Unfinished Business - Barbara Seranella (25 page)

Caroline held back, though. "You go in,"
she said. "I'll wait out here."

St. John was in a bed near the nurses' station. His
eyes were half open, his mouth slack. Munch studied the monitors
surrounding him. The raster patterns on the oscilloscope were very
similar to the ones she saw every day when diagnosing automotive
problems. St. John appeared to be firing on all eight with no fouled
plugs or faulty plug wires. She came up to the side of his bed and
picked up his hand. His eyes rolled open but didn't look focused.

"Hi," she said.

He worked his mouth a few seconds, looking like
someone just waking from a deep sleep. "Hi," he croaked
back.

"Caroline said you asked for me."

"Give me a minute to get it together here."
His eyes rolled back  and his mouth hung open.

She started to think he had gone back to sleep and
then his eyes opened wide. "That guy call you any more?"

"No, I haven't heard from him since I talked to
you last. Don't worry about him. I'll be all right. You just rest
now. "

"No, something I need to tell you." He
smacked his lips again. One of his hands patted at his chest. "You
got a light?"

"You can't smoke in here," she said,
smiling a little in spite of the gravity of the situation. It was
bizarre to see him so stoned. "What do they have you on?"

"
Morphine or something," he said. "I
told them no more."

That explains it, she thought. Some people just can't
hold their opiates. "Try to enjoy yourself," she said.

"Fuck that," he said, shaking himself
awake. "Tell me what's going on."

"
I was in a liquor store last night and I was
looking at the magazine display. Robin's picture was on the cover of
Penthouse."

"Diane Bergman, too," he said.

"Diane was on the cover of Penthouse?"
Munch asked, not able to hold back a smile. "Which one was that?
The senior issue?"

"No, no," he said. He closed his eyes. Once
more his mouth went slack, then he jerked suddenly and let out a
groan. She tightened her grip on his hand and put her other hand on
his forehead. It was damp and cold. A shiver ran through his body
then he blinked and said, "Whew," as the pain passed.

"You okay?" she asked, wishing she could
take his pain into herself.

"Yeah, yeah. Where were we?"

"Diane in
Penthouse
?"

"No. Pictures of her. I saw pictures of her.
They all had pictures taken."

"Who all?" Munch asked, leaning closer.
"All the women who were raped?" She remembered something
odd the rapist had said in his last phone call. He made a reference
to "many of you girls". Is that what he meant? Girls who
had their photographs taken nude?

St. John put a finger to his lips and said, "Shhh.
Loose lips sink ships."

"Is that what you wanted to tell me?" she
asked. This was like talking to someone in his sleep.

He shook his head no. "I wanted to tell you that
you're a beautiful woman," he said. "You're smart. You
care. Some man is going to be very lucky to have you someday."

She smiled. She liked where he was going, stoned or
not. His eyes cleared and when he looked at her she knew that he was
all aware. "I can't be that man," he said. "And I'm
sorry."

She felt her expression freeze on her face. At the
same time, her scalp went hot. "I know that," she said,
bristling, throwing a perimeter around her vulnerabilities. Then she
let down, softened her tone, taking this opportunity to address
openly the subtext she'd been dancing around for months, if not
longer. "I've always known that," she told him. She
smoothed back his hair and kissed him on the lips. For just a
fraction of a second, he kissed her back. "I'm going to go now,"
she said. "Do you want me to send Caroline in?"

He nodded and she left him.

When she reentered the visiting room, she stopped for
a second to study the three people sitting there—each represented
ghosts of past, present, and future. Garret had an arm around Asia's
shoulder and was speaking to Caroline in low tones. She was lucky to
have each of them—Garret included. When the call had come at 6 A.M.
from Caroline, explaining where they were and what had happened,
Garret had sprung into considerate mode—offering to help in any way
he could.

"Can I get you some more coffee?" he asked
Caroline now.

"No," she said. "I'm fine." She
looked up when Munch approached. "How is he?"

"In la-la land, but strong. You can tell. He
asked to see you."

Caroline dug in her purse and handed Munch a house
key "I know you'll want to get Asia's softball uniform and dance
clothes." She turned to Asia and said, "Sorry kiddo, I was
looking forward to seeing your game today "

"That's all right," Asia said.

Munch took the key proud of Asia's show of maturity.
"When will you know more?" she asked Caroline.

"This afternoon, I think."

"We'll stop in later," Garret said.

"Thank you," Caroline said. "I'll need
you to feed the dogs, too."

"No problem."

Munch gave her a hug and
they left to go pick up Asia's things.

* * *

St. John smiled at his wife. "Hi, babe/'

"Hi, yourself. How are you feeling? Can I bring
you anything?"

"A bottle of scotch would be nice."

"I'll see if it's on the approved list."

"I guess you'd better call the office. Tell them
what happened."

"
I'll go do it now. How was Munch?" she
asked. Her eyes told him that he had no secrets from her even when he
managed to keep them from himself.

"She'll be okay," he said. "The kid's
a survivor."
 

Chapter 21

 
M
unch let
herself into the St. Johns' house. Sam and Nicky greeted them at the
door, tails thumping the wall. It was kinda nice how they were always
so happy to see her again. Maybe after they were settled in the new
place she'd take Asia to the pound and pick out a dog. The new dog,
Brownie, was not as friendly, hanging back in the kitchen and
barking.

"
It's okay," Munch told her. "We're
the good guys." To prove it she went to the pantry and retrieved
cans of dog food and the bag of kibble.

Asia's suitcase was in the living room, but her stuff
was scattered throughout the house. Her scrapbook of wedding
photographs and assorted memorabilia lay open on the kitchen table.

"What's all this?" Garret asked.

"These are mine," Asia said.

"Yeah," Munch said, "don't get any
ideas." She put the dogs' dishes on the floor and turned to her
daughter. "Have you had breakfast?"

"Caroline bought me some yogurt and a banana at
the hospital."

"Okay good. Change into your uniform now. After
you wash your face and brush your teeth."

While Asia ran off to comply, Munch and Garret
gathered her things. St. John's sports coat hung over the back of one
of the kitchen chairs. Munch lifted it and felt the weight of his
notebook in the breast pocket.

"I'm going to hang this up," she told
Garret, and went into the master bedroom, which smelled strongly of
his cologne. She looked down at the king-size bed and felt like the
intruder she was. The notebook in his pocket called to her.

Puck it, she thought. I have an investment in this.
She walked toward the closet. Out of Garret's view, she stuck her
hand in the coat pocket and pulled out the notebook.

St. John's printing was neat if rather cryptic.
Veronica Parker aka Ginger Root. Prior victim. Dt. Rosales, Rampart.
Century Ent. on Century Blvd. Known Assoc. Joey Polk Attempted
interview 10/9. Uncoop. witnesses.

Century Ent. had to be Century Entertainment, the
nude dance club in Inglewood. And Veronica Parker had to be a dancer
there. Judging from his notes, St. John hadn't had much luck.

"You get lost or something?" Garret called
from the other room.

Munch started guiltily and jammed the notebook back
into the pocket of the sports coat. "Be right there."

Garret had Asia's uniform laid out on the couch and
seemed rather proud of himself for doing so. Munch gathered the
jersey pants, and shoes and brought them to Asia in the bathroom.

"Honey" she said, after closing the door,
"would you mind if I took off for a little while during your
game?"

"ls Garret staying?" she asked.

"Yes. He's really looking forward to it."

"What are you going to do?"

"I have to run a favor for a friend. It
shouldn't take long."

"All right," she
said as she squirmed into her clothes. "Whatever."

* * *

St. John watched helplessly as the nurse injected his
IV. He felt the wave of numbing narcosis sweep through his brain.
When Lieutenant Graziano strode into the ICU, Mace could do little
more than smile wanly.

"How are you?" the lieutenant asked. Deep
lines of worry creased his forehead.

"I'm cool," St. John said. It sounded as if
he were speaking underwater. He struggled to surface. He was lost in
the corridors of his brain, wandering, trying to follow a path of
thought to its logical conclusion. But then, like a dream, just when
he felt as if he was getting somewhere important, the thread of his
reasoning evaporated and no amount of effort could bring it back. He
kept having the same dream about surgeons dancing around a corpse.

"The important thing is to rest, get well,"
Lieutenant Graziano said. "The bills will be covered, Caroline
will be looked after. We take care of our own."

"The Bergman murder," Mace said.

"I've already got another detective on it. He's
got your notes. If there's any questions he'll come see you for
clarity. Don't worry We're on it."

"Who's on it?"

"Owen," Graziano said. "He said the
two of you have already talked."

"Oh, shit," St. John groaned. "The guy
is useless. He already compromised the case with his big mouth."

"Which case?"

St. John licked his lips. He was confused for a
moment. Owen had screwed up and talked about his rape case, not the
Bergman murder. "Robin Davies. Ask him about Robin Davies."

Graziano patted St. John's shoulder. "Don't
worry. Everything's under control. You just get well."

"Wait a minute." St. John meant to hold up
his hand, but when he looked down, it was still lying across the
blanket. "The blue fibers that I found in the footprints. Check
them against blue disposable booties like the kind criminalists and
hospital personnel use. The person who dumped Diane Bergman's body on
the side of the freeway might have been wearing hospital booties over
his shoes."

Graziano walked out the
door without reacting and St. John wondered if he'd even spoken
aloud.

* * *

Munch dropped off Asia and Garret at the ball field
and then headed over to the Bella Donna. She had her own key and used
it to enter the lounge section of the train car. She went straight to
the small table covered with papers, knowing St. John had a habit of
bringing work over to his big-boy fort.

She soon found a folder marked BERGMAN HOMICIDE.
Taking a deep breath, she opened the file and stared at the
photographs. There were pictures of Diane's body as it was found on
the freeway. Silver duct tape covered her eyes. Her legs were spread
open obscenely the nightgown hiked up over her thighs, exposing the
dark patch of pubic hair. Numbered yellow markers were placed next to
evidence surrounding the body. The killer, assuming this was who had
dumped the body had left footprints in the muddy silt.

Munch turned to the next photograph. It was of
Diane's face with the tape removed from her eyes. It was the same
picture St. John had shown Munch on Tuesday. Page after page of
eight-by-ten glossies recorded every inch of damaged skin. The body
was stretched out on a steel gurney. Several photographs of Diane's
back showed specific close-ups of a blanched rectangle of skin at the
base of her neck. In one shot the label of a negligee was positioned
next to the patch of skin in question. The two weren't an exact
match, but there were probably a lot of things that would account for
that. But then another inconsistency struck her. The negligee had
spaghetti straps; the top and bottom edges were trimmed in lace. If
the label of the negligee had left a mark on Diane's skin, according
to the crime scene photograph, it should have been positioned much
farther down her back. Munch flipped back to the crime scene
photographs to confirm this and then read the accompanying report
from the coroner.

No evidence of rape had been found. Toxicology
reports were still pending, but stomach contents were verified. The
medical examiner reported that shrimp had been one of Diane's last
meals.