Unfinished Business - Barbara Seranella (28 page)

The shop offered only minimal service on Saturday and
none on Sunday. The lube bay doors were closed, but several vehicles
were parked in front. Among them was a Rolls-Royce getting its
battery charged, and what looked like a gardener's truck with its
hood up. From the smell of it, it had overheated badly Next to the
truck a Volkswagen Rabbit was jacked up and one of the front tires
was off.

Pauley's detail business was also open. Saturday was
a big day for him. A Mercedes and a BMW were parked under the awning,
their paint jobs hazy under a layer of wax. One of the kids who
worked for him was spraying Armor All on the tires. Pauley was
nowhere in sight.

She went to Lou's office, sat at his desk, and looked
through the phone book. Emily Hogan's card was at home. She hadn't
known she was going to need it. Agent Hogan had no separate listing.
Munch dialed the number for the Bureau. An operator answered and
transferred her to Agent Hogan's voice mail, which gave out a pager
number in case of emergency Munch hung up, dialed the pager number,
and left the gas station's number.

While she waited for the callback she went through
the box of work orders until she found the invoice with D.W.'s
information on it. Finding it, she returned to the desk and willed
the phone to ring.

Outside the office window, the crew of gas pumpers
ministered to the weekend flow of customers. One of them passed in
front of the window on his way to the rest room and they waved at
each other.

The phone rang, making her jump.

"Bel-Air Texaco," she answered.

"This is Agent Hogan."

"Hi, this is Munch Mancini."

"What can I do for you?"

Munch gave the agent a quick rundown of the
information she had uncovered, including her suspicion that D.W. had
kidnapped Robin and was holding her somewhere.

"Have you alerted Detective St. John?"
Agent Hogan asked.

"No, he's out of commission, in the hospital."
Before Hogan could ask, Munch gave her all the information she had on
D.W. This included his address, phone number, and license plate
number.

"I'll get right on this," Hogan said. "Will
you be at this number?"

"No, I have to go pick up my kid at the park.
Then I'll be home."

"All right. Thank you for your help."
 

Chapter 23

M
unch took off for the
park where she had left Asia and Garret. She drove up Sunset toward
the freeway, then took a right on Church Lane, figuring she would
fare better on surface streets. Before she reached the Montana Avenue
underpass, a van pulled behind her and honked. She looked in her
rearview mirror and saw it was Pauley. He gestured for her to pull
over.

She parked underneath a large tree. He signaled for
her to come over to him as he walked around to the passenger side of
his van.

"Look who I found," he said.

Robin poked her head out the passenger window and
said, "Hi." Then she opened her door and got out. Munch was
overwhelmed with relief and rushed to her, giving her a big hug. The
hug brought a wince to Robin's face.

"Where have you been?" Munch asked. "We've
been worried sick."

"I'm sorry about that."

Behind Munch, the van's side door slid open. Too late
she noticed the large bruises on Robin's arms. Just as the smell of
pine-scented cleaner wafted out from the inside of the van, Robin's
face crumpled in grief.

"I'm sorry" she said again.

Munch turned. Pauley was standing behind her. He had
what looked like a twin-pronged remote control in his hand. A blue
spark arced between the terminals with a wicked buzz. Pauley pressed
it to the side of her neck. Every muscle in her body seemed to
contract at once, pulling her into a fetal position. The pain was
excruciating. Her legs folded beneath her; her head hit the curb with
a dull thunk. Pauley pulled her into his van, stuffed a sock in her
mouth, and wrapped duct tape around her face and head to hold it in
place. Her limbs refused to respond. She remembered Veronica's
description of feeling paralyzed.

"This isn't your show anymore," Pauley
said. He turned to Robin. "Shut the door."

The side door of the van slammed shut. In the sudden
darkness, Pauley used plastic tie straps to bind Munch's wrists and
feet. Her eyes focused and she saw that Robin was back in the front
seat. She wasn't restrained in any way. What had he done to her to
produce such submission?

Munch looked at Robin, feeling betrayed, confused,
scared. "If we could just get rid of you," Robin said,
reading the question in Munch's eyes, "we'd be all right."

Munch shook her head no, but Robin had already turned
away.

Pauley climbed back into the driver's seat and put
the van in gear. They made several turns and then climbed a hill.
From the sounds of traffic, Munch knew they were back on a busy
street. Probably on Sunset Boulevard. She wasn't sure. They could
just as easily be on Sepulveda. He made another series of turns. She
could do little to brace herself as the van swung first one way and
then the other. She prayed that his erratic driving would draw the
attention of some traffic cop. From her vantage point she could look
up and out the windshield. A green, tree-shaped air freshener dangled
from the rearview mirror. Also pine-scented, she realized. The
feeling returned to her arms and legs in the form of pain. They
passed beneath a canopy of mature trees. Munch knew they were headed
up one of the canyons, perhaps Mandeville. Robin had described such a
trip to her and St. John less than a week ago. Before this asshole
had climbed inside her head and broken her. The van veered once more
and the ride grew bumpy as if they were traversing an unpaved road.
Then they came to a stop.

"Let's go," Pauley said, wrenching the
shifter into park and killing the engine.

A moment later the doors opened and Pauley reached
for Munch, pulling her out and dumping her on the ground. He cut the
tie binding her ankles. She stood. They were in what would one day be
the front yard of a large house. There were signs of dated,
unfinished construction everywhere. Rusting rebar. Tarps for walls
nailed imperfectly to water-stained framing. Slate tiles in wooden
crates, stacks of timber, and bags of concrete that were partially
buried beneath a season's worth of fallen leaves. It looked as if the
owners had run out of money or somehow had been distracted from the
project.

At Pauley's prodding, Munch stumbled toward the front
door on legs that were now half asleep. He dragged her down a set of
stairs into a basement room, with Robin following of her own
volition. Munch concentrated on taking deep breaths in through her
nose. The sock in her mouth was working its way down her throat. It
took massive willpower not to gag and panic. The only way she was
going to win was by keeping her head. She needed a plan.

She'd learned a lot about sexual predators in the
last week. Much of the information had confirmed knowledge she had
already acquired through hard experience and stored on an unconscious
level. She'd learned how these animals feed. Their need for total
submission. Veronica had surrendered without much of a struggle and
lived to tell about it. Robin, also. Diane Bergman must have refused
to give in, and she had died. Now Munch had to decide if survival was
worth it. To let this predator have his way with her. And she knew,
for Asia's sake, it would have to be. As she thought, her fingers
found the nubs on the plastic tie strips binding her. These were
different from the Flex-Cuffs the police used. She ran her fingertips
along the ridges, finding and bending back the tab that locked the
strip closed.

She looked around her as she worked. The walls were
plastered with pictures of Veronica and Robin, mostly of Robin. The
Penthouse pictures were there, but there were other shots, too. Shots
of Robin fully clothed and performing mundane tasks. There were even
photographs of Munch and Robin together, taken at the gas station
while both of them were unaware. And then there were pictures of
Robin tied to the bed, writhing in terror and pain.

Munch pulled her hand free slowly trying not to move
her shoulders much in the process. Pauley glanced over just then. A
look passed over his face and Munch knew that she had already crossed
his line of tolerance. There were no choices left to make. She tore
the tape from her face and took a deep breath of air. He yelled and
rushed her. She stood her ground, fists clenched and teeth gritted.
She kicked at him, aiming for his crotch. The blow barely slowed him
down. This is not about genitalia, she remembered. He knocked into
her, but he didn't hit her with his fists. Instead, he grabbed her
shoulders and forced her to her knees. Her kneecaps slammed into the
concrete floor. She only registered a moment's pain. What she mostly
felt was anger. Anger and a need to hurt him back. Her hands flew to
his face. She went for his eyes, cursing her lack of fingernails. He
pulled away from her clawing, trying to keep her at arm's length. She
got a handful of his face. Somewhere it registered in her brain how
soft the skin near his eye was as it pulled away beneath her grasp.
She felt a wetness where the skin parted. Felt the warm soft curl of
flesh beneath her short nails. They were quiet throughout their
struggle, saving their breath for the business of survival. Her fists
bounced off his head and face ineffectually like something out of a
dream. Then he began hitting her, using his open palm. Holding her by
her hair. Stinging, slapping blows. He struck wherever he could, but
she kept her head down, offering him only the back of her skull where
the bone was the thickest. The need to hurt him was stronger than
ever. Hurt him as badly as possible. She spotted a putty knife in the
corner. He swung her down onto the floor on her back. She brought up
her knees. He used his forearm on her throat. She tried to tuck in
her chin, but he forced it back with his superior strength. She felt
the lack of breath, the panic in her chest that was heaving for every
breath already.

No
, she thought,
I
will not die for you.

Then she remembered what fed him. He needed his
victims conscious. He ripped her shirt from her. She closed her eyes
and went limp. He backed off her throat. She didn't wait, arching her
body in one tremendous buck upward. Both thumbs poised for his eyes.
He reeled back. She put her head down and butted his face. He
grunted. Her hand reached for the tool. As her fingers closed around
the handle, she knew she had only one chance. His male muscle mass
was going to win out. He pulled her down again. Her thumbs dug deep
into his biceps, reaching for his bones. She would leave her mark. As
many ways as possible. Pauley forced her arms to her sides and then
pinned them there with his knees. She kicked at the back of his head,
but he seemed oblivious to her efforts.

Behind her she heard a whirring sound. She craned her
head back, searching for the source of the noise. What she saw was
Robin sitting on the floor. A camouflage-painted box was wedged
between her legs. She cranked the handle on top, all the while
watching Pauley as if asking for his approval. Wires trailed from the
box. The ends were clipped to a lamp cord. As Robin cranked, the lamp
glowed brighter. Munch smelled something cooking—some kind of meat.
There was a sizzling sound and then the lamp went dark.

"Broke the connection," Pauley said. "Bring
me the cooker, Robin. Let's show her how it works."

"He's really very smart," Robin said. She
picked up a piece of two-by-four. A blackened tube of something hung
by one of the large nails protruding from the surface of the board.
Munch realized it was a charred hot dog.

"Robin, he's going to kill us," she said.

"Bring it here, Robin," Pauley repeated.
"That's a good girl"

Robin walked zombie-like across the floor to them.
She moved like some kind of wind-up doll, head wobbling ever so
slightly, mouth agape.

"Stop him," Munch screamed.

"I can't," Robin said.

"There's two of us now," Munch said.
"Together we can take him."

Robin hesitated. A look of confusion fluttered across
her face.

Pauley said, "Honey remember we talked about
this. It's you and me. We're the team."

"I'm sorry" Robin said again. She turned
the board so that the points of the two nails were facing down. She
raised the contraption above Munch's exposed chest. Munch shut her
eyes and twisted her face in anticipation. Then she heard a
wet-sounding thunk, and the weight on her arms lessened. She opened
her eyes. Pauley was weaving. One of his hands spread across his
face. Blood leaked out from between his fingers. Robin pulled the
board back and swung again. This time when she connected, something
went crack in Pauley's face. Munch pushed him off her and jumped to
her feet. The lamp had fallen off its table. She picked it up and
swung it down on Pauley's head with all her might. He slumped
unconscious to the floor.

"Let's not take any chances," Munch said
with a grin to Robin. Then the two women hit him again. He didn't
even groan. Munch rolled him onto his stomach. "Hand me that
tape," she said to Robin.