange for someone
to look after her, then l'm all yours."

Chapman gave Munch some change and then walked her
over to the pay phone in the hallway. She called Lou. As soon as her
boss answered, she heard a second small click. It came as no surprise
to her that the pay phone was bugged. She told Lou she would be late
picking up Asia after school. He told her it wasn't a problem and
asked if she was okay.

"
Yeah," she told him, "I'm just taking
care of some unexpected business that came up."

The two narcs took Munch into a larger room. This one
was decorated with fake plants, a couch, and framed paintings on the
walls. She was moving up, it seemed.

For the second time that day, Munch was walked
through the rules governing her status as a CI.