Unwilling Accomplice - Barbara Seranella

by Barbara Seranella

  gagged and I couldn’t make enough noise for you to hear me."

  "Oh, God/’ Munch said, and shot Charlotte a sympathetic look in the rearview mirror. "To think we were so close. I’m so sorry."

  "I knew you were looking. I knew my mom was looking, too. That made me feel better. I left a hank of my hair in our storage locker when Mouseman searched it. When he changed the lock, I was afraid no one would find my clue."

  "How did you get away?"

  "My friend Painter Dave. Mouseman had him bring me food and water. He said he met you and you offered him a reward. He thought he could use the money to get away."

  "He helped you escape?" Munch asked.

  Charlotte nodded again. "I gave him the dog tag as proof. He said he was going to call you."

  "He did, but something happened to him."

  "I know," Charlotte said. "He’s dead. I saw it in the paper. He’s dead because of me."

  "No, not because of you. You don’t have that much power. He’s dead because he was in the wrong world at the wrong time. You have to make your life count now. You have to rise above all this." Munch considered Lisa’s dilemma. Once Charlotte had been snatched, Lisa knew that if she handed over the tape, she would lose all leverage and quite possibly seal her daughter’s fate. Blackmailers preferred to avoid the police, too.

  "I want to live," Charlotte said, sounding somewhat surprised to be making this proclamation.

  "I want to make something of my life. For a long time, I didn’t care if I lived or died. I was leaning toward death. But when someone wanted to take my life away from me, I realized I wanted to live after all. I’m going to make the most out of this second chance."

  Throughout the conversation, Jill and Asia had remained quiet. Munch knew they were listening. Asia was even holding her breath so as not to miss a syllable. Munch reached across the seat and stroked her hair.

  She caught Charlotte’s eye in the mirror again. "You won’t have to do it alone. I know about your compulsions. The need for order, your obsessions with your temperature. The good news is that it’s an illness, and there’s a treatment if you’re willing."

  "I think I’m cured," Charlotte said. "I haven't taken my temperature since Sunday. I haven't felt I needed to. I haven't had to straighten things or pull my hair, any of it."

  "I'm glad, but you don’t get better overnight. I used to be able to put down dope when my life reached critical mass. I know you can thrive under extreme pressure. It’s the mundane times that people like us can’t handle. And then there’s your mom." Munch looked at both of her nieces. What a load these kids had been given.

  "I know my mom needs help, too," Charlotte said. "I’ll make her go to counseling and start a diet and exercise program. She needs to stop drinking, too."

  After all this, Munch thought, the kid still cares about that bitch.

  "Was that her vodka we found in your room?"

  "I took it to stop my mom from drinking it."

  "It takes more than that," Munch said.

  "I know, but we’re not going to pretend we’re okay anymore. I know you’ll make sure of that."

  Munch smiled. The kid was all right.

  "What happens now?" Charlotte asked.

  "We’re going to the police." Munch didn't add, What you should have done in the first place. There would be time enough later to discuss all of that.

  They parked in the visitors’ lot in front of the police station. Munch left Asia, Jill, and Jasper under the watchful eye of the desk sergeant and took Charlotte upstairs to be debriefed. Rico produced the Beta tape and said, "Let’s all watch this together, okay?"

  "You’ve got a Betamax here?" Munch asked.

  Rico said, "All you had to do was ask."

  "I’m working on it," she said.

  They played the tape for Rico, stopping when they got to the part where the man called out, "Queenie, hush."

  "Hear that radio-announcer voice on the tape? That’s Cheryl Koon’s husband, Michael. Michael, Micky Mouseman. I recognized the voice. It’s not one you easily forget. See? It all fits." Munch thought about her first meeting with Cheryl Koon. Cheryl hadn’t known what her husband saw in her. Munch knew now that he hadn’t wanted Cheryl. He wanted her son, Steve, the boy with the fast hands, and all his disenfranchised little friends.

  Charlotte repeated her story for Rico, minimizing her mother’s involvement in this telling, Munch noticed.

  "What these tapes also did is keep us tied to him," Charlotte said. "Steve just wanted out. We thought if we had the goods on his stepdad, he’d let us go. Most of the kids didn’t want out.

  He treated them well."

  "The trips to Disneyland," Munch said, looking over at Rico, who was sitting quietly letting Charlotte do the explaining. There was no judgment on his face, no anger, only a patient quiet.

  "And shoes and sports equipment for the boys," Charlotte added. "Clothes or whatever for the girls."

  "Music?" Munch asked, keeping her voice even, her face calm, trying to follow Rico’s example.

  "Music, paying the gas bill, keeping our phone hooked up. He even saved us from getting evicted once."

  "Did he touch you?" Munch asked quietly, fearing the answer.

  "No, it was never about that. You're talking about sex, right?"

  Munch could only nod.

  "lt was"—Charlotte searched for the word—"the parenting. All the kids had to keep up with their schoolwork, do their chores at home. He even lectured us on brushing our teeth regularly, and he was really down on drugs and smoking cigarettes."

  "So what went wrong?" Munch asked.

  "We started growing up. Mouseman wanted the younger kids."

  "Like Jill," Munch said.

  "Yeah," Charlotte said. "She thought I was trying to run her life, but I wanted to protect her. Someone was going to get caught one of those times. Mouseman got caught once because a silent alarm called the police. He had to go to jail. He said none of us would make it in jail. He only wanted to keep us safe, he said." Charlotte snorted. Her eyes looked a thousand years old, but when she cried, she looked fifteen.

  "Can I take her home?" Munch asked.

  Rico shook his head sadly. "We’re going to have to hold her. She’ll be all right."

  Charlotte seemed accepting of this, too. Munch hugged her before she was led away to be processed. Rico accompanied Munch to the reception area and helped her explain to Jill and Asia what was going on. She’d also made arrangements to drop the kids at the St. Johns’.

  "Why aren’t we going home?" Asia asked. She was tired and cranky. Munch realized that she hadn’t fed them dinner.

  She knelt so that she was at eye level with her daughter. "I have one more thing to do. It might be kinda late before I’m finished." She didn’t want to tell Asia that home wasn’t the safest place anymore. Not until this was over.

  "Does it have to be you?" Asia asked, an uncharacteristic whine in her voice.

  "I need to see this through. I know what this guy looks like. I’m going to help Rico catch him." And then it would be safe for all of them to go home. She thought again about that voice on the tape, representing the adult, the parent. Not to mention that he was the guy with all the goodies. Everything but a conscience.

  "I’ll make it up to you," Munch told her daughter. "I promise."

  "Yeah, right/’ Asia sighed one of her too wise sighs. "Let’s just go."

  Chapter 24

  Munch and Rico drove to Colin Webster’s house. It was in Marina Del Rey, on one of the small bays carved out of the coastline to create more boat slips. The avant-garde sculptures in the front yard, twisting, soaring figures cast in bronze and Plexiglas, reflected the art collector’s eclectic tastes.

  The moon was full and was reflected in soft ripples on the black water. The scene would have been romantic if they hadn’t been there to catch a killer.

  Colin Webster’s house was dark save for his house number flickering in purple neon. Munch pictured the
man inside, sitting in the dark, scared and thrilled at the same moment. Sounded a bit like her love life. The Range Rover was parked in a curve of the cul-de-sac, no doubt poised for a quick getaway.

  "Not this time, buster," Munch murmured to herself.

  The police had met for a brief huddle several blocks away. There were eight uniformed officers in four black-and-whites.

  Rico made nine. Munch had been included in their powwow.

  The inclusion flattered her. They decided to take down Michael Koon once he was back in his car and pulling away from the curb.

  "We’ll do a jam," a sergeant in uniform said.

  The other officers nodded, an excited ripple running through them. Munch felt like a little kid around these guys. Not one of the guys was under six feet. They were all physically fit and confident. She was in the presence of gladiators, gladiators with guns who were operating under the color of the law. Michael Koon didn’t stand a chance.

  She felt a strong and unexpected wave of pride to be one of the good guys.

  "When he gets in his car," Rico said, "we’ll surround him. One car will pull in front of him, another behind, and a third will pull up alongside the driver’s door pinning it closed. The rest of us will take position on the sidewalk, under cover of the remaining cars, weapons drawn, and order him to exit. He won’t have an option." Rico reached down and put his hand on her shoulder. "We’ll go on your word. You just point him out."

  Now Munch was waiting to do just that. Suddenly a movement inside the Rover caught her eye. Koon was knocking at Colin Webster’s door; somebody else was inside his car.

  "Wait," she said.

  The police had tuned their Handie-Talkies to the same frequency Rico’s finger depressed the transmit button.

  She pointed to the Rover and then to her eye.

  They watched, straining to make out a movement behind the Rover’s tinted glass. Had she just caught a reflection from somewhere else? A night bird? Or were her over-tuned and hyper-vigilant senses playing games with her mind?

  Koon had given up on getting a response from the darkened house and was beginning to walk toward his car. Rico looked at Munch. She shook her head. She wasn’t sure. Then . . . There it was again. A small head raised up on the passenger side of the Rover. Koon raised his hands to the small figure and shrugged as if to communicate, Nobody home.

  Munch let herself out of Rico’s car before he could stop her.

  "Michael," she said. "Michael Koon."

  He looked her way. She took a step toward him, forcing him to face her.

  "I’ve got something you want."

  "What are you talking about?" he said, wary now, looking back at the Rover. His keys were in his hands. She didn’t know what he might have tucked in his waistband.

  "I found my niece. I’ve got the tape, but it’s going to cost you." So far, she hadn’t lied.

  "What do you want?" he asked. He took a few steps closer to her. Munch forced herself not to look at the Rover or back at Rico’s car. She heard the click of the radio, five engines idling quietly, and hoped Michael Koon hadn’t picked up the noises that didn’t belong in this otherwise quiet scene.

  "Did you bring the money?" she asked. She moved closer to the Rover. A click of the door opening made them both turn. The dome light flicked on and illuminated a young boy’s features, a kid maybe twelve. "I’m not doing anything in front of a kid," Munch said. "We deal now or I’m out of here."

  Koon licked his lips and then smoothly told the kid in his car, "Stay put, Sam, I’ll just be a minute."

  Munch pointed toward the shadow of one of the larger sculptures. "Over there."

  Koon took five steps and then the neighborhood blazed alive. Five sets of high beams put the moon to shame.

  A helicopter swooped overhead, its loudspeaker splitting the night. "Down, now!" the voice commanded. "Down on the ground."

  Munch dropped and rolled, seeking cover under one of the sculptures. "Freeze!" the voice said. The command was soon echoed by nine cops with drawn weapons. The beating of the helicopter blades overhead made the air concuss in her ears and kicked dust in her eyes. She couldn’t blink. The cops screamed at Koon. Their voices had a touch of hysteria that filled her with more fear than the guns they held. Perhaps that was the desired effect.

  Finally Michael Koon got the message and sank to his knees. He laced his fingers behind his head, holding his elbows akimbo. One of the uniformed cops came up behind him and pushed Koon’s shoulder until the man went prone. Another cop kicked Koon’s feet apart. Munch wondered if this final humiliation was all part of the master plan.

  She watched Michael Koon’s face. He looked dazed as they cuffed him, but not surprised. Rico grabbed his arm and helped him to his feet. They walked over to Rico’s unmarked, where Rico searched Koon’s pockets, emptying the lot on the hood of his car.

  The black velvet pouch was in Koon’s jacket pocket. Rico dumped the contents in his hand and Munch identified the stolen jewelry. Most of it. The cameo was there, and the locket. Only two of Meg Sul1ivan’s rings remained. The one with the blue stone was not one of them. Munch felt a twinge of disappointment.

  Michael Koon was led away and placed in the back of one of the patrol cars. The boy in the Rover was taken off in a separate car. Colin Webster's door opened and the large man called out,

  "Did you get him?"

  "Yes, sir," Rico said. "We did."

  "Show him the stuff," Munch whispered. "It’ll make him feel good."

  Rico and Munch joined Colin Webster in his doorway. Webster had turned his lights on.

  "Sir," Rico said. "I’m told you’re an expert in antique jewelry."

  Webster beamed with pleasure. "I dabble." He opened his door wider. "Please, won’t you come in?"

  They gathered around a table made of some rich dark wood. Rico showed their host the cameo. Webster pulled a jeweler’s loupe from his pocket and examined the piece carefully.

  "Oh, my Very nice." He turned the brooch over and studied some scratches on the back.

  "What do you see?" Munch asked.

  Webster spoke without taking his attention off the jewelry. "Please inform the owners that I'd like to make them an offer. "

  "Is it valuable?" Munch asked.

  "Not for the workmanship or materials."

  "A piece of history?" Munch asked.

  Webster let her peer through the magnifying lens of the loupe. She saw that the scratches on the back were letters. She didn’t understand the foreign words, but could make out a distinct few capitalized letters in stylized script.

  "This cameo," Webster said, almost beside himself with excitement, "was a gift between lovers. If I’m not mistaken, to Josephine from Napoleon,"

  "I guess I earned my reward," Munch said.

  ***

  They returned to the police station. Munch stayed while Rico wrote his report. He called the hospital and learned that Cheryl Koon was going to recover. Munch had no idea how the woman would put the rest of her life back together. Her son was dead, her husband had betrayed her in the worst possible way. Fortunately, that wasn’t Munch’s problem. She had plenty of other issues to which to devote her attention. Rico was fairly certain that if Charlotte continued to cooperate with the police and the district attorney she would come through her ordeal with nothing on her permanent record. As for Munch and Rico, they ended up not picking up the kids from the St. Johns’ that night, which was just as well.

  ***

  On Saturday Munch contacted the Sullivans. The couple were generous with their reward. The price negotiated for selling the cameo to Colin Webster more than offset the reward money they paid Munch. Mr. Sullivan, Munch learned, was exactly what he appeared to be. A nice man with money. She’d like to find someone like that for Asia one day.

  ***

  On Sunday, after dropping Jill off for a supervised visit at her mother’s, Munch, Rico, and Asia returned to the petting zoo. They took two cars: Munch’s GTO and a radio-equipp
ed police car. Rico had also suited up for business.

  They wandered among the animals, trying not to look as if they were hunting.

  When they got to the pen where the hooved animals were kept, Asia froze and pointed at a man in designer jeans and a Members Only jacket. "That’s him."

  Munch looked where Asia had pointed. She expected the guy to be older. Maybe she had painted him in her mind to resemble her father. This guy looked about thirty He was clean-cut and well groomed, of normal appearance to the casual observer. He was bent over a girl who looked about Asia’s age, his nose almost in her hair. The little girl was pointing at the llamas.

  "Shoot him," Munch said.

  "Let me handle this," Rico said.

  Munch was happy to let him. Asia had ahold of her fingers. Munch wasn’t about to pry her loose or let her get anywhere near the guy.

  She watched Rico approach the man. The guy straightened immediately his gestures exaggerated as if he was lying. Rico said something to the little girl. She shook her head and pointed off toward the bathrooms.

  Rico said, "Go get your mother. I want to speak to her. " The little girl ran off toward the bathroom and Rico turned his attention back to the guy with the hair on the backs of his fingers. Rico flipped his coat back, showing his badge.

  The little girl returned with her mother.

  "Do you know this man?" Rico asked her.

  "No, should I?" the woman asked, looking more confused than concerned.

  "We’ve had a complaint about someone matching his description being overly solicitous to children." He looked at the woman’s daughter. "Especially to little girls who he finds by themselves."

  The woman looked horrified. The guy tried to spin away but Rico anticipated the move. When the guy feinted to the other side, he exhausted Rico’s patience. The blow came quickly A punch delivered with cool precision to the solar plexus. The guy doubled over and crumpled to the ground. He had been resisting arrest. Munch would swear to it. She was pretty sure the other mother would back her story.