No offence Intended - Barbara Seranella (23 page)

"What time did Ms. Mancini leave work last
Friday?" Blackstone asked.

"I don't know how much I should be saying about
all this. Maybe we should get a lawyer involved."

"You're the one who said she had nothing to
hide, sir.

"How do I know if you're even really a cop?"

"If it'll make you feel better, you can call me
right back. I'm at the crime lab now." He gave Jack the number
and the extension, then hung up and waited for the man to call him
back. When the phone rang two minutes later, he picked it up before
it had completed its first ring.

"She left at three-fifteen," Jack said. "
remember because she had a four o'clock appointment with her
probation officer in Santa Monica."

"Do you have a phone number and address for Ms.
Mancini?"

"Why do you need that?"

"I'd like to talk to her, sir."

"Just a minute," Jack said. Blackstone
heard what sounded like a filing cabinet opening. Jack read off an
address and phone number in Reseda. "Does this mean she isn't in
jail?"

"Why would she be in jail?"

"That's what I don't understand either, but they
took her away yesterday and she hasn't called. I tried to find out
what was going on, but I just got the runaround."

Blackstone thanked Jack for his help and then hung
up. The next number he dialed was Munch Mancini's home number. When
her machine answered, he hung up. He sat back and thought a moment,
then called the station. The operator had over twenty messages for
him.

"Everybody sends Alex their prayers," she
said.

"Anything else?" he asked.

"Some woman in custody in Santa Monica wants to
speak to you. She said she needs to talk to you and that she never
worked at a print shop."

"What's the name?" he asked, knowing the
answer before the operator spoke.

"Munch Mancini."

"What's she in custody for?"

"I don't know. You want me to call over there
and find out?"

"No. I'll handle it. Thanks."
 

21

BLACKSTONE WAITED in the small visiting room for
Munch Mancini. She arrived accompanied by a guard and uncuffed. She
didn't refuse the hand he offered. They both sat in scarred wooden
chairs.

"How's your partner doing?" she asked.

"What do you know about that?"

"Just what I saw on TV. Is he going to be all
right?"

"We're not sure yet."

"I'm sorry He looked like a nice guy"

"He still is."

"Right."

"What's your involvement with all this?"
Blackstone asked.

"It's a long story" she said.

Blackstone folded his hands in front of him.

"Why don't you start at the beginning?"

Where did this story begin? she wondered.

Would he be interested in hearing about her
convoluted relationships? Or did the story begin eight months ago
when she was reborn sober and thrown wide-eyed into a new world with
a whole new set of rules? No, she decided, none of that would matter
to him. He was a cop. She took a deep breath and began. "Last
Friday my friend John Garillo came to visit me at work. Hours later,
he was dead."

"Why didn't you come forth earlier?"

"I didn't have anything to offer," she
said.

"But now that you're in custody you've suddenly
remembered something that will help with the investigation?

"It's not like that." She walked to the
window.

"I've always wanted Sleaze's killer to be
caught."

"Sleaze?" Blackstone asked. He pulled out
his notebook.

"That's what we called him. Sleaze John."
She looked out the window, wishing she was dealing with the other
cop, the one who was shot.

"And you contacted me because . . . ?"

"You need my help," she said.

"And what do you need?" he asked.

"Let's just say I've buried enough friends for
one week."

"I'm listening."

"The way I see it," she said, "a lot
of people have gotten hurt lately—your partner for one." The
last two days had given her a lot of time to think. She was pretty
sure she had reconstructed the events that led to Sleaze's murder—not
to mention the killings in Venice, which also had to tie in somehow.
She had reached one inescapable conclusion. The FBI knew where the
guns were and had delayed their arrests. They were as much to blame
as anyone else, and they were supposed to be the good guys. She took
a breath for courage and then laid it out for Blackstone. "According
to some information that I fell into, these shootings could have been
avoided."

"What kind of information?

"Pictures, an interoffice memo."

"Whose interoffice memo?"

"The FBI. Get me out of here and I'll show them
to you. Then we'll Figure out how we'll handle it from there."

"Let's take this one step at a time."

"Fine," she said. "Get me out of
here."

In the hallway outside of Courtroom 212, Blackstone
caught up with Chris Hoag. Chris had been a DA for as long as
Blackstone had been on the force.

"Hey Jigsaw," Hoag said. "You
testifying today?"

"No, I'm working on a case and I need a favor."

"Search warrant?"

"Court order to release a witness from custody.
She's upstairs."

"How soon you need it?"

"How soon can you do it?"

Hoag grabbed his arm and led him toward the elevator.
"What's she in custody for?"

"Probation violation, but it's bullshit."

"Who's her POP"

"Olivia Scott," Blackstone said.

Hoag shook his head. "That bitch is going to get
the city sued one day you mark my words."

Hoag's secretary typed up the court order. Hoag
walked it past the judge and collected the necessary signatures and
stamps. The custody sergeant had Munch sign for her property It took
him a while to locate the manila folder holding her keys, wallet, and
money. By four o'clock, Munch was a free woman.

"Where to now?" Blackstone asked.

"Inglewood. We need to have a little chat with
Lisa Slokum."

Traffic was congested on the Coast Highway and,
according to the traffic report on the radio, was bumper to bumper
all the way to the airport. Blackstone requisitioned an unmarked unit
that was equipped with a magnet-mounted red strobe and siren. He used
both to part the traffic.

Munch clutched the handholds mounted on the dash as
they swerved in and out of the busy lanes. She told him how Claire
Donavon had questioned her and then jailed her.

"What I'm not sure of," Munch said as they
got off the freeway in Inglewood, "is how she knew who I was."

"What do you think?" Blackstone asked.

"I think someone with a big mouth has got a lot
at stake and doesn't care who gets hurt."

When they got to Lisa Slokum's house, the front door
was open, as was the gate. A white Buick Riviera was parked in front.

Munch and Blackstone got out of his car and walked up
the front path together.

A thin, well-dressed white man who looked to be in
his sixties exited the house. He stood on the front porch shaking his
head. As Munch and Blackstone approached, the man regarded them with
interest.

"I'm not quite ready to show the place yet,"
he said. "My last tenant left it in quite a mess."

"She moved?" Munch asked. "Where?"

"Even if I knew, I couldn't tell you," he
said.

Blackstone flashed his badge. The landlord wasn't
impressed.

"She gave me notice two weeks ago," he
said. " didn't ask any questions. It's weird, though. She left
all her furniture, most of their clothes, too, it looks like."

"Can I look?" Munch asked.

The man shrugged. "Suit yourself."

She went to the little girls' room first. It was hard
to tell because of the overall disorder, but it did seem as if some
things were missing. She looked for Jill's special rock, but it was
gone. She opened the closet. Clothes she remembered washing no longer
hung there. The box of dress-up accessories had also been removed.

They were all gone.

She walked back into the front room. Her thoughts
scrambled and raced, making it difficult to concentrate. She rubbed
at her chest, trying to ease the weight on her heart.

Please, God. Please, God. Please let her be all
right.

Tears of frustration filled her eyes. She stumbled
over something. Asia's rattle. Munch picked it up and traced the
word's DADDY'S GIRL.

They walked out into the front yard. Blackstone was
saying something about APBs and DMV records.

"I'll check with the neighbors," he said.
"Maybe someone knows something"

"No," she said, gripping his arm. "Let's
not waste time. Take me to my work. I stashed those papers I was
telling you about in my car."

When they got to Happy Jack's, the shop was closed.
The lot was unchained, but it didn't matter. Her car was gone. For
the second time in as many hours, she felt the sickening sensation
that she had been ripped off and there was nothing she could do about
it. She turned to Blackstone.

"The feds must have towed it. Can you get in
their impound lot?"

Blackstone tucked in his shirt and hitched his pants.
Munch had the feeling that he was stalling.

"Not easily" he said. 'Was this all you
had?"

"No," she said. "Take me to my place.
I have some numbers I can call." She'd also been wearing the
same dirty uniform since yesterday and wanted to change.

"Let's go," he said.

On the drive to her apartment, she told him
everything she could remember about what she'd seen on the missing
papers. She described the lists and the frequency of Tux's name, the
pictures of James talking to the man in the suit—how James had been
with Sleaze when he visited her at her work. Blackstone was
particularly interested in the FBI memo and its exact wording.

It was almost seven when they got to her apartment.
She unlocked the front door, swung it open, and flicked on the light.

"Nice place," he said.

She kicked off her greasy work shoes before she
crossed her threshold. "You sound surprised."

"No, not at all," he lied.

She let it go.

"Who are you going to call?" he asked.

"A mutual friend." Munch dialed the number
of the Snakepit. \/Vhen the bartender answered, she asked for Deb.
Deb answered the phone shouting. Munch pulled the phone away from her
ear.

"You comin' up or what?" Deb asked.

"I'm looking for Lisa," Munch said.

"Whatcha want with that sweathog?"

Munch lowered her voice. "She ripped me off."

Blackstone raised a questioning eyebrow. Munch turned
her back on him.

'You should know better than to trust that cunt,"
' Deb said. "She's only out for herself."

"I'm finding that out."

"I feel sorry for the kids," Deb said.
"Fucking meal tickets, that's all they are to that bitch."

"And now the baby" Munch prompted.

"Yeah, right. And first chance she gets, she
dumps the kid off with her ol' man."

"Her ol' man?" Munch asked.

"James."

Munch pinched the bridge of her nose between her
thumb and forefinger. "Asia is with James?"

"Yeah, he's on his way up here."

"When's he due?"

"Tomorrow sometime. He's driving shotgun with
Tux."

She covered the mouthpiece and turned to Blackstone.
"We need to go to Oregon."

He started to say something, but she silenced him
with a finger. To Deb she said, "You gonna be hanging out for a
while?"

"I'll be here," Deb said.

Munch hung up and then turned to Blackstone.

"We?" he asked.

"You wouldn't get very far without me," she
said. "All right," he said.

"That was easy "

"We both want the same thing, right?" he
said.

"Yeah," she said, feeling guilty The
catching of Sleaze's killer had slipped on her list of priorities. As
if sensing she was holding back on him, Blackstone asked, "What
did Lisa take from you?"

"Huh?"

"You said Lisa ripped you off."

"Yeah, well, it's just kind of a figure of
speech, you know? It don't mean nothing." She noticed herself
slipping back into street vernacular "She owes me, is all I'm
saying."