Unwanted Company - Barbara Seranella (34 page)

"I don't know," he said. "Why would
they even want to draw the guy out?"

"Perhaps she's angry," Caroline said.
"That's always a powerful motivator. "

"Look where it's got them," Mace said,
choosing to ignore Caroline's irony. He was in no mood for another
character lesson.

"Can you help them?" Caroline asked.

"I doubt if the feds will let me get near them.
They'll probably slap a forty-eight-hour hold on them without filing
charges. And you can be pretty damn sure they won't be allowing any
phone calls or interviews? Mace picked up the phone and called
Steve's pager. Two minutes later the phone rang.

"
St. John," Mace answered. It was Steve
Brown returning his call.

"
We went out to the boyfriend's apartment,"
Steve said.

"He's gone. A note on the door says he's taken a
week's vacation."

"Just ducky," Mace said. "Suddenly
everyone inconveniently is out of the way. You know that picture you
lent me?"

"
Yeah," Steve said.

"My witness identified one of the men in it as
Raleigh Ward."

"
That's not surprising. Ward and Draicu probably
go back a long way together. "

Mace felt a dull thudding in his temples. A
kaleidoscope of thoughts tumbled through his brain, each theory
uglier than the last. He felt his case spinning out of his control.

"Hey," Steve said. "Hold on a minute.
Something's coming over the radio." Mace waited, hearing the
sounds of air chatter, call numbers. Steve came back on the phone.
"Your troubles might all be over, buddy. "

"Yeah, why's that?" Mace asked.

"Victor Draicu has turned up. He blew his brains
out."

"
Oh, really?" Mace said.

"Yep, suicide—the sincerest form of apology."

"
How convenient. "

"What's it take to make you happy?" Steve
asked.

"
Now you sound like my"—he looked over
and saw Caroline watching him—"doctor," he finished.
"I'll roll out there, now. Thanks for the heads-up."

"What's going on?" Caroline asked.

"Victor Draicu has apparently killed himself.
I'm going to go check it out. "

"
Be careful," she said.

"
What do I have to worry about?" he said.
"The bad guy is dead."

Cassiletti's expression
was that of a man trying very hard to figure out if what he'd just
heard was a joke and, if so, what the punch line was.

* * *

The body was in a remote stretch of Balboa Park on
the Encino-Reseda border. Two boys on bicycles had discovered it and
called the police. When Mace and Cassiletti got there, the area was
cordoned off with sawhorses, police cars, and yellow crime-scene
tape. Channels 2, 4, and 7 all had sent satellite vans and their top
reporters. Another news helicopter hovered overhead. Deputy Chief
Tumpane was there, as was Captain Earl.

"
Looks like you were right," Tumpane said,
as Mace approached the scene.

"
Thank you, sir," Mace said.

The body was lying on a bed of leaves, under a canopy
of morning glory vines. Apparently the sprinkler system had come on
recently. The ground cover underfoot squished as they approached.
Mace noticed something pink protruding  from Victor Draicu's
pocket. Using his pen, he extracted the object. It was a pair of
little girl's panties. Monday, the script writing read.

"
There's a note, too," Earl said.

"Confessing to everything?" Mace asked. He
noticed the positioning of Victor's hand over his heart.

"
I'll be recommending a commendation," Earl
said. "The mayor is going to be very pleased."

"That's great,"
Mace said. 'just great. "

* * *

"How's the dog?" the FBI agent captaining
the boat asked. Derek lifted his head and mumbled, "I think
she's over the worst of it." He sighed and rolled over, taking a
sip of his Diet Coke. They had been cruising the bay for the last few
hours. The forty-foot ketch had formerly belonged to a Colombian drug
lord, he was told. Now it was the property of the United States
government, and Derek was their guest. The arrangements had been
hurried, barely giving him time to grab a pair of swim trunks, a few
changes of clothes, and leave a note on his door.

They couldn't tell him how long his stay would last.
Derek told them not to worry. He could get used to this. He was
nothing if not accommodating. "Just keep the Diet Coke and Alpo
flowing," he said.

He looked now into the box where Violet lay whining
miserably. Her long ears were matted with vomit. She turned sad eyes
on her master and started to heave again. Derek dipped the edge of
his towel overboard and used the damp corners to bring whatever
comfort he could to the dog.

Idly, he wondered what Munch was doing.
 

CHAPTER 29

Munch was released from the U.S. Marshal's temporary
holding facility the following morning. Charges weren't going to be
filed, after all. She was not surprised. Nobody apologized throughout
the long release procedure. Not the deputy who fetched her bag of
street clothes, or the cop in property who had her sign for her keys
and pocket change that had been scrupulously inventoried and held for
safekeeping in a manila envelope.

Mace and Cassiletti were there in the lobby when she
emerged.

"
Asia's fine," Mace said.

"Where is she? " Munch asked, striding past
them, anxious to be away from that place.

"We took her over to the Bella Donna. Caroline
was able to convince the court to let her stay with us until this is
all straightened out."

"I guess it's time to do that," Munch said,
glad to hear they had had the sense to get away from the house. The
train car was much more defensible, set out in the open, and girded
with inches of steel. She stepped out into the bright sunlight and
blinked. The next thing she did was rip off the plastic wristband and
throw it at the building behind her.

"
You know," Mace said, "that's what I
like about you. You never go for the easy way. You can't just have a
kid. It's got to be somebody else's kid."

"
Mace—" Cassiletti said, looking
nervously at Munch. "She's been through a lot."

"Excuse me," he said. "Was I being
insensitive? Where are my manners?"

"What are you pissed off at me for?" Munch
asked.

"I'm sick of having to waste my time worrying
about everybody," he said.

She ran her hands through her hair, wishing she had a
brush. Her mouth tasted like old coffee. She stopped at the stairs to
bend down and tie her shoes.

"
Where's Ellen?"

"
Still in custody."

"Where?"

"
I think you should be worrying about you,"
Mace said.

She straightened and stared at him. "You got
some kind of personal rule about not letting people think for
themselves?"

Mace looked surprised. Cassiletti, she noted, was
almost smiling.

"Your friend is still in federal custody pending
transfer to county and a parole hearing. Feel better now?"

"Yeah, tons." She sniffed.

The three of them walked out to the parking lot,
Munch and Mace side by side, Cassiletti bringing up the rear.

"It's over," Mace said. "Victor Draicu
killed himself. "

"I'm sure he did the right thing," Munch
said. "But it's far from over. Ellen saw him kill one of those
men in Mexico. The younger guy went first, she said. Then Raleigh
slit the older guy's throat. They didn't know she saw. The first
chance she got, she slipped them a Mickey, then dumped their bodies
by the side of the road."

"We figured that much out," Mace said.

"But what you didn't know was that when she went
through their pockets she found a roll of Johnson & Johnson
medical tape on Raleigh. He also had some weird kind of knife
strapped to his shin. It was long and pointy and had some kind of
modified brass-knuckles-looking thing for a grip."

"
Three-fingered thrust dagger," Mace said,
nodding.

"
What did she mean," he asked, "about
not hearing the last from Raleigh Ward?" He unlocked the car and
opened the passenger door for Munch. She got in the front; Cassiletti
slid into the back.

"
We called his ex," Munch said after Mace
had come around to the driver's side and gotten in.

"
You did what?"

"
You know that woman he called from the limo at
the end of the run? Ellen told her that he owed us for damages and
that for a price she'd sell him back the roll of tape."

"Do you have any idea what you've done?"
Mace's eyes turned cold and hard. He slammed his hand on the
dashboard. "Forget how much you've jeopardized the case. You put
yourselves in danger. Why didn't you call me? Fuck!" He hit the
steering wheel, took a deep breath, and gave her a look that would
peel chrome. "Where is it now?"

"
You'd have to ask her that." His anger
scared her, but she wasn't about to deprive Ellen of her hard-earned
bargaining chip. Her little excursion to Mexico was a parole
violation. Enough of a violation to put her back in prison for six
months. Another stretch of CIW would not help her on the road to
recovery.

"
Did his ex say she knew where he was?"
Mace maneuvered his sedan out of the parking lot.

"
No, she was pretty hostile. She said they were
almost divorced and had been legally separated since December."

"What did you hope to accomplish?" Mace
asked. His tone was quiet, low. It bothered her worse than his
shouting.

"I'm trying to help you grab this guy, in case
you hadn't noticed." She tucked her hair behind her ears.

"That's my job," he said.

"
I know," she answered. She realized she
was close to tears. Tears she didn't want him to see. Out of reflex,
she had begun braiding her hair. In the bad old days, when part of
the evening's entertainment usually involved a fistfight, she always
tied her hair back first. Glasses off, hair back. Those were the
indicators that she was ready to get down to it. Tears had no place
in the equation. Tears were for later. She turned to Mace with
resolve in her voice, and asked, "You got an elastic band or
something for my hair?"

"
Look in the glove box," Mace said, casting
her a half amused smile.

Munch rummaged in the glove box, Finding a packet of
maps bound together. She liberated the red rubber band holding them
together and used it to secure her braid.

"
You know you've set yourself up as a target
now," Mace said.

"Better me than my kid," Munch said.

"I'm not letting you out of my sight," Mace
said.

"I was sort of counting on that," Munch
said. "Let's go pick up my limo. And then we'll go get Ellen.
Don't worry. She'll corroborate the evidence. No way will this guy
walk. We've got him cold."

"We got nothing yet," Mace said.

"We will," she
said, squinting out the window.

* * *

Raleigh didn't get back home until four in the
morning. Cassandra made a point of ignoring him until he made her her
favorite treat of scrambled eggs with lots of butter. After seeing to
the cat's needs, he fell into the deep, untroubled sleep of the
righteous.

It was nearly 9 A.M. when he woke up. He listened to
the radio as he got dressed, putting on his black track suit. The top
news story was the suicide found in Balboa Park. Police were
attributing a string of murder/ rapes to the as-yet-unidentified
white male.

Raleigh reached into his pocket and pulled out a vial
of pills. Who knew when he'd be sleeping again? He fortified himself
with the last of his uppers. Another trip across the border was
obviously in order.

He grabbed his new gym bag by its straps and slung it
over his shoulder. He actually whistled as he took the stairs down to
the underground parking. He'd forgotten the simple pleasure of
driving a fine automobile. The Cadillac handled like a dream. One
thing he had to say about Victor, the guy had good taste in cars.

If only Raleigh had known last night what he knew
now, Victor would very probably still be among the living. Raleigh
had at least five more victims in mind to credit to Victor's account.
He'd start with Ellen Summers, Munch Mancini, and the little
girl-child. He'd never had three at once. He'd like to take them
somewhere where their screams wouldn't be heard. Where they'd be
conscious to watch and let their fear build. He would take his time
with them.

On his way out of town, he'd make time for his
ex-wives. He was unstoppable. He could feel the power running through
him. Perhaps he was finally on his way to running the world. Even
Victor was still helping from beyond the grave.

Raleigh was grateful that old Vic hadn't requested a
Porsche or a Corvette. No, he wanted a Cadillac. And wouldn't the
car's big trunk come in handy? It had already.