An Unacceptable Death - Barbara Seranella (7 page)

"
He was trying to save me." That's not how
she had wanted to start. She didn't consider herself a person who
needed constant rescue. She began again with the words that launched
so many stories; "There's this guy."

Bayless clicked his pen open. "This guy have a
name?"

"
Peter Donner. Goes by Petey. He's a biker, a
one-percenter."

Bayless looked up from his notebook, his expression
nonplussed.

"
You know," she explained, "ninety-nine
percent of the population are citizens, one percent are outlaws.
Anyhow, this Petey guy is the president of the Satan's Pride."
She waited for Bayless to write the cop code for asshole, but he only
wrote: "Donner, Peter."

"
Go on."

"
Years ago"—she swept her hand to the
side to indicate just how far in the past this all was—"I used
to hang with the Satan's Pride. The Venice chapter. Anyway, you know
how bad they treat women, right?"

Bayless held his pen over his pad, waiting to write
something novel. Apparently the misogynistic tendencies of outlaw
bikers wasn't breaking news.

Munch nodded. She needed just to come right out with
it, stop worrying about how it was all going to sound to someone who
didn't know her better. "Okay. I found out that Petey is looking
to revitalize the local chapter. He offered a patch to the first guy
who brought me in."

"
Why you?"

"
About nine years ago, I brought the club down.
Not single-handedly, but if I'd kept my mouth shut and died like I
was supposed to, they'd still be active in these parts. I feel just
terrible about it."

Bayless smirked. "Nine years ago did you work
with the police?"

"
I told them what I knew about some women
getting killed; they put the rest together."

"
Was Rico Chacón part of all that?"

"
No. I hadn't met him yet." She considered
telling Bayless about Mace St. John and how they'd saved each other,
figuratively and literally, then decided that that would be something
that might help her more later. Sometimes it was better to let people
think you had no friends or pull and see how they treated you. "Rico
found out about Petey's threat." Munch didn't say how, well
aware that she was treading some muddy waters. She was pretty certain
that Rico had crossed a few lines to help her more than once.
Bringing that up now might be all the proof Bayless needed to rule
against Rico. "Rico told me he'd handle it. Now he's dead."

"
So you think this Peter Donner killed Rico?"

"
I have no idea. All Rico's dad said was that
Rico was shot to death. Do you have suspects or witnesses or
anything?"

"
I can't discuss an ongoing investigation?

"
What the hell have we been doing, then?"

"
Let me check with my sergeant and I'll see how
much I can tell you. Do you still communicate with any of your biker
friends?"

"
Never on purpose. I'm sure you've read my
jacket. That should tell my story. I travel in different circles now.
There's not a lot of chopper traffic in Brentwood."

"
Sounds like it's been a while since you hit the
bar scene."

"
I don't even live in
the same universe anymore."

* * *

Munch left Bayless and drove over to Fernando's
house. Cars and pickup trucks lined both sides of the street.
Mourners spilled into the front lawn and sidewalk, mostly men. The
women, Munch knew, would be inside cooking. Rico's ex, Sylvia,
wouldn't miss this opportunity to insert herself into the middle of
the action.

Munch found Madame Ex at the stove adding spices to a
large cauldron of red sauce. A red bandanna tamed her kinky hair. Her
black skin shone with sweat.

Munch forced a smile on to her face. "You want
some help?"

Sylvia, grimacing, looked Munch up and down. "No.
You'll just be in the way."

Granted, cooking wasn't Munch's thing, but that
wasn't the issue.

"
I'm going to be a part of this. You might as
well get used to that."

"
Fine. The funeral is Saturday. We'll be coming
back here after."

"
Is this house going to be big enough?"

"
It will just be family." Sylvia again gave
Munch a look usually reserved for nasty jobs that couldn't be put off
indefinitely, such as cleaning toilet bowls. "We'll manage."

"
I've seen cop funerals before. They're huge.
They close down intersections for the procession."

"
This funeral is going to be small," Sylvia
said. "Fernando will barely be able to afford a nice casket. The
costs to bury someone in the States are unbelievable?

"
That should be the least of his worries. I'm
pretty sure the city has some kind of fund for this. I'll make some
calls and find out."

"
Oh, yes," Sylvia's tone was acidic. It
went nicely with her facial expression. "There are many funds.
The federal government is supposed to pay the family five hundred
thousand dollars when a police office is killed in the line of duty.
A man told us this morning that Rico's family is not eligible to
collect. Now the city's risk management department is holding back
his benefits, his pension, everything?

"
And not even footing the bill for the funeral?"

"
We don't want their empty gestures."

Munch realized her mouth was hanging open. She didn't
understand. "No pension?"

"
That's right, nothing for his own daughter."
Sylvia looked past the Formica kitchen table to where Angelica sat in
the backyard listlessly petting the family's chow. "We will
continue to suffer." Her tone seemed to imply this would be
happening long after Munch had gotten over it all.

Munch wanted to shake the woman. Did Sylvia think
Munch's grief wasn't measuring up? "Fernando told me Rico was
killed in a shoot-out. How much more in the line of duty could he
have been?"

"
According to his commander, he was not where he
was supposed to be. Puto." Sylvia attacked a pile of cilantro
with vengeance. "They said he was dirty. A dirty cop."

"
Bullshit. Who says?"

"
The narcos who shot him."

Munch felt a shift in her equilibrium. The humming in
her ears was so intense, she wasn't sure she would be able to hear
anything else. "Wait a minute. You're saying he was shot by
other cops? It must have been a case of mistaken identity, an
accident. One of those friendly-fire scenarios. He's been working
undercover."

"
Was he?" Sylvia turned on Munch,
punctuating her words with unmasked contempt.

"
You can't possibly believe he was crooked. Did
you know him at all?" Munch took a step back and pulled her
hands out of her pockets. It was with some effort that she didn't
ball her fists. "I want to talk to these cops."

"
Go ahead," Sylvia said. "Maybe
they'll shoot you, too."

Munch might beat herself up all day long, but there
was a limit to how much shit she'd take from anyone else. Hell, it
wasn't as if she broke up the family or anything. Rico and Sylvia had
been split up for years when Munch and he got together. Before she
said or did anything she might regret, Munch left Madame
Head-Up-Her-Ass Ex and went out into the backyard. Angelica looked
skinnier than ever. Her Levi's-clad legs were little more than bones
and her shoulders slumped as if she were exhausted.

One cooked while the other starved. Welcome to
America. Munch would have liked to hug the girl, but she knew from
past experience that Angelica didn't like being touched. Angelica
didn't I seem to like much of anything.

"
Your mom is making enough to feed an army in
there."

Angelica's eyes were brown like Rico's, but held no
shine.

"
Yeah?"

"
Smells good."

Angelica twisted her back as if trying to loosen a
kink, as if her muscles were fifty years old instead of fifteen.
Munch wanted to hold the kid down and pump nourishment into her.

"
If you need anything, call me. Okay?"

"
I'm fine," Angelica said.

"
I didn't ask how you were. You don't have to
lie to me."

"
I don't have to talk to you either."

"
Only if you want to. I can be a good friend.
Remember that."

Munch drove home. First she stopped at the market and
called St. John from the pay phone there. She filled him in on the
latest twists.

"
I know you didn't love Rico, but there is no
way he was bad. This is some horrible mistake."

"
I've seen the report," St. John said.
"Rico was trading fire with the task force. If he wasn't playing
for the other team, I don't know what the explanation is."

"
So when you said IA investigates all
officer-involved shootings—"

"
I'm sorry. I didn't mean to withhold from you,
but I thought it would be better if your surprise at the
circumstances of his death was genuine."

"
It was that." Munch rubbed her throat,
trying to loosen the ache there. "Can you set up a meeting with
them for me?"

"
With who?"

"
The task force cops."

"
I don't want you involved with these guys.
Narcs are ego-driven cowboys. All they care about is putting powder
on the table and bodies in jail."

"
But Rico was a brother cop."

"
Don't count on that to help you. The word is
that he was assisting in a prison break of some Mexican nationals,
some narco-traffickers."

"
That doesn't make any sense. You can't believe
that."

"
We'll both have to wait until all the evidence
comes in," he said.

"
And how long will that take?" she asked.

"
I need you to be patient. Don't even think
about doing anything half-cocked."

"
I won't."

He snorted into the phone as if he didn't believe
her. "The best you can do is stay off their radar. They're gonna
look at you and just try to figure how to use you. You make too much
noise, and they'll find a hammer to hold over your head."

"
Like what?"

"
Either they'll think you're involved or they'll
approach you to assist with their investigation and make sure you do
whether you want to or not. It's not nice, but it's the way it is.
They love it when a person of interest has a kid, gives them great
leverage.

They like threatening to put the kid in child
services if the parents don't cooperated,

"
You wouldn't let that happen."

"
I'd fight like hell, but I might only be able
to do so much."

"
I hear what you're saying about these guys."
This way there he dragons. "Can you give me their names at
least?"

"
Absolutely not."

"
You want a couple more seconds to think about
that? You sound a little on the fence."

"
The best thing for you to do is get on with
your life, let some time pass."

Munch looked up at her ceiling and rubbed her eyes.
Her sinuses were filled with tear-diluted mucus and they burned. It
was the same feeling she used to get as a kid when the waves would
somersault her on to the ocean floor. Let time pass? Every hour was a
weeklong. He didn't know what he was asking.

"
Fine." She hung up without saying good-bye
and picked up her TO DO list. She added; "narc's names."
 
 

CHAPTER NINE

MUNCH PULLES BAYLESS'S CARD FROM HER WALLETT AND
stared at it.

"
Fuck 'em," she muttered to herself as she
dialed.

"
Bayless, Internal Investigations."

She had to clear her throat before she began. "This
is Munch Mancini."

"
What can I do for you?"

"
Do you investigate all cop shootings?"

"
Not every case crosses my desk."

"
In Rico's case, which end are you looking at?"

"
What do you mean?"

"
According to his ex-wife, Rico Chacón was shot
by other cops. Narcs. So are you looking at Rico as a shooter or as
the guy who got shot?"

"
This is not something we should discuss on the
phone."

Munch's heartbeat quickened. He hadn't shut the door
on her. "What are you saying?"

"
Why don't you come to see me tomorrow? We'll
kick this around a little,"

"I'll be there at ten
with my boots on."

* * *

Ellen offered to treat Munch and Asia to dinner. They
went to a new restaurant in Santa Monica that offered organic
Italian. Munch perused the menu, looking for something Asia would
enjoy. She was feeling a few gnawing tugs of hunger for the first
time that day. They seemed like a betrayal.

"
Tofu pepperoni pizza," Ellen said,
sounding outraged. She put her menu down. "Now that's just
wrong."