Unfinished Business - Barbara Seranella (17 page)

"So you don't care who knows?"

She realized she was quickly losing control of the
conversation. "How is it that you know so much about me?"

"I've made it my business to know. You should be
flattered."

"Then you should also know I sponsor other
addicts and alcoholics. And the thing is, I've never talked to anyone
yet who didn't have a logical reason for what they did. You're
obviously a smart guy, to know all you do about electricity and
telephones. Can you help me understand what you want?"

"I want the normal things."

"Meaning what?" she asked. "Normal is
such a relative term."

He answered with one of those odd chipmunk-sounding
noises that she interpreted as laughter. Encouraged, she pressed on.
"Can I ask you one thing? Why Robin?"

"She's the one. We have a connection. Her and I.
I felt it the first time we met. I know her and I got off to a rocky
start."

"That's what you call it?" she asked,
unable to contain her incredulity "If you truly cared for her,
you'd leave her alone now. She doesn't want to see you anymore. You
left scars on her body. She's completely traumatized. How can you
call that love?"

"Why are you putting yourself in the middle of
this?" he asked, his volume rising. "It's not as if you
wanted me."

"I didn't?" she asked. Her stomach turned
queasy There was also a ringing in her ears. For a long moment all
she could do was watch the tape recorder spools turn. "What
makes you say that?" she finally asked.

"I know. "

I know. The words, even in their strange distorted
form, echoed with certainty. She believed him. "Diane didn't
want you either, did she?"

"If you're going to play games," he said,
"I'll hang up."

"You're the one playing all the games. A real
man would use his own voice."

"
You think you know what real men want? You
think you're some kind of expert?"

"No, but I would like to understand what you're
getting out of this. Maybe if we figured it out together—"

"It's not just about getting my dick wet. Maybe
someone like you can't understand beyond that."

"I understand about doing things I can't help. I
understand feeling bad afterward and wishing I could change. Is that
what you're hoping for?" She paused. They said to develop
intimacy, to learn whatever details she could. A name seemed like as
good a place as any to start. "What should I call you?"

"Daddy" he said. "Every little girl
needs a daddy."

She felt an overwhelming wave of revulsion. As if his
breath were in her ear and he would reach over any second and touch
her. His words ripped loose the scabs on her memories, and all the
maggots wiggling beneath the surface were exposed. She hung up,
needing to sever the connection with this sick intruder. Then she
regretted her action, knowing she had given away too much. You should
never let an adversary know when they'd scored. It just made them
come back and hit that found weakness with all they had.

Asshole, she thought, staring at the phone. She
pushed the stop button on the tape recorder with more force than was
necessary. She had to admit the anger she was left with felt much
better than the guilt she'd been grappling with just moments before.
Anger felt powerful, made you want to get up and do something. Not
just lie in the dark and feel bad. Ruby always said anger was a
secondary emotion, that people used it to block out deeper unpleasant
feelings. Like betrayal? Munch would like to ask her now. Because
being sold out really sucked.

She picked up the phone again and called St. John. He
answered on the first ring.

"It's me," she said. "He just called."
She filled him in on the gist of the conversation and how she had
ended the call. "I blew it, right?"

"Why do you think that?"

"I hung up on him."

"
No, I think your instincts were right. He was
testing you."

"So if I hadn't gotten angry at him, he would
have known I was just stringing him along?"

"Exactly. I'm going to have a policewoman
answering the phone and staying at your house from now on. This has
gotten too heavy. "

"That'll never work. He knows me. He'll know if
it isn't me."

"
You want me to come over?" he asked,
sounding fully awake now.

"No, I'm all right," she lied. "But
until this thing is resolved I'd like Asia to come stay with you
guys."

"Sure," he said. "We'd love to have
the little rugrat."

"Is Caroline awake?"

"Yeah, you want to talk to her?"

"Please." She waited while the phone was
passed. She could hear muffled hushed whispering and then Caroline
came on the line.

"Hey kiddo."

"Hi, sorry to wake you."

"No problem. You sure you want to be involved
with this creep?"

"I want to catch him. I'm sure of that."

"Don't worry about Asia," Caroline said.
"I'd love to play mom for the weekend"

"She's got a ballet class on Saturday and
softball on Sunday. If it's a hassle she could take a weekend off—"

"Don't be silly. Just write me out directions
and I'll get her where she needs to go. It'll be fun. Really."

"She loves an audience."

"She'll have one. Do you want me to pick her up
at school tomorrow?"

"Thanks. I'll tell them to expect you."

"All right, honey. Try not to worry and be
careful. Do you want to talk to Mace again?"

"Sure."

St. John came back on the line. "I'll stop by in
the morning."

"Sorry to wake you," she said.

"No problem."

She hung up feeling a
curious mix of emotions: relief for Asia's sake; anger at this
intruder in her life; the melancholy of looking in the window of
another's life and wishing it was your own. The last was that old
demon jealousy raising his ugly head. Then she had one more thought
that chilled her blood. She realized that Robin's "secret
admirer," and very probably Diane's murderer, was at that very
moment feeling much the same things.

* * *

Mace St. John watched his wife hang up the phone. She
had to stretch to reach the nightstand. He appreciated the way her
satin nightgown twisted at her middle and accentuated her waist. He
ran a hand up her leg, stopping at her thigh.

"What's on your mind?" she asked.

"Have I told you lately how much I love you?"
he asked.

She rolled on her back. Her blond hair spread out on
the pillow as she pretended to contemplate his question. "I
don't think you have."

He leaned over and kissed her cheek. "I love
you," he said. Then he pushed back the covers and swung his legs
out. "I'm going to get up for a while."

"Are you all right?"

"Yeah, yeah. Stomach's a little sour." He
stood, smiled down at her. "You go back to sleep. I'll be to bed
in a while."

She smiled at him, blew him a kiss, and then burrowed
back into the covers. He went into the kitchen and poured himself a
7UP. A cold sweat beaded his forehead. He wiped it away and then
stared at his hand for a moment. He knew he shouldn't let himself get
so upset. Maybe that old adage applied here, that you shouldn't mix
business with friendship. Your judgment clouds.
 
He
walked through the house, enjoying the quiet. He chased the soda with
half a bottle of Pepto-Bismol. Had to be the guacamole, he decided.
He made a note to himself to tell Caroline not to fix it anymore. Not
if this was the price he paid.

THURSDAY

The next morning Munch packed a small suitcase with
Asia's clothes. Asia only needed one more clean school uniform to see
her through the week. Munch also packed the little girl's tights,
leotard, ballet shoes, softball uniform, and wedding scrapbook.
"Where are we going?" Asia asked.

Munch put on a bright smile. "You've been
invited to spend the weekend with your godparents starting tonight."

Asia's shoulders slumped. "Ahh, do I have to?"

"
You can show them all your new ballet moves. I
know they'd love to see them." Asia needed very little
encouragement to perform for a live audience. She still spoke
wistfully of the curtain call and standing ovation the cast of
Pinocchio had received last summer.

"
I can sing for them, too," she said,
warming to the idea.

"Yep, you do that. But right now I need you to
get ready as quickly as you can." While Asia dressed, Munch
changed the cassette in the tape recorder Agent Hogan had given her,
taking the time to make herself a copy of the tape she would be
handing over to the authorities. Her hands shook as she boxed and
labeled the used tape containing her early morning call. She was
running late, which was making her rush. She spilled her coffee, put
too much milk on Asia's cereal, and when she looked down she saw she
had misbuttoned her shirt.

Oh great, she thought.
This is going to be a wonderful day for working with heavy machinery.
She didn't even get the time to look at the morning paper and read
the three things she never missed: her horoscope, the comics, and the
obituaries.

* * *

She called Robin as soon as she got Asia off to
school. The answering machine picked up, but instead of a personally
recorded message, there was only a beep.

"Robin," Munch said. "It's me. Give me
a call at work."
 
At nine
o'clock she called again, then once more ten minutes later. She hung
up when she saw St. John pulling into the station. She met him at his
car, before he had a chance to get out. "We've got a problem."

"
What?" he asked.

"Robin isn't returning my calls. I think we
better get over there and see if she's all right."

Stefano walked past them on the way to the bathroom.

"Stefano," she said. "I'm taking a
test drive. Be back in ten minutes."

"
Okay" Stefano said, his tone peevish as if
taking this information were some burden on him.

She stared at him a long moment, wondering if he
didn't have another reason for his irritability But Stefano just kept
on walking in that way of his, as if he was very aware of his ass.
They took St. John's Buick to Robin's. The gate guard recognized them
this time and waved them through without a hassle. Robin's Toyota was
gone.

"Maybe she went shopping or something," St.
John said.

They walked up to the front door and tried to look in
the windows, but the curtains were drawn. Munch shaded her eyes with
her hand and peered through a small gap between the drapes. The house
was dark and seemed empty. St. John rang the doorbell. There was no
response from inside.

He knocked on the front door. Three sharp
authoritative raps that just screamed "cop."

"Do they train you guys how to do that?"
Munch asked.

"Yeah, the same week we learn how to swagger. "

She laughed, but then quickly grew serious when she
spotted the transom window over the front door. "Give me a
boost," she said.

He laced his fingers together. She kicked off her
greasy shoes and stepped into his hands. He lifted her until her
fingers could grasp the sill of the transom. It was slippery with
dust.

"See anything?" he asked.

"No." She noticed that there were no trash
bags stacked on the kitchen floor, waiting for some Samaritan to
remove them. Maybe Robin had ventured out into the world again. St.
John lowered her. Was it her imagination or did he hold on to her a
second longer than was necessary? She searched his face for the hint
of a blush, a nervousness in his eyes, but no, his expression, if
anything, was impatient. She sat at his feet and reached for her
shoes.

"Let's leave a note," she said, tying her
laces. "You got a piece of paper?"

He handed her his notebook. While she looked for a
clean sheet, he checked his watch. A notation in his handwriting
caught her eye. "L.S. says photos of D.B. at bank. First Federal
on San Vicente."

"Who's L.S.?" she asked, showing him the
page. "D.B. is dead body, right?"

He reached for his notebook irritably.

"No, wait," she said, relinquishing it
without a struggle. "D.B. is Diane Bergman, right? Just nod if
I'm right."

He ripped out a blank piece of paper without giving
her an answer. She wrote a brief note and wedged it in the crack of
the door. She twisted the knob, but the door was locked.

"
Is L.S. Logan Sarnoff? The attorney guy you
went to see yesterday?"

"She probably took my advice and went to stay
with relatives," he said, completely ignoring her question.

"Without telling us?"

He made an open-palmed shrug and they walked back to
his car. On the way out, St. John stopped at the gate. The gate guard
I stepped out of his kiosk to see what they wanted.