Unpaid Dues

by Barbara Seranella

"That's what they talked about. In fact, she already sent him a ticket. Bless her heart. It's comin' in the mail."

  "To my house?" Munch asked.

  "I expect so. That's where she thought he would be."

  "I hope he wasn't planning on going over there today."

  "I know the boy's anxious to see his mama. He got him his passport and everythin'."

  "If you hear from him again, please tell him to stay away from my house. The police are on their way there now. "

  "Oh Lord, what'd you do?"

  "They're not after me. Some guy broke into my house. A really bad guy."

  "A white man?"

  "Yeah."

  "The police know that? They know they looking for a white man?"

  "They know." Some of them know, she thought. "I'll go over there and make sure."

  "You do that. You go there right now. I don't want my boy to be no accident."

  "I'll call you later. "

  Munch locked her toolbox.

  "What's going on?" Lou asked, coming up behind her.

  "I'm going home. Thor's there now and Nathan might be on the way."

  "I'm coming with you."

  She saw he was resolute and she didn't feel in a position to be turning down any help.

  * * *

  St. John deployed patrolmen throughout the neighborhood. He distributed pictures of Cyrill McCarthy and the warning that the man was armed and dangerous. As they were setting up, a white Honda Civic pulled in front of Munch's house. St. John ran the plates. Santa Monica was a long way from Sun Valley. If McCarthy was mobile, then he probably had wheels. He only had time to steal or borrow. The Honda had not been reported stolen. It was registered to one Nathan Franklin.

  "Nathan Franklin," he said to Cassiletti. "Ring any bells for you?"

  "No, but somebody's getting out," Cassiletti said, seeing a light-skinned black teenager exit the Honda and approach Munch's door.

  "She said something about a kid named Nathan," St. John remembered. "This must be him."

  "He has to know she's at work."

  They watched Nathan reach into the porch light and extract a key He was calm, acting as if he belonged there.

  "Shit," St. John said, seeing Nathan slip the key into the lock. The kid's back was to them. St. John got on his radio and alerted the backup teams that an unidentified individual who was not their suspect was entering the premises. St. John got out of his car and approached the house, his eyes on the front windows, watching for movement in the blinds. "Hold on there, partner," he said.

  Nathan jumped at the sound of St. John's voice. St. John had his badge out. "Step away from the door."

  "I live here," Nathan said, his voice cracking.

  "I know. I just need you to back up a few steps."

  The front door crashed open and a wild-eyed Cyrill McCarthy stood there. Still-wet blood glistened on his shirtfront.

  Cassiletti got on his megaphone. "Hands up, McCarthy Do it now!" Gone were his usual nervous affectations. Nathan feinted quickly jabbing a fist into McCarthy's solar plexus. McCarthy doubled over and then lunged or fell into Nathan, sending them both rolling backward down the concrete step and onto the lawn. Sirens whooped loudly over the still morning.

  St. John pulled his revolver and yelled, "Halt, motherfucker."

  McCarthy was big, but the kid was young and strong and uninjured. They wrestled on the grass, grunting in mortal combat. Nathan wrapped his hands around McCarthy's neck and pressed his thumbs into the man's Adam's apple. McCarthy flailed at the teenager's face, connecting with the kid's nose and mouth until blood flowed. St. John holstered his gim and grabbed Nathan from behind. Cassiletti joined them, grabbing at shirt backs and hair. Two other uniformed cops drew their batons. Nathan took a crack to the head.

  "No, not him," a woman's voice screamed. "Get the white guy."

  St. John looked over and saw it was Munch. Lou held her back as she screamed, "Stop it, you're hurting him. "

  Nathan's eyes rolled back as he loosened his grip on McCarthy's throat. Tears streamed down his face, mingling with the blood. St. John grabbed the kid in a bear hug and rolled with him, carrying him away from the fighting, away from danger.

  McCarthy was exposed now and the remaining cops descended on him with force. Moments later, McCarthy was handcuffed and his ankles bound with plastic restraints.

  "Somebody help me get this scumbag to the car," Cassiletti said.

  McCarthy moaned as he was dragged.

  St. John loosened his hold on Nathan. They were both panting. "You okay?" he asked the kid. Nathan put a hand to the side of his head and then looked at it. "I'm bleeding,"

  "We'll get you to a doctor. Just sit tight for a minute."

  St. John struggled to his feet, checking for pains in his chest, but as far as he could tell he was only winded.

  "Sergeant?" one of the uniforms said. "You better look at this."

  The uniform was pointing to the glistening stream of blood trailing McCarthy's body

  "Hod up," St. John told Cassiletti.

  McCarthy coughed, spraying blood, lots of blood. St. John lifted McCarthy's shirt. McCarthy's chest was crushed. A circular gash between his nipples exposed ribs. He coughed again, spewing another pint of blood. "Shit, call an ambulance."

  He pressed a hand to the open wound. McCarthy's flesh was cold already St. J0hn didn't think Stacy Lansford was going to need to testify after all. He'd let Cassiletti deliver the news.

  Munch stared at him. He shook his head to indicate that it was over.

  Nathan sat on the edge of the lawn, his expression relaxed. One arm looped around his knee, his other hand cupped his head wound. St. John felt a twinge of recognition, but was distracted from the thought with the arrival of the paramedics. He motioned for the cops guarding the perimeter to let Munch pass. "It's okay" he told them. "She's with us."

  Chapter 27

  Thor was taken to the hospital. His prognosis was not good. Something had ruptured deep in his body The medics had had trouble starting an IV partly because of his almost nonexistent pulse, and partly because of the excessive scarring over his most commonly used arm veins.

  At the house, a second ambulance arrived.

  "Check out the kid," St. John told them.

  Nathan sat on the hood of his Honda. The medic had Nathan track his finger and asked him if he was dizzy

  "I'm fine," Nathan said, holding an ice pack to the side of his head.

  "Does he have a concussi0n?" Munch asked.

  "I don't think so. But just to be safe you should watch him for the next twelve hours. Make sure he wakes up easily."

  "I'll go over to my grandma's," Nathan said. "She'll take care of me."

  "You can't drive," Munch said. "It' s not safe."

  Nathan eyed the police around him. "I just came here to check the mail."

  "Yeah, and I warned you not to. Next time maybe you'll listen to me," Munch said. "Stay here a minute." Several of her neighbors had gathered on the sidewalk. They were going to have to wait for their explanations.

  Munch was allowed into her house. Lou helped her repair the damage to her doorjamb enough so that the lock would hold. Accompanied by St. John, she did a walk-through. There was some blood in the bathroom where Thor had apparently dressed his wounds. She wasn't allowed to clean it up until the criminalists processed the scene. They did allow her to retrieve her mail. She was happily surprised for Nathan's sake to find a thick envelope addressed to him with a European postmark. She brought it out to him, glad to see that Deb had come through on at least one of her promises.

  "The police will take you to your grandma's."

  "I can't do that," he said. "What are her neighbors going to think?"

  "Oh for crying out loud," she said, wishing he wouldn't fight her on everything. "I'll get Lou to take you over there and I'll call you later."

  "All right," he said, his voice sounding more adult than it had that morning. She hugged him until he pulled away unco
mfortable with her show of affection, his feet pointing away from her. She hoped Asia would never go through this stage, but it was probably inevitable.

  Rico had arrived and joined the ring of cops on her driveway He was exchanging words with Mace St. John. She wished she didn't have to see him anymore but knew that it couldn't be avoided. At least until all the shouting died down and the DA declared the case closed.

  "We all need to go to the station," St. John said.

  "We're going to need Munch's full statement. I'm sorry but it' s better to do it while all the events are still fresh."

  "I'm practically still bleeding," she said, directing her venom at the lover who'd ripped her heart out. Rico stared at his feet.

  "You can ride with us," St. John said.

  "You want me to follow?" Lou asked, joining them in time to hear this.

  "No." Munch put a hand on his arm and squeezed it gently trying to convey to him that he was still connected but needed elsewhere. "I was hoping you would take Nathan home to his grandmother's. He seems pretty anxious to get out of here."

  "Can't say that I blame him."

  She glanced at the fresh blood on the sidewalk and wondered if the cops would hose it down or if that was something she would have to do later. "And then you should get back to work. Someone has to mind the store."

  Lou grimaced.

  "I'll be fine," she told him. "One of these guys will bring me back."

  Lou gestured for Nathan to get in his car. She waved as they drove away watching the car until it turned the corner.

  Cassiletti touched her elbow. "You want to sit in front?"

  "No, I'm okay in the back. Let's just get this over with."

  Cassiletti drove. St. John rode shotgun. Munch sat in the center of the backseat so she could be part of their conversation. Cassiletti was going on about some knot.

  "It's called a timber hitch," he said. "Lumberjacks use it when they need to drag logs."

  "So you think he dragged the, uh, package before he dumped it?" St. John asked.

  Munch leaned forward. She was pretty sure "package" was a euphemism for something far more sinister.

  "Most likely it was a knot he was familiar with and just tied it out of habit," Cassiletti said. "Even with the block, the, uh, package wasn't that heavy not for a big guy like him."

  "Something to think about," St. John said.

  Munch slumped back in the seat, crossing her arms over her chest in frustration.

  "What?" St. John asked.

  "You need to brush up on your code work," Munch said. "Package would be the body right? Jane's body? The killer used a rope to tie something to her before he dumped her body I'm thinking that would be the block. The block came from Big Mike's construction site. The knot was unusual and could be important. How am I doing so far?"

  St. John grinned. "Pretty good."

  "Elementary my dear Holmes."

  "By the way" Cassiletti added, "we didn't get a match on the rope from the samplings we took at the construction site."

  "We probably have enough without it," St. John said, but he didn't look happy

  "I hate loose ends too," Munch said.

  "Chac6n is going to be at the station," St. John said. "He'll need to be there when the DA debriefs you."

  "Whatever we need to do to end this thing."

  "We're almost there."

  * * *

  It took hours to go through her statement. She described one more time the events surrounding the murders of the three suspected drug dealers in 1975. Rico had several questions for her and kept referring to a large three-ring binder.

  "Is that the murder book?" she asked.

  "Yes."

  She held out her hands. "Can I?"

  "You sure you want to?"

  "They can't be any worse than what I've carried in my imagination all these years."

  "Don't be so sure. Besides, I don't want your recollection of the events tainted if you're called to testify "

  "Everybody's gone now, remember?" Thor had never regained consciousness. He had died at the hospital from what surgeons discovered to be a rupture in his aorta. The lethal injury was the result of the van's steering wheel compressing his chest during the accident, but it took a day and the extra tumble with the cops and Nathan for the tear to fully dissect.

  "Who would I testify against?"

  Rico spun the loose-leaf binder so that it faced her. She flipped to the plastic pages that held the photographs. The dead were sprawled throughout the flat, mouths slack, eyes staring, throats opened savagely She saw the pictures of the bloody footprints and then noticed something Rico might have missed. It was a child's Levi's jacket. One with Harley—Davidson wings on the back and treble clefs embroidered on the collar.

  "Oh no," she said. "Oh God, no wonder."

  She found the news clipping from 1975. The dead men were identified. She had never read the whole article, hadn't wanted to. She read it now, stopping when she came to the name of one of the deceased. Walter Franklin, twenty-five. A musician from Compton, survived by his mother: Doleen Franklin.

  And a son, Munch realized. A son who had not forgotten nor forgiven. Nathan said he had come to town with a list of people to contact. Now she was thinking he had arrived with two lists.

  Rico took the book back and studied the same page. Realization darkened his eyes. "It was the kid, wasn't it? He was there."

  "No, this can't be right," she said.

  "It doesn't look good."

  "Let me make some phone calls."

  "Why?"

  "I can prove it wasn't him."

  Rico hesitated.

  "Just give me that much." Did he want her to beg? She let her voice soften. "Please."

  She pulled Roxanne's Pacific Bell bill from her purse and reached for Rico's telephone.

  He didn't try to stop her.

  One by one Munch called the L.A. numbers high-highted on Roxanne's statement, signifying the numbers she didn't recognize and the calls she hadn't made. Munch was connected first to the pay phone at Shelter from the Storm, then the offices of New Start in Sun Valley and finally the answering machine for Mike Peyovich Construction. She hung up on the machine without waiting for the beep.

  Rico's face was a mask of sympathy She imagined it was the same expression he wore when his job required him to deliver news no one wanted to hear. Fuck him and his bad news, she thought.

  He reached for the phone bill, but she wasn't ready to relinquish it. Not yet and not to him anyway.

  "Wait," she said, not begging anymore. She dialed Roxanne in Sacramento. When Roxanne answered, Munch plunged into her questions without bothering to identify herself.

  "Last month, did Deb send you a package of stuff to mail out?"

  "I know what you're thinking. It wasn't dope."

  "How do you know?"

  "They were just letters."

  "Letters to whom?"

  "I don't know, greeting cards, like. Thank-you notes or late Christmas cards. No packages, just a handful of blue envelopes. I don't know what the big deal was."

  "When did Nathan leave you?"

  "The first week of February."

  "Are you sure?"

  "Yeah, I'm sure. Why'?"

  "He didn't get to me until after Valentine's Day. I had assumed he came straight to me from you."

  "Not unless he walked."

  "I've gotta go." Munch gathered up the murder book and pushed past Rico, feeling nothing as their bodies collided.

  Still clutching the murder book, she stood before St. John's desk. He was in the middle of typing something and stopped, looking at her with a question on his face. "In the van last night, Thor had a greeting card. It was in a blue envelope. Did you find it in the wreckage?"

  "I'd have to check," he said. "Why?"

  "I just saw it for a second, but I realized I'd seen one exactly like it in the last few days. The note inside read: 'I haven't forgotten you.' "

  "I found a card like that
at Jane Ferrar's apartment. What are you on to?"

  "Thor told me he gets them every year." Now she knew what the V scratched on Jane's chest stood for. It was vengeance.

  Rico joined them then. "It was the kid."

  "What kid'?" St. John asked.

  Rico pried the murder book from Munch's unwilling fingers and pointed to the small footprints cast in blood and then the newspaper clipping. "Jane Ferrar, Cyrill McCarthy and Jonathan Garillo murdered Nathan Franklin's father, Walter Franklin. Nathan must have been in the apartment when it happened.

  He might have watched it all."

  "He had to be, what, six?" St. John asked.

  Munch sat down woodenly "After the murder, his grandma sent him and his mom to live up in Oregon. His mom always kept track of everyone from the old days. She's out of the country—"

  "And Nathan came down here to carry out his pay-backs," Rico finished for her.

  "The kid who was at your house?" St. John asked.

  Munch nodded.

  "I thought he seemed familiar. We saw him working at Big Mike's construction site." St. John turned to Cassiletti. "The kid with the shirt around his head. Remember?"

  Cassiletti nodded. "He might have learned the knot in Oregon, maybe working in a logging camp. And a kid from Oregon wouldn't realize how quickly rainwater in L.A. subsides."

  St. John took out his car keys. "I guess we need to go to the grandmother's house." He pointed to the victim profile report. "Is she still at this same address in Compton?"

  "Yes," Munch said. "Let me come with you. I'll make sure he cooperates." While the men notified their chain of command, Munch eased into an empty office and made two other calls. The first was to hire the attorney Jim McManis.

  They all drove to Doleen Franklin's house. Half of Munch hoped Nathan was gone already on some big silver bird headed for the "Neverlands."

  It was not to be.

  St. John started to walk to the front door while Cassiletti went around to the back.

  "Can I talk to him first?" Munch asked.

  Before St. John could say no she added, "He's not going to get away Please, I need to do this."

  "Five minutes," St. John said.

  Doleen answered the door.

  "We've come for Nathan," Munch said.

  "That the poh-lice?" Doleen asked, looking very old, very weary