No offence Intended - Barbara Seranella Read online

  Lisa looked at her before answering. Munch detected a note of hostility before Lisa said, "Long enough to piss some people off."

  "I talked to Deb," Munch said. "She said Sleaze was a snitch."

  Lisa flinched. "She told you that? What a cunt."

  Munch handed Lisa another plate. Lisa apparently still held a grudge for the time Deb slept with Lisa's ol' man. Not that either woman was still with the guy so who cared anymore? Besides, shouldn't she be pissed at the guy?

  "I told her no way Sleaze wouldn't talk to the cops."

  Lisa spun around and faced her "You know you're really something. You don't come around forever, then you show up talking long shit about who would do what." She threw down the dish towel, discovered her beer was empty and opened another one. "Don't fuck with what you don't understand?

  "What does that mean?"

  "It means some things are better just left alone."

  Munch held up a baby bottle. "Where does this go?"

  Lisa took it from her and jammed it into a cabinet over the sink.

  Munch dried her hands on the dish towel. " didn't come here to fight with you. I'm just trying to help."

  "Yeah? Well, who died and made you Glenda the fucking good witch?"

  "Hey I'm hurting, too."

  Lisa concentrated for a moment on getting the cabinet shut before all the assorted plastic containers and plates fell out, leaving that calamity for the next person. "Fucking Deb really thinks she's some kind of hot shit," she said, "her and that little nigger kid of hers."

  'Watch it," Munch said, feeling her muscles tense. There was talking trash and there was crossing the line. Lisa treaded on dangerous ground when she put Boogie down.

  "Sorry" Lisa mumbled. She walked out to the front room and grabbed a cigarette from the open pack on the coffee table.

  Munch turned to the stovetop. Dirty pots and pans were stacked two deep above the burners.

  "There was a guy with him on Friday" she said as she poured rancid grease from a heavy cas-iron skillet into a can she dug out of the trash. "Long black hair, had a jail tattoo on his neck—one of those Aryan Brotherhood lightning bolts. Any idea who he was?"

  "No," Lisa said.

  "You sure?" She lifted the lid on a saucepan and saw that it was filled with hard cold rice.

  "What? You writing a book?" Lisa asked. "Just drop it. It's over now."

  "What are you talking about?" Munch dumped the rice in the trash and put the pot in the sink to soak. "How can it be over? Doesn't it bother you that the killer is still out there?"

  "And they'll always be out there," Lisa said.

  "What's that supposed to mean?"

  "It means the world is full of assholes and all we can do is all we can do." She lit her smoke, slipping the spent match into an empty beer can. "Speaking of which, I'm calling my social worker tomorrow"

  "About?"

  "My niece." She exhaled in the direction of the baby "Karen had her at home and never registered the birth, which was pretty stupid, you know? How you gonna get welfare if you can't prove you had the kid?"

  The sound of something heavy falling in the bedroom carried to them, followed by a child crying. Lisa made no move to investigate.

  "So theres no record of her birth anywhere?"

  Munch asked.

  "No."

  "Do me a favor, Lisa. Don't sign her away too. I'll help you out with diapers and food. Just give me a little time to see what I can work out." She walked into the front room and stood over Asia's crib. The baby smiled in her sleep. Munch stroked her cheek. It was soft and warm. How hard could it be to raise a kid? Her apartment was plenty big enough to accommodate a crib, a playpen. She'd need to find a good babysitter for during the day while she worked. "You gonna be here tomorrow evening?"

  "Sure. Where am I going to go?"

  "I thought I'd stop over after work."

  "Suit yourself."

  Apparently Lisa was too proud to say thank you. Asia sighed in her sleep and smacked her lips. Munch touched her back lightly; hoping to transmit reassurances that all would be well. Don't worry. I won't leave you, too.

  She shut the door gently on her way out. After Munch left, two men entered Lisa's house from the back door.

  "What did she want?" the taller one asked. Lisa spoke to the second man, the one with the tattoo on his neck. "She was asking about you."

  "By name?"

  "Nah. She just said some dude was with Sleaze on Friday with long black hair. She described your tattoo, but she didn't know who you were."

  "Is this bitch going to be a problem?" the other man asked, his large body filling the door frame. Almost against her will, Lisa glanced at the revolver jammed in the waistband of his leather pants. " don't think so, Tux."

  He stepped forward, gathering her hair in his big hand and jerking her head back. "You better hope not, bitch. 'Cuz I don't give a fuck what happens. I'll chain you both up and use you for target practice. You know that, don't you."

  'You've got nothing to worry about from me," she said.

  11

  ALEX PEREZ ARRIVED at work at ten o'clock on Monday morning looking more rumpled than usual. Blackstone threw the car keys to his partner.

  "We need to take a ride out to Inglewood," he said, "and pick up Garillo's sister. Sugarman needs a visual identification from a family member."

  "Why didn't somebody go out there yesterday?"

  Alex asked, yawning.

  "Cassiletti said she had a bunch of kids and no car. He also said she was pretty hostile."

  "In other words, he didn't want to fuck with her."

  "I guess not," Blackstone said.

  Alex scratched his head and rubbed his eyes. "Let me grab a cup of coffee before we go," he said. "Number two son kept us up all night. You want a cup?"

  "No," he answered, checking his watch. He wanted to get out to Inglewood and back as quickly as possible. "I've got a call in to Special Agent Claire."

  "Is she the one you worked with on that serial rapist case?"

  "She's the one."

  "Well, at least we got an in."

  "Let's see if she returns my call."

  While Alex fetched his coffee, Blackstone leaned back in his chair, stroking the ends of his mustache and taking a moment to recall the last time he had worked with Claire Donavon. It was two years ago, when he was still investigating sex crimes. The case they had worked together had been one of those frustrating situations where the perpetrator was known to them, but impossible to build a case against. The rapist chose his victims well. He used a condom and remembered to take it with him afterward. Even when caught with circumstantial evidence, he was too smart to incriminate himself. Stalemate.

  The FBI took an interest when one of the victims turned out to be the niece of the L.A. bureau director. There had been a lot of heat on the case. Special Agent Claire Donavon was known for her ability to connect with the subjects she interviewed and was brought in as the interrogator.

  He had found himself strongly attracted to her, an attraction that ran deeper than his unconscious male response to her superb physical attributes—it took more than that to pique his interest. He'd always had his pick of women. His married friends were constantly fixing him up with some cousin or friend of their wife's. The first thing they usually told him was how pretty the woman was—as if that meant so much.

  Claire Donavon, for instance, had so much more going on behind those green eyes of hers. He'd witnessed firsthand her unwavering tenacity sharp reasoning skills, and powers of observation. She hid the steel edges under an earth mother facade of curves and dimples. Maybe that softness wasn't a facade, perhaps distraction was a better word. In this new age of womens lib, she'd found a way to make her femininity work for her Smart.

  The break in their case had come when she'd finessed a confession from the perp. Somehow she'd dug up the fact that he'd been fired unfairly from a managerial position at Kmart. His boss had been a woman. Claire had even int
erviewed the perp's mom and had a detailed history of the guys bedwetting.

  She understood, she said, how difficult to please mothers could be. She had convinced the perp—and everyone listening to the interview—that she really understood where he was coming from. Ten minutes with the guy and she had had him bawling on her shoulder, giving up everything.

  Later, she brushed off everyone's compliments, said all the answers had been in the guy's file. There was no denying that she was good, damn good. But when all was said and done, she was still a federal agent first, which meant that she took more than she gave.

  The last time he'd seen her was in court. Following their combined testimony the rapist had been sentenced to thirty years. She and Blackstone had gone out afterward for drinks, but she had had to leave to meet her boyfriend. Not a husband, he remembered.

  "She'll call," Alex said, returning with a mug of coffee and a donut and seemingly reading his partner's thoughts.

  "Are you ready?" Blackstone asked, coming to his feet and slipping into his sports coat.

  "Would you mind driving?" Alex asked.

  "Your moon in Uranus again?" Blackstone asked.

  "I'm just tired, that's all." He affected a hurt expression. "You know, you don't do yourself any favors closing yourself off to what you don't understand."

  "Are you saying I don't keep an open mind?"

  "You're an Aries. You can't help yourself."

  "Just give me the keys."

  It took over half an hour to reach Lisa Slokum's address in Inglewood. They parked across the street and studied the neighborhood. Most of the houses spotted burglar bars and pictures of Dobermans wired to their chain-link fences. The shriek of jet engines drowned out the static and chatter of their police radio. They had left the volume up loud. In this neighborhood, they didn't want to be mistaken for potential robbery victims. The two detectives walked to the door together. When the chubby woman in the bathrobe came to the door, they showed her their badges.

  "What do you want?" she asked. A baby cried behind her.

  "Are you Lisa Slokum?"

  "Yeah."

  "We need you to come to the coroner's office and make a positive identification of your brother's body"

  Blackstone explained.

  "Why do I have to go?" she asked.

  "Are there other relatives you'd like us to contact?" Alex asked.

  "No," she said. "There's nobody else."

  "Then you're it," Blackstone said.

  "The other two cops showed me his picture. I already told them that it was him. All you guys think you're such big heroes, but you always want someone else to do your job for you. Catch the fuckers who killed him if you want to do something."

  Blackstone looked up and mentally counted to five. "Do you know anyone who wanted your brother dead?" he asked.

  She shrugged.

  "Did he have any woman friends who worked at a printing press? Anything like that?"

  She pressed her lips together and shook her head no.

  "Where did he live?"

  She sighed impatiently and scowled. "He moved around a lot."

  "Did he have a girlfriend? A wife? Any children?"

  "I don't know shit," she said. "All right? You want me to look at his body you're going to have to give me cab fare. I ain't taking the fucking bus."

  "Why don't you get dressed," Alex said, "and we'll take you down there now."

  "What about the baby?" she asked.

  "Bring the baby too," Alex said. "We like kids. Right, Jigsaw?"

  "Where are your other children?" Blackstone asked, spotting the toys littering the front yard and remembering what Cassiletti had said in his report of yesterdays contact.

  "They're in school," she said, rolling her eyes. "What do you think?"

  He checked his watch again. ''We'll wait out here while you get ready"

  All the way downtown, Lisa Slokum kept up a running tirade about cops and their ineptness. When they got to the coroner's viewing room, Lisa wailed loudly when confronted with her brother's remains, which got the baby going. Blackstone noticed that the baby was the only one actually producing tears.

  On the ride back to Inglewood, Alex fed the woman and her baby M&M's from a bag he produced out of his coat pocket. He put the baby on his ample lap and kept her entertained with faces and a variety of sound effects. She tugged on his lips, earlobes, and nose and laughed when he said, "Owwl" At one point she almost broke the thin gold chain that held his crucifix.

  Lisa Slokum also calmed down, limiting her histrionics to audible sniffles. The detectives dropped her off at her Inglewood address and gave her their business cards. Neither man held much hope of receiving any help from her.

  "Cute kid," Alex said as they drove away

  Blackstone reached under his seat for the box of pre-moistened towelettes he kept there and shoved them at his partner. "Fifteen years and she'll be a carbon copy of the mother," he said.

  'You're probably right," Alex said, sighing. "Shame."

  He wiped off his hands and stuck the used towelette in his pocket.

  * * *

  After returning to the station, the two detectives contacted print shops for the remainder ofthe afternoon, working from the Yellow Pages. It was tedious work, involving much repetition, language barriers, and unanswered calls that would have to be noted and tried again. Three hours later, they had found only twelve shops that had female typesetters, but none of those women matched the physical description of the woman they sought.

  Blackstone looked up from his desk when he heard a contralto voice asking for him. He stood, straightening his slacks, and ducked his head out his doorway "Claire?" When they first worked together, she had insisted that they all address each other on a first-name basis. Her lack of pretension had been refreshing.

  She walked towards him with arms extended. To his surprise, she hugged him. "How are you, Jigsaw?"

  "Let me get you a chair," he said, borrowing one from another cubicle and dusting off its seat.

  "I understand our investigations have crossed," she said, taking the offered chair and setting her purse on his desk.

  Blackstone smiled. She was direct. He liked that.

  "What do you have for me?" he asked.

  She laughed easily He liked the way the three small moles on her left cheek formed a crescent when she smiled. "That's not the way it works, I'm afraid. I understand you identified the victim of last Fridays freeway homicide."

  "Are you here to return my evidence, Claire?"

  "When you need a ballistics match, you'll have the Bureaus full support."

  "All right. Then what do we owe the honor of this visit?"

  "I have a favor to ask of you," she said. "This case has certain delicacies. I understand you plan to release a photograph of the deceased to the press."

  "Now that hes identified," he said, shrugging, "theres really no need to circulate his picture."

  "I'd like you to go ahead and do so anyway" she said.

  "In exchange for?"

  "I'm asking as a professional courtesy"

  Alex Perez chose that minute to stick his head in the doorway "Whats up?" he asked.

  Blackstone made introductions.

  "Jigsaw treating you all right?" Alex asked her.

  "Oh yes." She crossed her legs and glanced up at the Bobby Fischer poster on Blackstone's wall. "Ah, the master himself." She turned to Alex. "Are you a fan of Bobbys as well?"

  "Sure," he said. " mean, he beat the Russkies, am I right?"

  "Do you play?" Blackstone asked Claire, feeling a strong need to have her attention directed back on him.

  "It's not always easy to find a good game," she said. "I submitted a membership application with the Santa Monica Bay Chess Club."

  "I competed there yesterday" he told her. "I'll put in a word for you."

  "And did you win your match?" she asked.

  "Yeah, how'd it go, Jigsaw?" Alex asked.

  "My opponent conceded
after the thirty-ninth move," Blackstone said. "He didn't have enough material left to mate."

  "I didn't know chess was so sexual," Alex said. "Maybe I should take it up."

  "It's more a matter of mental intercourse," Blackstone said, looking straight at Claire. "How about it?"

  She blinked, caught off-guard. "You mean you and me?"

  "A real opponent is so much more interesting than solitaire."

  "How do you play solitaire chess?" Alex asked.

  Blackstone realized that he'd forgotten that his partner was still in the room; maybe it was just wishful thinking. "The chess magazine I get publishes games played by the masters. You try to figure out their next moves, then you check your move against theirs. Don't you have some calls to make?"

  Alex grinned. "Yeah. I better go back to that."

  "Thank you, Detective," Blackstone said and then turned back to Claire. "They've been using a lot of Fischer's games lately It's been quite a journey trying to get into his head."

  "Any success?" she asked.

  "Sometimes. Are you interested?"

  "I can't . . . tonight," she said.

  "Tomorrow's good with me," he told her. "I'll be downtown tomorrow afternoon"

  "Swing by when you're through. I should be home by six," he said. You know that smokestack you see off the Five freeway that has BREW 102 written on it?"

  "Yes."

  "That's me. I'll leave the gate open."

  "I'll bring Chinese," she said. "n case the game runs longer than we expect."

  "That's what I like about you, Claire. Always thinking ahead."

  "And the photograph of your victim?" she asked.

  "Page three, how's that?"

  "Thank you."

  "Whoa," he said. "I'm not letting you off the hook that easy. Who was this guy to you? Give me something."

  "I would if I could, honestly"

  He smiled at her qualifier. Honestly had to be the singularly most abused word. He turned when he heard the door to Sergeant Mann's office open. A thin blond man exited. judging from his air of self-importance, Blackstone made him as another fed. The partner, no doubt.

  "All right, Claire," he said when the second agent was in hearing range, "I'll see you tomorrow night."