She'd only gotten as far as ninth grade but to this man she said, "It wasn't offered to women then."
"Was your father an auto mechanic?"
She considered briefly telling this guy the whole truth, imagining the shock on his face when she announced that her father had been a pimp—also not a profession offered in high school. She went with a milder truth, saying only "No, he wasn't mechanically inclined. I just figured it would be a good trade wherever I wound up."
"And do you work on your own car?"
This was not the first time she had been asked this question. Still, the blatant stupidity of it always surprised her. "What sort of law do you practice?" she asked. "Criminal? Defense?"
"No, I do the occasional litigation but mainly I'm a family attorney specializing in estate planning."
"And did you write your own will or pay someone to do it?"
To his credit, he chuckled and said, "Touché." He took a sip of his drink and added, "Say I could have used you a few months ago."
"Did your car break down?"
"No, I had a litigation involving an automobile transmission. I had to learn all about the darn thing so I could argue whether the new transmission was rebuilt or reconditioned. That determination is based on how many parts had been replaced as opposed to merely cleaned and greased."
"And the difference was?" Munch asked.
"A couple thousand dollars." He shrugged as if it were small change.
"That must be a cool part of your job," she said, "always learning about new stuff."
"It can be."
Munch looked down, swirled the ice cubes in her Coca-Cola. "Isn't it sad about the Bergmans?"
"Yes," he said. "I knew them both. Terrible thing."
"I still can't believe it." She pulled an envelope out of her purse. Diane's name was written across the front. "I meant to give her these pictures the last time I saw her."
"Pictures?" he asked.
"Of my limo," she said, returning to her purse for a business card. "So the people at the auction can see what they're bidding on." She handed him two cards, in case one of his rich friends wanted one, too. "Have you heard anything more about what happened to her?"
Sarnoff took a sip of his cocktail and fixed her with gin-glazed eyes. "I have friends in the DA's office. I know the police are expending every effort to catch the killer. They have reason to believe he has struck in this area several times in the last few months, although this is the first murder."
"As opposed to . . ." She let the statement linger open-ended.
"Rape," he said.
"The rapist that uses a cattle prod or something?" she asked.
"I'm not sure how much I'm at liberty to say," he said.
"It's been on the news," she lied to salve his conscience. There was no reason for him to know she was privy to inside information. She didn't have time to convince him she could be trusted. St. John told her once that a good way to get a guy to talk was to lead him to believe he wasn't the first or only source.
"Well then, yes," Sarnoff said, "Diane's murderer was most probably the sick bastard who has been raping and torturing women with electrocution. In Di's case, he went too far." His face crumpled and he made a high, keening noise as if he were going to cry.
She put a hand on his arm. "I know the homicide cop on the case. Don't you worry. He'll find the killer and bring him to justice."
"Let's just hope that happens before another innocent woman has to suffer," Sarnoff said.
Garret rotated back toward them. His face made her think of a satisfied chipmunk, the way his round cheeks were flushed red and his brown eyes glowed. He must have made some gratifying contacts. She introduced him to Sarnoff, who removed a white handkerchief from his pocket.
"You've got quite a woman here," the lawyer said, dabbing his brow with the hankie and seeming to have set his grief aside. "A real go-getter."
"Yes, sir," Garret said, hugging her to him. "She's something, all right."
Sarnoff nodded and wandered off. The doorbell rang, followed by shouting and laughter. She heard glass breaking from the direction of the kitchen, but nobody registered alarm. Garret still held her. His thumb rubbed repetitive swirls on her arm until her flesh burned. She put a hand over his to stop the growing friction. The room felt close with body heat and exhaled air.
"Hear anything interesting?" she asked, having to raise her voice a bit to be heard above the growing din.
"Sam Bergman had big bucks and no kids. He and Diane met at his bank. She worked there as a loan officer."
"He owned the bank?"
"Among other things. He was thirty years her senior. You didn't tell me that."
"Are you saying she was a gold digger?" Munch asked. "People aren't saying that, are they?"
"More like wondering who gets the money now," he said.
"Best bet is they left it all to their charity unless some long-lost relative shows up."
She sneaked a look at her watch. It was nine o'clock. Surely they had made enough of an appearance here. Someone jostled into her back. The beginning of a headache was forming behind her eyes.
She pulled him into a corner. He stood beside her, facing the crowded room. "Garret?"
"Hmm?"
"If you could be anywhere in the world right now, where would you be?"
He fixed her with a particularly sappy look. "Right here with you."
Her stomach spasmed again. It wasn't the answer she had been looking for. She was thinking more in terms of at the beach on a sunny day or even at the movies. "Would you mind if we left now?"
"Not at all."
He put a protective arm around her shoulder and they fought their way to the front door. She couldn't tell if he was guiding her or holding her back.
Chapter 18
Mace St. John was looking forward to a quiet evening at home. He'd spent the whole day talking to friends of Diane Bergman and visiting the stores where Diane shopped. Everyone gave him much the same story. Diane Bergman was a nice woman, unpretentious, caring, but somewhat private. Nobody he spoke to had seen her after the party last Friday night.
Her car still hadn't shown up. Chances are it was already south of the border being fitted with new VIN tags and license plates or being parted out at some chop shop. The toxicology results from the coroner weren't in yet. He was told he could expect them the middle of next week.
He read the mail addressed to Diane Bergman that had arrived since her death, listened to her voice on her answering machine, and spent a few more hours at her house on Chenault. He was starting to feel as if he knew her. It was a common phenomenon when investigating a murder as the victim's life and habits took shape. Their voices, faces, even desires, became part of his memories. That part of the job didn't get to him so much. It was the living who gave him the problems—recalcitrant witnesses, pushy reporters, and the frequently small-minded, always self-interested brass.
Now it was time for him to leave all that at the office. Caroline had a meat loaf in the oven. Asia was at the kitchen table, cutting out pictures of brides from a magazine and pasting them into her scrapbook.
"Why do you like weddings so much?" Caroline asked.
"Well," Asia said, pausing in her work to turn and address Caroline. Her brown eyes glowed with enthusiasm. "When you get married you get to have a big party with all your friends."
"With a cake," Mace said.
"Uh huh," Asia said, nodding. "And everyone brings you presents and it's not even your birthday."
"Oh, I see," Caroline said. "So you like the party."
"What about the groom?" Mace asked. "You have one picked out?"
"Oh no," Asia said solemnly. "I'm much too young for the responsibility of a husband."
He ruffled her hair as he passed, loving the way she wrinkled her nose in annoyance.
"Lay off," she said, swiping at his hand.
"What?" he asked, dropping his jaw in mock astonishment.
"Don't mess up my c
urlies," she said, lowering her voice to sound more menacing.
He picked up the pair of scissors she was using. "I'm going to cut those curlies off."
"No, no!" Asia screamed. The dogs jumped to their feet and barked.
"All right, all right," Caroline yelled as the noise level increased.
Mace laughed. "I'm going to get you," he warned and waved the scissors over his head. Asia's shrill screams masked his own unexpected grunt of pain. He lowered the scissors and grabbed at his shoulder with his free hand.
Asia screamed again. Samantha jumped up and nipped his arm. Mace looked at the dog in amazement.
"Good dog, Sammy," Asia said.
"Serves you right," Caroline said wryly.
"I don't believe it. First my dog turns on me, now my own wife. What's next?" He massaged his cramping chest and shoulder muscles, trying to make the gesture appear casual.
Caroline pushed a beer into his hands. "Go watch TV or something. I'll call you when dinner is ready."
He went into the living room and sat in his father's old recliner. He didn't turn the television on, preferring instead to listen to the happy noises coming from the kitchen. It had been a trying week, doing the legwork of two men, this thing with Munch. Rumors of more budget cuts were circulating at the station. Just yesterday he had heard that the brass was going to eliminate take-home vehicles. Fuck, he thought. What next? Would they he expected to pay for their own gas?
There was a clatter of flatware and then Caroline's calm, low voice telling Asia where to place the forks and spoons. He sipped his beer, hoping it would calm his stomach. Caroline joined him after about ten minutes.
"Rub my shoulders, will you, honey?" he asked.
Caroline gripped either side of his collarbone and began moving her thumbs over his muscles.
"No," he said, moving her hands more to the top of his shoulder joints. "Up here. It burns."
"Both sides?" she asked.
"Yeah, and then down my arms."
"How long has this been going on?" she asked. Something in her tone alerted Asia, who looked up from her scrapbook.
"The last couple days," he said.
Caroline came around to the front of him and looked at his face. "Your color is terrible. Is your stomach still upset?"
"A little. But I don't think I have a fever."
"And yet you're sweating. I think we should go to the hospital."
"The hospital? " He sat up. "I got a little burning in my arm and you think I need the Emergency Room?" He stood up and crossed the room. "You know what they're going to want to do, don't you?" He started to throw his hands up in the air for emphasis, but then remembered the pain he'd felt in the kitchen.
"They're gonna want to run a bunch of tests." He glared at her, daring her to deny this.
Asia stood in the doorway absorbing every word.
Caroline just looked at him with that stubborn calmness of hers and said, "I'll shut off the oven."
"You're going to get everyone all worked up over nothing," he said. "You know that, don't you?" Hot saliva filled his mouth. For a moment he wondered if he was going to puke.
"Asia," Caroline said, "go get your coat, honey."
"Oh, shit, Caroline. You're going to drag the kid down there, too?"
"Put your shoes on," she said.
"This is crazy," he told her, sliding his feet into his loafers. "It's probably just some Asian flu bug."
"Hey" Asia said, "I don't have no flu bug."
"Any flu bug," Caroline said, "and he didn't mean Asian you, he meant Asian as in place."
"Oh," she said.
"Or it's food poisoning," Mace continued. "That can be nasty. Make a guy feel off for days. That's probably it." Asia was already by the front door. Caroline gave each of the dogs a biscuit and told them to be good. Mace pulled on his coat, wincing as his arms lifted to find the sleeves.
He reached for the keys but Caroline grabbed them first.
"I'll drive," she said.
He didn't argue, which surprised them both. The truth was he really did feel like shit.
They all climbed into Caroline's Monte Carlo. Asia got in the backseat and strapped herself in. "What's happening?" she asked, wide-eyed and on the verge of tears.
"I think Mace should see a doctor," Caroline explained as she started the car. "And the only ones that are open right now are at the hospital."
"Is this an emergency?" Asia asked.
To St. John's surprise Caroline replied, "Yes."
Didn't she know you weren't supposed to scare kids? Saliva filled his mouth again. He rested his head against the window glass and tried to collect his strength.
Their destination was Marina Mercy Hospital on Lincoln, only several miles from their house on the canals. By the time they reached the first stoplight, he had remembered what his dad always used to say about how the hospitals themselves made you sick. He forced a smile and said in his most innocently surprised voice, "Huh. You know what? I think I'm feeling better."
Caroline didn't look at him. As soon as the light changed she gunned it across the intersection.
He wiped away the cold sweat on his forehead. "Look," he said. "There's a nice coffee shop up here. Let's go get a piece of pie, some coffee. We can talk this over."
"Can we?" Asia asked.
"No," Caroline said. "We're going to the hospital."
"Pull over," he said. "Right now. I mean it. God damn it." He meant to put more volume in his voice, but his stomach was churning butter. "This is a waste of time."
"If I were you," Caroline said, "I wouldn't get myself all riled up. You're just making it worse."
"Oh, yeah? What is it you think is wrong with me?"
She reached over and grabbed his hand. Her fingertips were cold. "I think you're having a heart attack." She let go of his hand to maneuver the car into the Emergency Room parking lot. Her words hit him as only the truth could. "But I'm only forty-two," he said.
Caroline shut off the car and came around to help him out.
"Maybe they'll go easy on you seeing as how this is a first offense."
"You're a bitch," he said.
"I know," she answered softly.
He gripped her hand.
"C'mon, kiddo," she said to Asia.
Asia climbed out of the car and grabbed Caroline's other hand. Her thumb was in her mouth. Together the three of them progressed through the sliding doors and up to the counter.
"Can I help you?" the nurse asked from her chair.
"Yes," Caroline said. "I think my husband is having a heart attack."
Asia was very quiet. Her large eyes searched the adult faces above her. Mace winked at her, tried not to wince while she was looking.
The nurse came around the counter and had Mace sit. She put a blood pressure cuff on his arm and her stethoscope to his chest.
"I've got our insurance card," Caroline said, thumbing through her wallet.
But the nurse wasn't interested. She rushed past Caroline and grabbed a wheelchair. "Get in," she told Mace. "How long have you been experiencing these symptoms?"
"A couple days," he said. "It's the flu, right?"
"The one from Asia the place," Asia volunteered.
The nurse turned to Caroline. "Wait out here, ma'am. Someone will be out to talk to you in a minute."
"ls it his heart?" Caroline asked.
"Oh, yeah," the nurse said. "But don't worry."
His last words to his wife before they wheeled him to the examination area were, "Don't tell anyone."
* * *
Caroline located the bank of pay phones with her eyes. She had no intention of keeping this to herself. Mace would just have to understand. This was happening to her, too.
"Is Mace going to die?" Asia asked.
"No. He's going to be all right," Caroline said. She picked dimes and quarters out of her coin purse, and put them in her pocket.
"Can I call my mom?" Asia asked.
"Let's wait until we
know more," Caroline said. She sifted through the stack of magazines on the low table in front of them until she found a children's magazine. "Come here, kiddo." She lifted Asia onto her lap and opened the magazine to an article about static electricity. "Here," she said, "you read to me."
While Asia stumbled over the text, Caroline waited for the nurse to return from the hallway leading to the examination rooms. On the entire drive to the hospital she had been certain she was acting appropriately. Now, as she sat here in the blaze of the hospital waiting room lights, she wondered why she wasn't more upset. Because we're here, she told herself, and he's too damn cantankerous to let anything be seriously wrong. There was no sense in getting worked up until the facts were in. For now, all she could do was wait here for the next task, which would probably entail filling out a bunch of paperwork.
A different woman emerged from the double doors where they had wheeled Mace through. She was wearing green surgical scrubs and was carrying a clipboard. "St. John?" she called out. Caroline put aside the magazine and slid Asia to her feet.
"Yes?" She stood, gathering her purse and Asia's coat.
The woman in the green scrubs walked over to them. There was a white plastic name tag pinned over her left pocket that identified her as Gomez, R.N. "Are you the family?" she asked.
"Yes. I'm his wife."
"You can come in and wait with him," she said.
Caroline and Asia were led to a one-bed examination room. Mace was lying on a bed, attached to several monitors. Oxygen was fed to him by a nasal cannula. The plastic tubing ran to a wall valve with a floating ball indicator. It hovered at six liters a minute. She didn't know how good or bad that was.
Mace's eyes were wet and bright with fear. Caroline realized she had never seen him afraid before. She tried to smile encouragingly but the sight of his emotion was too much. He moved his body to one side and she sat at the end of his bed. Asia leaned into her legs.
This is really happening, Caroline realized. She lay down beside him, buried her face in the sheets bunched over his stomach, and allowed herself to cry. He found her hand and gripped it tightly. "We've given him an EKG," Gomez explained in a loud, careful voice. "The ER doctor has read the results and sent for the cardiologist. She's on her way. We're still waiting for results of the blood work."
Unfinished Business - Barbara Seranella Page 15
