Unpaid Dues (23 page)

"You don't read the papers?"

"
No." He paused then, and looked at her
with deeper understanding. "I didn't have anything to do with
it. I haven't seen Jane in years. Whose kid?"

"What?"

"You said you were helping someone's kid from
the old days. Anyone I know?"

"
Deb's kid. Boogie."

"The nig- Uh, the little black kid?"

"Not so little anymore."

"That's real nice of you to be helping him out
and all."

She considered telling him that the cops were looking
for him and had some questions, but then he would want to know how
she knew what the cops wanted or what they knew.

"Hey, Munch, the past is past, right?"

"
You'll have to figure that out for yourself."

"
Nothing to figure out," he said. "Unless
someone after all this time gets in a confessing mood."

"
Who would that be?"

"
Alls I'm saying is a person worried about their
soul only need tell the parts about themselves."

"
I believe that's how it works unless it looks
like someone else is going to get hurt."

"As long as we understand each other."

More than you know.

The break was over. Munch walked over to where Danny
T. was refilling his coffee. She picked up an empty cup and got in
line behind him. "Can I talk to you a minute? Outside?"

She went out to the parking lot. A moment later Danny
emerged with a quizzical expression on his face. "What's up?"

"There's a curfew at your house, right?"

"
Eleven o'clock. Unless a resident is at a
meeting with his sponsor or on an approved pass."

"Is that for everyone?"

"
Well, they're only eligible for passes after
the first thirty days."

"
That's what I thought."

"What's this about?"

"
I thought I might have seen that guy Cyrill out
late the weekend before last, but no way was that possible."

"
No, especially not that weekend. The whole
house was locked down. Nobody went anywhere."

Right, Munch thought, and
a life-long con would never dream of breaking curfew.

* * *

Rico Chacón finally called St. John on Tuesday
morning.

"Nice of you to get back with me," St. John
said.

"Oh yeah and guess what?" Chacón said.
"You weren't the only person on my list."

"
I've heard you have friends all over."

"What did you want?"

"
You get a chance in your busy schedule to read
the document I left?"

"Stacy Lansford's statement? I saw it."

"I've got an appointment with Donzetta Williams.
I thought you might want to be there when I show her some six-packs."

"Yeah, all right. She still working at B&B?"

"How long ago did you interview her?"

"
Last month. I'll meet you there. Is two good?"

St. John arrived at the hardware store just as Chacón
pulled up. He checked his watch. It was only half past one.

They parked three spaces apart, each man pulled on
his coat, aware of the other but not exchanging greetings. St. John
carried a manila envelope. Chac6n's arms swung free.

They approached the store together but entered
through separate turnstiles.

Donzetta was sorting individually packaged drill bits
and hanging them on hooks near the counter. She smiled at the two
cops, revealing a wide gap between her teeth.

"We've got to stop meeting like this," she
said.

St. John smiled. "How you doin' today?"

"
Like Grandmama always says, I woke up."

Chacón smiled but said nothing.

"I hate to keep bothering you at work,
Donzetta," St. John said.

"
I'm just not sure how much help I can be after
all this time. " She turned to Chacón as she spoke and smiled
prettily: "But I'll do my best."

Everybody was smiling. It was starting to hurt. St.
John opened his packet of paperwork and extracted a Traffic Collision
report form. "When we talked before, you said you got a pretty
good look at the three people you saw leaving the apartment building
on Vernon. Where were you standing?"

"I was across the street, in my yard, waiting on
the mailman?

The TC form had a basic diagram of parallel and
perpendicular lines depicting streets and intersections. He asked her
to fill in the appropriate street names and landmarks. She wrote in
Lincoln Boulevard, Vernon Avenue, and Main Street. Then she drew a
square on one side of Vernon and labeled it her house, and a larger
rectangle across the street that she identified as the apartment
building where the three murder victims were found.

"And where was the car they drove away in?"
St. John asked.

Donzetta drew in the car and showed it pointing
westbound.

"So the Mexican guy where was he?" St. John
asked.

"He came out first and got in the backseat. Then
the woman with the limp and the big guy with the red hair came out.
He was helping her walk, like, holding her by the arm."

"And then she got in the car?"

"Yeah, into the back with the other guy"

"
And then the redhead came around to the front
to the driver's side?"

Donzetta scrunched her nose and looked skyward. "No,
he got in the passenger side."

"
So who drove?" St. John asked.

Donzetta looked at Chacón before answering. "The
other girl was driving. I didn't see much of her at all."

So there were four of them. St. John showed her the
pictures he had assembled.

Donzetta picked out Jane Ferrar from the first set
and Cyrill "Thor" McCarthy from the second. St. John
thanked her for her help and walked back out to the parking lot with
Chacón following.

St. John opened his car door and threw his paper-work
on the front seat. "So how much has Munch told you'?"

"About what?"

"
Jane Ferrar."

"
She hasn't said a thing to me."

"
She didn't tell you I had come to see her about
the murder?"

"Which murder?"

St. John held his mouth open in exaggerated shock.

"
Jane Ferrar, Munch's old running partner. Her
body was found in the storm drain near Riviera last week."

"
I know of the case," Rico said carefully
"but Munch didn't say anything to me about it."

"I guess it's not like you to tell her
everything."

"
That's none of your business."

"Is that right?" St. John slammed his door
shut and planted himself in Chac6n's path. "I'm making it my
business. She's a friend, a good friend, and I don't like seeing her
dicked around."

Rico raised his palm chest-high. It was a cop
interrogation tool (or trick, depending on your perspective). Human
nature was to stop talking when a hand was lifted thus.

"Don't pull that shit on me," St. John
said.

"You don't know everything. I'm telling you for
your own good to just leave it alone."

They were chest to chest now. Chacón had St. John by
six inches and fifteen years, but St. John didn't give a fuck. Chacón
might kick his ass, and that was in no way a given, but St. John
could hurt him too. Maybe he'd get lucky with a punch or a knee in
the balls before Mr. Readycock saw it coming.

"
The last thing I want to do is hurt her,"
Chacón said.

St. John breathed hard through his nose, feeling his
heart go boom, boom, boom. He got pissed off all over again. "I'm
not going to get myself upset over this. You heard what I said. You
fuck with her and you fuck with me."

"Fair enough. Now, are we going to box or are we
going to work?"

Chacón seemed happy to follow whatever lead St. John
cared to take, and St. John felt a grudging respect for the guy He
wasn't a sissy anyway

"All right, here's the deal. I'm going to help
you with your case and you're going to help me with mine." St.
John held up four fingers. "We got four assholes at the scene of
a murder." He folded two fingers. "Two of them are ID'd as
Cyrill McCarthy and my victim, Jane Ferrar." He added a finger.
"You've got three dead dope dealers with V's carved in their
chests. I'm putting my victim at your scene. Jane Ferrar suffered
from polio as a child. Her right foot is a size four. We've got small
bloody footprints in the carpet, a V carved in her chest, and a
well-documented history with Cyrill 'Thor' McCarthy"

"And we've got Stacy Lansford's letter,"
Rico said, "about McCarthy's involvement in a multiple murder
that substantiates years of rumors from other sources."

"I want the second guy and the driver." St.
John opened his car door and started to lower himself into the
driver's seat. "I'm going back over old FI cards for known
associates and see what I come up with."

Chacón held St. John's door open. His sunglasses
were dark in the bright afternoon sun. He held his mouth as if he
were in pain. "You're going to find Munch's name. "

"
I know that. I'm interested in the second man."

"
So was I." Rico produced a photograph of a
laughing Hispanic man. The guy was holding a brown quart bottle of
Budweiser in one hand and flashing the peace symbol with the other.
His black goatee was trimmed so that it formed a point beneath his
chin. All that was missing were the horns, tail, and red suit. St.
John stared at the picture, a sick, bleak feeling beginning deep in
his stomach. "Isn't this Asia's dad?"

Rico nodded. "Jonathan Garillo aka Sleaze John."

"
Oh boy" St. John said. He rubbed a hand
over his mouth and exhaled loudly through his nose.

Chacón returned the photograph to his pocket. For a
long moment, neither man spoke.

St. John shook his head as if to negate the words he
spoke next. "One of us needs to ask her."

Rico raised his sunglasses and stared into St. J0hn's
eyes.

"
What?" St. John squinted back. "You
think it should be you?"

"
There is a third option."

"
You want to bury it? Is that what you're
saying?"

"
I didn't say anything and you don't have to do
anything. You've got your own case. But ask yourself, how is justice
best served here?"

"
You think that's our choice?" St. John
asked.

"
Who better?"
 

Chapter 20

Munch took a break midmorning, telling Lou t she had
some personal business, and went to the law office of Jim McManis.
McManis was an attorney who specialized in criminal law, and Munch
had hooked him up with her crazy friend Ellen, who had recently
needed his help.

He ushered her into his private office and took a
seat behind his big desk. She sat opposite him. A big picture window
offered a view of West Los Angeles all the way to the ocean. She
watched a plane fly north and wondered how long it took to get a
passport. McManis asked her if she wanted coffee, but she declined.
These guys charged by the minute. "I need to ask you something,
about a point of law."

"
All right." He moved aside a file on his
desk, clasped his hands in front of him, and gave her his full
attention.

"
Say there was a murder committed, a dope
rip-off gone wrong, and the dope dealers were killed."

"More than one?"

"
Yeah."

"Definitely a one eighty-seven. First-degree
murder and probably special circumstances because the murder was
committed in the commission of a robbery and there were multiple
victims. So the DA could ask for the death penalty Wait a minute and
I'll look it up."

Munch waited while he grabbed a book off the shelf
behind him. Her heart was beating so hard that it hurt her throat.
She pressed a hand against her chest and took deep breaths.

"Who's this for?" McManis asked. "I
can ask the prosecutor in the case."

"
There is no prosecutor."

"Charges haven't been filed?"

"No. I don't want to get too specific. Don't ask
me to name names."

"I won't."

"
It's for a friend of a friend. And I don't know
the last name. And this friend wasn't one of the killers, they were
in the car, waiting outside." Shut up now.

"
Killers plural?"

Munch wished she had never come. "Yeah."

"
Was the friend the driver?"

She hesitated for a second, then answered reluctantly
"Yeah, the friend was the driver."

"
Okay here it is." He adjusted his
bifocals.

"'Anyone with knowledge of unlawful purpose is
considered equally culpable.' So your driver of the getaway car is
responsible for the full crime. It goes to natural and probable
consequence of the crime. Is murder a natural and probable
consequence of armed robbery? Certainly Did the driver know the perps
were armed?"