Unwanted Company - Barbara Seranella (24 page)

"
Bring my pink dress," Asia said.

"
Is that what you want to wear to school
tomorrow?"

"
I guess."

Munch ruffled the towel over Asia's damp hair, then
gathered the girl in her arms and hugged her. "I love you,"
she said. l

"
l love you, too," Asia mumbled back.

Munch slipped one of Caroline's T-shirts over the
little girl's head.

"You know, when I was your age I used to camp
out like this with my mom," Munch said.

"I know," Asia said, rolling her eyes and
slumping her small shoulders. "And you used to have to wash your
hair in the sinks at the laundromat." ,

"
Oh," Munch said. "I told you that
already."

"
Yesss," Asia said, her tone
long-suffering.

A car horn honked outside.
"That's probably Detective Cassiletti now,' Munch said. "Be
a good girl. Do what Mrs. St. John says. When I get back, we'll all
play a game." She turned to Caroline before walking out the
door. "When I get back, there's something I need to tell you
about"

* * *

He entered the hallway connecting the two bedrooms,
waiting for the moment when she would cross in front of him.

"You almost ready?" the Volkswagen man's
voice called from the open front door.

"Just about," he heard Ellen reply.

He pulled back, controlling his breathing with great
difficulty. Sweat dampened his neck and ran down his face. He could
taste the saltiness of it already on his lips. Not at all like blood.
He retraced his steps backward into the other bedroom. The
frustration of unrequited appetite felt like a claw in his chest. He
felt the squeeze of repression, so tangible that he had trouble
drawing a breath.

"You want some help?" Volkswagen man's
voice came from the living room, but judging from the street noise,
the front door was still wide-open. Were these people raised in a
barn? he wondered.

Ellen entered the hallway. "Nah," she said.
"I'm all set. Let me just lock the place back up, and we're out
of here." He waited until he heard the door being locked. Then
he watched from the bedroom as they loaded a large shopping bag into
the man's car. It was an easy matter to take down the license plate,
but this did little to ease his frustration. The next time we meet,
he promised her, it will be em my terms.

He still had an erection.
Perhaps he was just getting old, but achieving emission was becoming
more difficult all the time. He stopped in the kitchen to take one of
the child's pictures off of the refrigerator. He chose the one of her
in her pink ballet costume with the provocative scooped neck. Then he
returned to the child's room and sought the delicate underthings that
caressed her young flesh.

* * *

Munch let herself into her house. A house that now
felt dangerous. She saw a movement in the shadows and grabbed
Cassiletti's arm in reflex.

"You Want me to go in first?" he asked.

"No, I just got freaked out for a second,"
she said. "You know how you sometimes see things out of the
corner of your; eye, but then when you turn real quick there's
nothing there and you could have sworn there was an animal in the
room or something?" '

Cassiletti listened with a growing look of
consternation on his face. "No," he said.

"Hmm," she said. "Never mind then."
Maybe the phenomenon had more to do with all the psychedelics she'd
taken, in which case he wasn't going to get it. She pushed the door
open and immediately turned on the light. The house looked the same
as she had left it that morning. She walked over to the answering
machine and saw that she had a message. She pushed play and listened
to Ellen's fumbling apology. Tears of relief filled her eyes.

"
Sounds like she made it back to town," she
said to Cassiletti.

"
Do you have an extra tape you can put into the
machine?" he asked.

"Yeah, sure," she said. She made the
switch. He held out his hand, and she handed him the tape with
Ellen's message on it.

Munch gathered some clothes and went into Asia's
room. Cassiletti followed.

"
She was here," she told Cassiletti. "She
took her stuff."

Munch opened Asia's dresser drawer, the one the
little girl kept her socks and underpants in. This month's clothes
obsession included her set of new pink underwear. There were seven of
them, each had a different day of the week embroidered across the
front. Asia would be inconsolable if Munch returned without them. It
only took a moment to realize that Monday through Wednesday were
gone.

"
Huh," she said out loud.

"What?" Cassiletti asked, coming to her
side.

"Why would Ellen take Asia's underwear?"
Munch spotted several creamy white drops of something fluid on some
of Asia's socks. "What's 'this?" she asked, reaching toward
the stuii'.

"Hold it right there," Cassiletti said.
"Don't touch anything."

"
What is it?" she asked.

"
I'll know for sure in a minute," he said.
"C'mon."

She followed him out to his car, where he retrieved a
drop light with a purple bulb.

"
What's that for?" she asked.

"
Certain body fluids fluoresce under ultraviolet
light," he said. They returned to Asia's room. Cassiletti
plugged his light in and turned it on, instructing Munch to turn off
the overhead lights. When he shined the black light into Asia's
drawer, a linear spray pattern of thumbtack-sized spots glowed.

"
What kind of body fluids specifically? she
asked, not wanting to believe what she already thought.

"
Sperm," he said.

"
Oh, God," Munch said. "What kind of a
sick fuck . . . ?"

Her voice trailed off. She was at a loss for words to
adequately describe the murderous rage filling her. She instinctively
began collecting sharp and heavy objects, going through the motions
of what she would have done to this guy if she had caught him in the
act. First she would crush his balls, then she'd smash his face.

Cassiletti stood in the hallway, watching her pace
and swear. Hot saliva filled her mouth. She turned into the bath
room, spit into the sink, then ran the cold tap water into a
washcloth and held it to her burning face and neck.

"I'm going to use the phone," Cassiletti
called to her.

"Go ahead," she said. She heard him go into
the living room. She put down the washcloth and stared at her red
eyes in the medicine cabinet mirror. Cassiletti was using the phone
in the dining room. She heard him ask to speak to Detective St. John.
His voice sounded agitated as he described what they'd found. Hearing
it all recounted got her upset all over again. She strode into her
front room and wrenched the phone from Cassiletti's hand.

"
Can you believe this motherfucker?" she
asked.

"
Go back to Digger's house," Mace said.
"I'll meet you there. In fact, I'll spend the night with you
guys."

"
You'll get no argument from me," Munch
said. She looked at her right hand and saw that she was clutching a
claw hammer. That is weird, she thought. I don't even remember
picking it up.
 

CHAPTER 20

At eight o'clock Monday morning, Munch called Ellen's
mom.

"
Hi, Mrs. Summers," she said, trying to
sound upbeat. "It's Munch."

"What time is it?"

"I'm sorry to be calling so early, but I really
need to find Ellen. Have you heard from her?"

"
Yeah, she called me last night." Lila Mae
paused to yawn.

"
First she wants me to come get her and then
before Dwayne can get his shirt on, she says not to bother. That girl
can never make up her mind. That's her problem."

"Did she say where she was?"

"
We didn't get that far."

"You think she went back to Venice?" Munch
asked.

"I hope not, but she always seems to end up
there," Lila Mae said. "I heard you were doing real good."

"Yes, ma'am. I have a lot to be grateful for."

"Well, I wish you'd talk some sense into that
daughter of mine. She's been nothing but trouble."

"If she calls again, tell her I'm not mad, that
I need to talk to her. She can leave me a message at my work. But
Mrs. Summers? Tell her not to go to my house. It isn't safe."

"What the hell are you two up to?" Lila Mae
asked.

"
Please, just give her the message."

"Notthing but
trouble," Lila Mae said as she hung up.

* * *

'
°Where were you last night?" Raleigh asked
Victor.

"
I got hungry? Victor said, lathering his toast
with butter and strawberry jam. "Where were you?"

"
Never mind about me. You need to keep a low
profile until we get this deal wrapped up. The sooner you deliver the
sooner you can get on with your new life."

"I have been thinking about that," Victor
said, stuffing another strip of bacon into his mouth. "I will be
needing a car. A Cadillac Eldorado?"

Raleigh felt the coffee in his throat threaten to
reverse direction. "Any particular color?" A

"
Nothing flashy," Victor said. "Leather
upholstery This is not negotiable."

"
My people are getting antsy." Raleigh
leaned across the table, lowering his voice to a conspiratorial
whisper. "One of our Eastern European analysts is saying that
you're full of shit. That you have no product."

Victor raised his fork and knife in agitation. "Who
is this analyst? Some Hungarian asshole?"

"
You know I can't reveal that."

"This other man is full of shit."

"
Make me a believer,
Victor," Raleigh said. "Bring me a sample, so I can get my
people to relax. And don't forget, you owe me."

* **

The report from Toxicology was waiting for Mace on
his desk when he got to Parker Center. A long list of chemicals was
printed under the heading: Blood Analysis. Three items jumped out at
him: cocaine, chloral hydrate, alcohol. There was also a note for him
to call Dr. Sugarman, the chief medical examiner for the city of Los
Angeles.

Mace decided to go visit in person and brought along
the photographs from the Tijuana morgue. When he got to the coroner's
office, he found Sugarman bent over his cluttered desk. The coroner
looked up when Mace knocked on the already-open door.

"
You look like shit," Sugarman said.

"
Compared to what?" Mace asked, looking
down the hall. Sugarman laughed.

"
You got something for me on the Gower victims?"
Mace prompted.

"
Oh, yes, of course. I think I've got your
murder weapon identified," Sugarman said. "Fortunately,
there were enough bone strikes to give us length." Sugarman
picked up a ruler and stared at it. Seconds ticked by.

"
Any time you're ready, Doc."

Sugarman set down the ruler and gave his head a
little shake. "Sorry, still a little early for me." He took
a sip of coffee, then continued, "The weapon, more of a dagger
than a knife, is four inches long. The blade is round and pointed at
the end, much like an ice pick. The handle is what really gave it
away. The bruises were very intriguing, as you know."

Sugarman dug through his papers until he found an
enlarged photograph of one of the wounds. He placed it on the top of
his stack. "The small rectangle of the hilt, very unique. Then
the two indentations found in the flesh of wounds when the bone
didn't interfere with the plunge of the blade." He pointed to
the red oblong bruises next to the punctures.

"
Here and here. It wasn't until I examined the
bone wounds. . ." His voice trailed off as he consulted his
notes.

"
Ah, yes. The punctures in hard tissue were four
and five millimeters deep, indicating not only a tremendous force of
thrust, but also some sort of mechanism that enabled the user to pull
the point from the bone and strike again. I finally realized what we
were dealing with."

"
Sounds like some sort of custom-made job,"
Mace said.

"
Yes, they were," Sugarman said. "For
British commandos operating in North Africa and the Middle East
during World War II. Three-finger thrust dagger. Here, I have a
picture of
one."

Sugarman pushed aside more papers until he uncovered
a book, which he opened. The page he had marked was a glossy color
plate of all sprts of odd knives. In addition to the thrust dagger,
there were thumb blades no bigger than picks, single-edged short
swords with brass knuckle grips, even a thin knife that came
concealed in specially constructed shoes.

"
What is this stuff?" Mace asked. He folded
the book closed and read the cover:
The
History of Espinage
.