Unwilling Accomplice - Barbara Seranella

by Barbara Seranella

  "Write me that note," Munch said, remembering Charlotte’s expression—how there had seemed to be something she wanted to tell Munch. She should have made some excuse to get the girl alone and hear what was going on.

  Lisa had to go to Jill for a piece of clean writing paper. Ten minutes later, Munch, Asia, and Jasper were headed for Charlotte’s school.

  "Who do we know who has a truck?" Asia asked after strapping her seat belt on.

  "Lou has a truck. Why?"

  "Jill said most of their stuff was at a storage place and all they needed was a truck and then they could get it back."

  "A truck and the back rent, I’ll wager."

  "Jill said it was the kind of place where you can take it out in trade." Asia scratched Jasper’s ears and then, in a tone that implied that whatever she didn’t understand would be a mystery to anybody else, rolled her eyes and said, "Whatever that means."

  Chapter 4

  M unch drove to Venice High School on the chance that someone in charge might be working late. She knew the location well from the outside. Many of her old friends had gone there. She would have, too, if Flower George (her so-called father) hadn’t insisted she start earning. She’d only been fourteen, but George said she was mature for her age. She had him to thank for that.

  Venice High was only a few long city blocks from Lisa’s apartment. Charlotte might have walked it if she gave herself enough time. Munch was in luck. The front door was unlocked and lights still glowed in several of the ground-floor offices. Jasper had to wait in the car, which he didn’t seem happy about.

  Munch followed signs in the hallway to the administration wing, and after several turns with Asia in tow, she arrived at the registrar’s office. An older woman with a sour expression greeted her warily.

  "Can I help you?" The woman’s tone and shaking head implied that she’d rather not. Munch took a step closer to the high counter. It was her first time inside a high school office, never mind a classroom; she felt nervous and out of place. "My niece didn’t make it to school this morning and we still haven't heard from her. We’re worried. The police asked us for a recent photograph and I was hoping you’d have one here."

  "Her name?" The woman had yet to smile or make any small gesture to put Munch at ease.

  "Charlotte Slokum."

  Mrs. Sourpuss rose to her feet grudgingly and disappeared into another room. She reappeared a long minute later with a well-coiffed lady in a skirt suit.

  "I’m Tanya Lubell," the woman said, extending a manicured hand. "I’m the principal. Charlotte is your niece?"

  "You know her then?"

  "Very well. She’s in the honors program and coeditor of this year’s yearbook."

  "She is?" Munch realized her surprise wasn’t serving her well. For a moment she felt guilty. Here she was playing the role of concerned aunt and she didn’t know the first thing about the kid.

  "We haven't seen them in years," Asia said. "Since I was a little kid."

  Munch put a hand on her daughter’s thin shoulder and gave it a squeeze.

  "Do you know who her friends are? Were any of them also absent today?" Munch asked.

  "lt’s been a hectic day" Ms. Lubell said. "We had the memorial for one of our students, Steven Koon, yesterday, and we’ve been running counseling sessions nonstop since the news of his murder. l’m very concerned to hear that Charlotte is missing."

  Munch looked up at the black wreath on the office bulletin board and made the connection. Steven Koon. She’d read about the teenager’s "apparent" murder in the Los Angeles Times. His body was found in the trunk of a half-burned car in the alley behind the lumberyard on Lincoln Boulevard. The fire had burned itself out before completely destroying the corpse. The boy, according to the newspaper story; had recently been questioned by police in connection with a series of home burglaries. The police were calling the death a homicide. Ms. Lubell seemed to agree with that assessment. Munch remembered thinking as she read about the dead boy that the body had been found in Rico’s jurisdiction. She had wondered if he caught the case and how it must have affected him since his own daughter was fifteen, maybe six-teen by now.

  "Were Charlotte and Steven friends?" she asked.

  "Part of a small group that ate lunch together sometimes. Her mother didn’t tell you?"

  "No, but she’s, uh . . ." Munch paused, unsure how she wanted to complete the sentence.

  Tanya Lubell nodded sagely. "l’ve met her mother. "

  "How has Charlotte’s attendance been in general? Has she missed many days?"

  "Today would be her first. Sometimes we have trouble getting her to go home." Ms. Lubell paused to give Munch a meaningful look. "I was told that you wanted a current picture. Do you mind if I look at your identification?"

  Munch produced her driver’s license and Lisa's note. Ms. Lubell studied both and then said, "Wait a moment, please."

  She left Munch standing at the counter while she went back to her office to verify the information, Munch assumed. Ten minutes passed before she appeared again. "Which police officer asked you for her picture?"

  "His name is Detective Mace St. John. He works out of West Los Angeles. He’s a family friend. I don’t know if you know this or not, but Charlotte is diabetic and doesn’t have any insulin with her. "

  The principal studied Munch with a focus that would have done credit to any law enforcement officer. If Munch had anything to confess, she was sure she’d be tempted under the scrutiny of this woman’s steady gray eyes.

  "I wasn’t aware of the diabetes," Lubell said finally "but I suspected there was something."

  "Her life hasn’t been easy" Munch said, wanting to tell this woman more, sensing an ally. Half her students probably had it rough at home. How much could she allow herself to care?

  "Come with me," Lubell said. They walked across the campus until they came to a building near the football field. The only sounds were the woman’s high heels clacking on the concrete and the jingle of keys on her large metal ring. Munch and Asia practically had to trot to keep up. Asia put her head down and pumped her arms. She wasn’t the kind of kid to complain or ask for special consideration. Munch wanted to scoop her in her arms and carry her, but Asia would hate being babied.

  Ms. Lubell unlocked a classroom full of drafting boards, paper cutters, and bulletin boards studded with photographs. The pictures were arranged in exact rows, as if rulers and levels had been put to the task.

  "Charlotte’s work?" Munch asked.

  "Yes, your niece is rather . . . exacting. Almost to a fault."

  Lubell opened a filing cabinet and pulled out a folder. "I called the Pacific Division Police Station"

  Munch felt her heart drop a beat. Rico’s station.

  Lubell handed Munch a sheet of proofs. "They had no knowledge of this situation with Charlotte but seemed to know who you were."

  "Who’d you talk to?" Munch asked, scanning the tiny pictures for Charlotte.

  "Sergeant Flutie, the watch commander. He said he’d have a detective get in touch with Lisa Slokum. Find the number and I'll give you the negative. You can have a print made from that."

  "Twelve." Munch pointed as she spoke. Charlotte’s hair was lighter and streaked in the picture, but the facial features were the same. "Did he say which detective?"

  "No. We can call back if it’s important."

  Munch looked down and saw Asia watching her closely.

  "That's all right," she said, taking the negative, "we’ve gotten what we came for. " Then another thought occurred to her. "Is there a picture here of Steven Koon?"

  Ms. Lubell studied the sheet briefly and then said, "Yes, here he is." Her voice clotted with emotion.

  "Maybe I should have that one, too," Munch said gently.

  Ms. Lubell gave her the film after a moment’s hesitation.

  "You said you’ve been running counseling sessions," Munch said. "Is there any chance I can speak to Charlotte’s counselor?"

  "I don’t th
ink Charlotte’s met with the grief counselor yet. Her school guidance counselor would be Mr. Lombardi. He’s gone for the day but I’ll leave a note in his box."

  "This is my work number," Munch said, giving Ms. Lubell a Bel Air Texaco card. Munch then opened her checkbook and tore off a deposit slip from the back, ripping out the square that her name, address, and telephone number were written on. "And this is home." The trading of deposit slips, sans the account numbers, was a time-honored AA practice. Most recovering alkies and addicts didn’t have formal calling cards.

  "Please keep us informed," Ms. Lubell said. "Charlotte has made such strides since she’s been here." Her throat hiccuped with emotion. When she resumed speaking, her voice was too high and the words came out in a rush. "We’ve already had one tragedy too many. "

  Munch carefully folded the negatives into a sheet of loose notebook paper from one of the desks before slipping the film into her pocket. "I’ll get these back to you."

  Tanya Lubell could only nod. Asia looked as if she was about to cry as well. Munch gave her hand a reassuring squeeze and led her outside.

  ***

  Munch took the negatives to a one-hour photo developer and then called St. John at home from a 7-Eleven, where she also bought a small disposable ice chest for Charlotte’s insulin.

  "You want to meet our new dog?" she asked St. John after determining he and Caroline had already had their dinner.

  "Sure," he said. “I'm glad you called. I have some things to tell you about your friend Lisa Garillo Slokum."

  "Yeah," she said. "I need a few more friends like her."

  Ten minutes later she knocked on the door of his little house on the Venice canals. Brownie (their newest foundling) barked, but didn’t run out when St. John opened the door. Mace St. John was wearing sweats and looked tired. She knew it was close to his bedtime. He worked the early shift and rose each morning at four-thirty. She was a morning person, too, but it was usually at least light out when she got to work.

  St. John knelt down and greeted Jasper, more interested for the moment in the dog than in his goddaughter or Munch. Jasper was much more interested in sniffing after Brownie, who sat on her haunches to thwart him. Munch laughed.

  Samantha, St. John’s Lab/husky mix, approached slowly. She had aged drastically after losing Nicky her soul and kennel mate. Munch petted her gently.

  "He’s a nice dog/’ St. John proclaimed, straightening to his feet. He ruffled Asia’s curls. "How’s it going, squirt?"

  Asia pushed his hand away feigning annoyance, but clearly beamed under his attention. It struck Munch how hungry the girl was for male energy. I’m working on it, she thought.

  "Caroline’s in the living room watching television." St. John directed his words to Asia while indicating to Munch with a tilt of his head that she should hang back. Asia trotted off to join the detective’s wife, her godmother. Munch followed St. John into the kitchen.

  "Want anything?" he asked.

  "No," she said, thinking of the many answers to that question, "I’m good."

  He pulled a bottle of orange juice from the fridge and took a drink. "I talked to a friend of mine in the FBI."

  "About Lisa?"

  He nodded. "She tell you why she’s out of the witness protection program?"

  "Something about the guys she snitched out weren’t a threat anymore."

  "Uh-huh. That’s part of it." He took another sip and wiped his mouth. "She was kicked out."

  "They do that?"

  "If you get caught running a scam on your handlers."

  "What kind of a scam?"

  "She claimed to be in fear for her life, that she saw one of the bikers she turned state’s evidence against. She needed to relocate, she said. Investigators learned that the man she had given a detailed description of—including his name and the threats he made—had died in a robbery two months earlier.

  The investigator grew suspicious when her testimony began vague, then sharpened in detail as she told it. ln our experience, witnesses, truthful witnesses, begin with specific details and remember vague impressions later."

  "She’s never going to win any awards for brilliance," Munch said.

  "What time did she call you this morning?"

  "Around ten."

  "And what did she say exactly?"

  "That Charlotte was missing and something was wrong."

  "Little early to jump to that conclusion, unless . . ."

  "Unless what?"

  He shook his head, unwilling to complete the sentence for her.

  "There’s more," Munch said, thinking there was always more. "Charlotte has diabetes. She’s dependent on insulin and doesn’t have any with her. I went to her school to get a picture and found out she was friends with that boy they found murdered in Venice last week. Steven Koon."

  St. John listened without showing any signs of concern, but then he wasn’t the type to reveal his every thought. "What are you going to do now?" he asked.

  "I’m getting some photos of Charlotte and Steven made from the negatives, although her hair is different now. The ends are dyed orange. We’ll make up some posters, I guess. Check the hospitals and clinics. What should I do?"

  "We’ll put out a teletype to NCIC and the Missing Person Unit of the Department of Iustice in Sacramento. We’ll also contact the National Center for Missing and Exploited Children. That’ll go out nationwide."

  "With the notices of all the other missing kids?"

  He shrugged. "It’s what we do in a case like this."

  "What if there’s foul play involved?"

  "Somebody see her being forced into a car or hear her scream?"

  "Not that I know of."

  "Find any blood at the house?"

  "No." She almost wished there were blood. At least it would get the police motivated.

  St. John spread his hands. "Cops like things simple. If it looks like the kid is a good candidate to run away, they’ll accept that. It’s not illegal for her to run away. If the kid was taken against her will and doesn’t surface within a day, it’s probably too late to save her. "

  "I really don’t think Charlotte ran away. It doesn’t add up. She’s got all the freedom she could want now, a place to sleep, school isn’t a problem."

  "The mother sounds like a jerk."

  "Yeah, but Lisa’s not the kind of parent you run away from as much as rise above."

  The look St. John gave her was a mix of sympathy and understanding. He probably thought she was talking about herself as a child, and maybe she was.

  "Isn’t there anything else we can do?" she asked.

  "Wait."

  Maybe if he had a kid of his own or had seen the sadness in Charlotte’s eyes, he would feel different.

  "Well, thanks anyway" she said. She followed him into the living room. Asia was sitting with Caroline and telling her all about Jasper.

  "C’mon, honey" Munch said, smiling at Caroline, "time to go."

  As they drove away from the St. Johns’, there was an echo going off in Munch’s head. It sounded like this: Rico, Rico, Rico. The internal clamor persisted until she wanted to roll down the window and shout his name.

  She picked up the photographs on the way home. At least now she had a photo of Charlotte for the police. Once Asia got started on her homework, Munch made the call she’d talked herself out of for months. She still knew his number by heart, as if it were branded on the muscles of her fingertips.

  "Hi," she said when he answered on the first ring. "It’s me." She paused, giving him time to recognize her voice and remember what he needed to remember. "Got a minute?"

  "Hi, sure," Rico said back, his voice tenderly surprised, then concerned. "Is everything all right?"

  Everything. That’s a tall order. "I wanted to ask you something."

  "Shoot."

  "Don’t think I didn’t consider it."

  "Things have changed."

  "I heard, but that’s not what I’m calling about"

  "
Kathy was never pregnant. I think she thought she was. I’m sure she did. She had all the symptoms—"

  "You think that makes it better?"

  "It makes it different"

  "Maybe, but it doesn’t matter anymore," Munch said. Too much time had passed, eight months. An aeon. He’d made his choice. lf he really cared so much, he should have demanded a blood test before he chose Kathy over her and shredded her heart. And why hadn’t he called as soon as he found out?

  "This isn’t a conversation we should have on the phone," he said. "Can I come over?"

  "It’s late."

  "Or we can meet somewhere, get some coffee."

  She pressed the heel of her hand against her forehead. She was having trouble breathing normally. His face with its crooked nose, quick smile, and soulful brown eyes flashed in her memory. His long, sinewy body also came to mind—the way he wrapped an arm protectively around her shoulders, how he made her feel when he took her face in his hands. She could almost feel him next to her, inside her.

  You could at least hear him out, she thought.

  N0, she countered. I promised not to set mysehf up like that again.

  Don’t be a cold bitch.

  Yeah, but don't be a champ doormat either.

  "We’ve already talked about it," she said.

  "I mean with me in on the discussion, too."

  She heard the smile in his voice and surrendered ever so slightly to his charm. He knew, and more significantly, he remembered "the committee" that raged between her ears. Points for that, for paying attention.

  "I can’t," she began, trying to remember why it was so important to resist him. "I can’t tonight. I have a family emergency. My niece has disappeared. She’s only fifteen, diabetic, and she was friends with Steven Koon."

  "What’s her name?"

  Munch heard the shift in his tone, away from the personal. His walls went up, walls that protected them both.

  "Are you on the case?"

  "Always," he said.

  She told him everything she’d discovered already including what St. John had said about Lisa leaving witness protection, and that Munch had a somewhat current photo of Charlotte.

  "I’ve been working the burglary angle on the Steven Koon homicide," Rico said. "There appears to be a ring. The burglaries have been similar and haven't stopped. Homes are broken into when the occupants are away. The phone lines are cut, then the thieves steal jewelry cash, and electronic equipment and drive away in the homeowner’s car. These are two- and three-car families, so there’s always a car in the garage. Steven Koon’s body was found in one of those cars."