Unfinished Business - Barbara Seranella (27 page)

Munch thought about the last time she'd seen Diane
alive and wondered if this was the cause of the argument she hadn't
wanted to talk about. "I'll bet they did at that."

She checked her watch and decided she might just have
enough time to go pay Polk Studio a call.
 

Chapter 22

 
P
olk Studio was
in reality an old two-story Spanish-style house in a part of West
Hollywood that had once been swank but was now in a state of decline.
This sinking of status was evidenced by overgrown tropical plants and
burglar bars on every window. Yet parking was still almost
impossible, Munch soon found, unless you were a resident with a
sticker or had staked your claim earlier in the decade.

She had called first and confirmed that Joey Polk was
there. She pressed the doorbell when she reached the stoop, but
hearing no ring within the house she worked the solid brass knocker
bolted to the center of the large dark wood door. Looking up she
noticed a string of old-fashioned glass Christmas lightbulbs attached
to the roofline with rusty nails.

A woman with long black hair answered. She was about
Munch's age, dressed in stretch pants and a sweatshirt, and obviously
stoned. There, but for the grace of God, go I, Munch thought.

"Are you Veronica?" Munch asked.

The woman threw back her head and made a little
derisive snort. "No, I'm Shana."

Of course you are. "Is Joey here?" Munch
asked.

"Did you have an appointment?" Shana asked.

"Yeah, I called a little while ago."

Shana turned her head and yelled behind her, "Joey,
you got company." Then she stepped aside and Munch walked in.
The rooms visible from the entryway were furnished in a mishmash of
overstuffed furniture. A meager collection of plaster-of-paris Cupids
gathered dust on an end table. Shana sat down behind a desk near the
foyer, managing to look instantly bored.

A man soon joined them and offered Munch a plump,
sweating palm. His eyes did a walkover of her body that began and
ended below her chin. She could see why Veronica Parker had fared so
badly, if this sleazeball was her so-called protection. Not that
Munch bought the concept that any kind of pimp ever deterred trouble.
She'd had a friend named Roxanne in the bad old days who turned
tricks on Main Street in Venice. Roxanne used to have her biker old
man park nearby and watch. Maybe it somehow made her feel better,
maybe she wanted him to appreciate all that she did. Munch never saw
that he was any kind of help. How much could anybody do for a woman
once she was alone with her trick, except take a cut of her pay?

"Are you Joey?" she asked the man.

"The Polk man himself," he said. Shana
groaned.

"You said on the phone that you'd help hook me
up with Veronica?" Munch said.

"I'll need a reason," he said, fluffing his
niggardly chin hair with the back of one of his pudgy hands. She
didn't miss the suggestion in his tone.

"I wanted to talk to her about some guy we both
know."

"What guy is that?"

She figured she might as well put her cards on the
table. "A couple of months ago she was raped and abandoned on
the freeway The same thing happened to two other women I know. One of
them was killed. The other is still being stalked by the guy and has
disappeared. I have reason to believe that all the victims of this
guy posed for nude photos at some point."

"Are you a cop?" Joey asked.

Munch felt oddly flattered. "Do I look like a
cop?" Then she realized that that statement could be construed
as a dodge and quickly added, "No, I'm not a cop at all. I just
want to stop this guy. He's seriously twisted. In fact, he's been
calling me. For all I know, I might be next." She turned to
Shana. "Or you."

Shana fixed Munch with a look that focused two feet
past her shoulder. She wasn't exactly shaking in her go-go boots.

"What do you want from Ronnie?" Joey asked,
still eyeing Munch with mistrust.

"I don't know. Maybe she could tell me something
else to help catch this guy. Something maybe she's remembered since.
I'm not looking to cause her any more grief."

He used the same intercom system as Shana. Turning
his head so that his straggly goatee grazed his shoulder, he yelled,
"Ronnie, shake your ass and c'mon out here a minute." Then
he turned back to Munch and said, "Don't take all fucking day."

Veronica Parker emerged from a back room. She wore
black shorts and a halter top. Her white legs were punctuated by
several black circular bruises. Her eyes were rimmed with red and
glassy enough to throw a glare across the room. "Whas up?"
she asked.

"Lady here wants to ask you some questions/'
Joey said.

"What about?"

"Think we could sit?" Munch asked,
indicating a sofa in the far corner of the room.

Veronica shrugged. "Yeah, sure." She
scratched her nose. "You got anything for the head?"

"No," Munch said, leading Veronica to the
farthest corner of the living room. "I need to ask you about the
guy who attacked you a couple months ago."

"What guy?"

Munch wondered if there had been more than one
incident. "The guy who tied you up and left you on the freeway.
"

"Oh, that. What about it?"

"Did you know the guy?"

"No," she said, not bothering to lower her
voice, "he was just some guy. Some fuckhead jerk."

"How'd you meet him?"

She looked over at Joey for guidance. He lifted his
shoulders and let them drop. "Tell her."

"He was in the parking lot outside the club,
said he wanted a private dance. I told him it would cost double. He
didn't have a problem with that."

"Did you go to his place?"

"No, I don't know where we went."

"How's that?"

Veronica got interested in her hands, pushing down
cuticles on first one finger and then another. "You sure you
don't have anything to smoke?"

"No, sorry "

She sighed and then the story came out in a rush. "It
was dark. I never saw his face too clearly. He had one of them buzzer
things. You know, like when someone has cancer or something and they
cut a hole in your throat and you have to talk through this thing
that makes you sound all weird?"

"Yeah, I know what you mean."

"So I didn't want to stare or anything. You
know, like if he was handicapped or retarded or something." She
lifted her hands, palms up. "I don't want to make anybody feel
bad." She smiled sloppily obviously proud of her egalitarianism.

"Then what happened?" Munch prompted.

"All of a sudden he puts something over my head,
a coat or a blanket, something heavy like that. Then he ties it up
tight around my throat with that thick silver tape."

"Duct tape?"

"Yeah, duck tape. He picked me up and threw me
in his car. I thought there were a couple of guys at first. Then I
realized he was just talking to himself."

"What kind of things was he saying?"

"Whacked-out shit, like, 'Just this once' and
'Just to see.' "

Veronica brought a hand to her shoulder and squeezed.
"I waited to see what would happen. He told me to close my eyes
and then he unwrapped my head. He said he needed my mouth free, but
he was closing my eyes for my own protection." She looked
sideways at Munch. "Real nice guy huh?"

"Did he take you somewhere?"

"Nah, we just stayed in his van."

"His van? I thought you said car."

"No, it was a van." She rubbed a bony hip
and cracked a grin. "No carpet either. If you catch that fucker,
tell him he owes me a hundred bucks. No, make that two hundred. I had
that sticky duck tape shit in my hair for days."

Behind them, Shana laughed. Munch saw no point in
saying anything about their attitude. What could she say? Gee, you're
not reacting right. You should be much more traumatized. Denial had
its uses.

"He shocked the other women with electricity,"
Munch said. The memory seemed to sober Veronica. She stood and showed
Munch what were now familiar-looking shiny burn scars on the backs of
her legs. "He did me, too," she said quietly as if ashamed
of being the victim of torture. "I thought I was paralyzed at
first. Took forever for the burns to heal."

Munch winced in sympathy According to Mace St. John,
a stun gun's 100,000-volt charge completely overrides the victim's
central nervous system. She started to feel bad for bringing it all
up again, but she knew any scrap of information would be helpful. On
Monday she would relay everything she learned to Agent Hogan now that
St. John was out of the picture.

"Can you remember any specific sounds or smells
from inside the van?" she asked.

"Trees," Veronica said after a moment of
thought. "Smelled like Christmas trees."

"You mean like pine?" Munch asked.

"Yeah," Veronica said, scratching her nose
as if the scent still tickled it. "That was it."

"
This freak likes to use the phone, too. Did you
get any kinky calls before or after you were attacked?"

"
I'm lucky if a regular phone call gets through
in this place."

She shot a look at Shana.

"
Hey bitch," Shana said. "I'm not your
fucking answering service."

"How about photographs? Did he take your picture
when you were naked or have any of you?"

"I don't know. He might have. He could have
gotten some from the club. I was Miss August."

Munch reached in her purse for one of her limo cards.
She handed it to Veronica. "If you think of anything else, or if
the guy calls you, let me know. And if you ever want to come up for
air, I can help with that, too."

"What do you mean?"

Munch pushed back her sleeve to reveal her own faded
needle marks. "I've been out of the life for almost eight years.
If you're interested, you got my number."

"Thanks,"
Veronica said. She folded the card carefully and stuck it in the back
pocket of her short shorts.

* * *

Munch left Joey Polk's and got on Sunset Boulevard
heading west. She checked her watch. Asia's game would be half over
by now. She still had time to stop by Robin's before going back to
the park. Not wanting to hassle with the gate guard, Munch used the
unattended entrance to Barrington Plaza Gardens.

Her note to Robin was still stuck in the front
doorjamb. She pulled it free just as she sensed a presence behind
her.

"Are you a friend?" a man's voice asked.

Munch turned around. It was Frank Fahoosy. "Are
you?"

"
Yes," Fahoosy said. "Very good
friend."

"Do you know where she is?" Munch asked.
Fahoosy was on the path, she on the short concrete stoop. If his
intention was to stop her, he could easily catch her and physically
overpower her before she had a chance to flee. Not that she would be
taken quietly or without inflicting pain.

Fahoosy seemed unaware of her calculations. His
expression was anxious, even worried. "No, I haven't heard from
her since Thursday. This is not like her."

"I'm worried, too," Munch admitted. "She
hasn't returned my calls."

"Nor mine,"Fahoosy said. "And she
missed an appointment for a job. Also not like her."

"What kind of a job?" Munch asked.

"A photo layout." Fahoosy wiped a hand
across his mouth and looked to either side. She didn't feel any
threat emanating from him; rather he seemed at a loss.

"Did you know she was getting meals delivered to
her?"

"Yes," he said. "Meals-On-Wheels."

"I talked to one of the delivery guys and he
said she called in to the office at the hospital and told them to
cancel her service."

"When was this?" he asked.

"Umm. Thursday I guess."

"This is very strange," he said. "Why
call them and not let me know what was going on?"

"I wondered the same thing," Munch said.

Fahoosy seemed close to tears. "Did you talk to
these Meals-On-Wheels people yourself?"

"No, just to the volunteer guy."

"Maybe he was mistaken."

Munch started to reply then stopped. The pieces of
information flashed together in her brain like cards shuffling into a
deck. The van with its smell of pine. Her refusal to respond to
D.W.'s dating overtures. Thursday morning at the bakery Who was that
second cup of coffee for? And hadn't D.W. known all about her
involvement with Robin? He had been in the room when she offered her
help.

Mun, how stupid could she be?

"
I've got to go," she told Fahoosy. "If
I find out anything about Robin, I'll let you know. "

She rushed past him. He offered no resistance. She
ran to her car, wondering whom she would go to with this important
news. St. John was effectively out of the picture. That left Pete
Owen or Emily Hogan. Munch drove to the gas station to use the phone
there.