from the morning
crew run out there and see if they can locate the sister."
As he spoke, he wrote out a memo detailing the
situation to Tiger Cassiletti and Bumper Morris, the two dicks who
worked Sunday morning.
After they hung up, Blackstone made a copy of the
arrest report and the sisters picture, adding them both to the
steadily growing file of the homicide investigation. He made more
circles on his blotter. In each he wrote names and brief titles. The
top circle was given over to Jonathan Garillo—Victim. He drew a
line connecting it to the second circle, Lisa Slokum—Victim's next
of kin. With all these lowlifes involved, something was bound to
break soon.
10
As SHE CLEANED her small apartment Sunday morning,
Munch couldn't stop reliving sneaking into the coroner's office: the
delicious thrill of being in a forbidden place before the shock of
seeing Sleaze. Wasn't it just like God to pair those two things? Just
as she was enjoying a taboo-breaking rush . . . Bam. Old friend dead,
killed in action, a stark reminder of the inherent risks of her old
life.
But still, it was hard to shake that feeling of
excitement when the cops entered the room. She had even brushed by
one of them, touched his sleeve on the way out the door like an
Indian warrior counting coup. Even now the memory of that moment sent
a thrill through her stomach. She chuckled out loud, envisioning the
students who keeled over at the sight of blood.
She was shutting off the vacuum cleaner when she saw
her answering machine blink red as it answered a call. She picked up
the receiver and silenced the outgoing message.
"Were you asleep?" Danielle asked.
"No, I had the vacuum on. What's up?"
"Just calling to see how you were."
"Oh, just lovely How are you?"
"I went out with Derek last night."
"How was it?"
"I don't know. Okay I guess. Sometimes these
guys on the program seem like such wimps."
"I know what you're saying. It's like show some
spine. I don't want to hear about your childhood."
"Exactly"
Munch looked out the window.
"What are you doing today?" Danielle asked.
She almost said waiting, but then Danielle would ask
waiting for what. "I'm just going to hang around here. I've got
a lot of stuff to catch up on."
"All right," Danielle said. "Maybe
I'll catch you later."
"Sounds good."
* * *
Lisa's call came at twelve-thirty.
"I didn't know who else to call," she said,
her tone flat.
"Lisa? What's wrong?" Munch asked, hating
the necessity of her playacting.
"He's been dead since Friday. John is dead."
"How?"
"He was shot."
She heard the baby crying in the background.
"You want me to come over?"
"I'm not too proud to ask," Lisa said.
Munch set down the phone, realizing too late that she
should have asked Lisa if the cops were going to be there. That was
all she needed, to be over at Lisa's house when the detectives
arrived with their questions.
At one o'clock, just before she left, Munch called
the Snakepit again. This time a woman answered. Munch asked if Deb
was there and the woman said to hold on. Munch took in a deep breath
and noticed she had crossed her fingers.
"Hello?"
"Deb?"
"Munch?" They both laughed with excitement.
"Oh . . . my . . . lord," Deb said, her
Southern drawl as pronounced as ever. "Where are you, woman?"
"L.A."
"How the hell are you?" Deb asked.
"I'm good. Wow, it's good to hear your voice.
How's my little Boogieman?"
"He's growing like crazy" Deb said. "He
asks about you. Shit, I thought we'd lost you forever. Nobody ever
sees you anymore. What's taking you so long to get back to us?"
Munch felt a twist in her stomach and wondered if it
was possible to be homesick for a place she'd never been. "You
say Boogie's gotten big, huh?"
"Why don't you come see for yourself? Get your
ass out of L.A. and come visit. Hell, come stay. You know there's
always room for you here."
"Doesn't he have a birthday coming up?"
"Thats right. You haven't missed one yet. The
Medford airport is about a hundred
crew run out there and see if they can locate the sister."
As he spoke, he wrote out a memo detailing the
situation to Tiger Cassiletti and Bumper Morris, the two dicks who
worked Sunday morning.
After they hung up, Blackstone made a copy of the
arrest report and the sisters picture, adding them both to the
steadily growing file of the homicide investigation. He made more
circles on his blotter. In each he wrote names and brief titles. The
top circle was given over to Jonathan Garillo—Victim. He drew a
line connecting it to the second circle, Lisa Slokum—Victim's next
of kin. With all these lowlifes involved, something was bound to
break soon.
10
As SHE CLEANED her small apartment Sunday morning,
Munch couldn't stop reliving sneaking into the coroner's office: the
delicious thrill of being in a forbidden place before the shock of
seeing Sleaze. Wasn't it just like God to pair those two things? Just
as she was enjoying a taboo-breaking rush . . . Bam. Old friend dead,
killed in action, a stark reminder of the inherent risks of her old
life.
But still, it was hard to shake that feeling of
excitement when the cops entered the room. She had even brushed by
one of them, touched his sleeve on the way out the door like an
Indian warrior counting coup. Even now the memory of that moment sent
a thrill through her stomach. She chuckled out loud, envisioning the
students who keeled over at the sight of blood.
She was shutting off the vacuum cleaner when she saw
her answering machine blink red as it answered a call. She picked up
the receiver and silenced the outgoing message.
"Were you asleep?" Danielle asked.
"No, I had the vacuum on. What's up?"
"Just calling to see how you were."
"Oh, just lovely How are you?"
"I went out with Derek last night."
"How was it?"
"I don't know. Okay I guess. Sometimes these
guys on the program seem like such wimps."
"I know what you're saying. It's like show some
spine. I don't want to hear about your childhood."
"Exactly"
Munch looked out the window.
"What are you doing today?" Danielle asked.
She almost said waiting, but then Danielle would ask
waiting for what. "I'm just going to hang around here. I've got
a lot of stuff to catch up on."
"All right," Danielle said. "Maybe
I'll catch you later."
"Sounds good."
* * *
Lisa's call came at twelve-thirty.
"I didn't know who else to call," she said,
her tone flat.
"Lisa? What's wrong?" Munch asked, hating
the necessity of her playacting.
"He's been dead since Friday. John is dead."
"How?"
"He was shot."
She heard the baby crying in the background.
"You want me to come over?"
"I'm not too proud to ask," Lisa said.
Munch set down the phone, realizing too late that she
should have asked Lisa if the cops were going to be there. That was
all she needed, to be over at Lisa's house when the detectives
arrived with their questions.
At one o'clock, just before she left, Munch called
the Snakepit again. This time a woman answered. Munch asked if Deb
was there and the woman said to hold on. Munch took in a deep breath
and noticed she had crossed her fingers.
"Hello?"
"Deb?"
"Munch?" They both laughed with excitement.
"Oh . . . my . . . lord," Deb said, her
Southern drawl as pronounced as ever. "Where are you, woman?"
"L.A."
"How the hell are you?" Deb asked.
"I'm good. Wow, it's good to hear your voice.
How's my little Boogieman?"
"He's growing like crazy" Deb said. "He
asks about you. Shit, I thought we'd lost you forever. Nobody ever
sees you anymore. What's taking you so long to get back to us?"
Munch felt a twist in her stomach and wondered if it
was possible to be homesick for a place she'd never been. "You
say Boogie's gotten big, huh?"
"Why don't you come see for yourself? Get your
ass out of L.A. and come visit. Hell, come stay. You know there's
always room for you here."
"Doesn't he have a birthday coming up?"
"Thats right. You haven't missed one yet. The
Medford airport is about a hundred
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