an
explanation.
Cassiletti looked at him, then at his knees as he
smoothed his impeccable slacks. "My dad kicked her out because
he came back from a business trip and the makeup she put on me rubbed
off on his hand. "
"She put makeup on you?"
"To cover up the bruises. My dad put it
together, realized the other things weren't accidents."
"The other things?"
" The burns, the chipped teeth." Cassiletti
shrugged as if to say: "History."
St. John drove in silence.
Well, no wonder then, he thought. His dad used to say: "Everybody
has a story" Digger St. John was right about that.
* * *
Munch was not surprised to see St. John's Buick
swinging out from the spot where she'd witnessed the new fence being
installed. She didn't honk or wave and neither St. John nor
Cassiletti had seen her. She was driving a customer's big white Ford
Bronco, which had a whine in the rear end.
A cowgirl was leading a large gray horse out of one
of the stables. Munch pulled in beside her and put a big smile on her
face. "Hi, did I miss them?"
" You mean those cops?"
" Yeah." Munch shifted the truck into park
and rested her elbow on the windowsill. "They ask you if you saw
anything the other night?"
"You mean Saturday?" The woman walked the
horse over. "I wasn't here. I told them that. They were asking
me about some rope."
"What kind of rope?"
" Just regular nylon, might have been
clothesline, I guess. Not the kind we use here." The horse
nudged her arm. "So you know those guys?"
" Yeah, they're friends of mine."
"Do you know if he's married? I didn't see a
ring."
"Which one?"
"The cute one. The big guy"
"Oh, him. " Munch had to smile at the
relief she felt, as if it made any difference which cop this woman
had taken an interest in. "No, he's available, but he's shy
around women. Why do you think the rope was clothesline?"
"Because it was white, I guess. Why?"
"They're investigating the murder of a friend of
mine."
"The woman in the storm drain?" The horse
put his head into her back and pushed. She stumbled a few steps
forward, then pushed back and stroked the horse's face, admonishing
him to be patient.
" That's the one."
" I'm sorry."
" Yeah, me too." Munch fished Thor's
photograph out of her pocket. "You ever see this guy before?"
" No."
"How about without the beard?"
" That would be hard to say Maybe. Who is he?"
"Nobody important."
" Somebody who looked like that would really
stand out around here."
"Yeah, he always stood out."
Chapter 12
Munch got home that night, she found that a thick
letter with a Sacramento postmark had arrived. Roxanne's telephone
bill. Many long-distance phone numbers were circled. There were at
least thirty to Oregon, another ten to Los Angeles, and three to
Amsterdam.
Munch wondered what time it was in Amsterdam as she
put the call through. With Deborah, the boundaries between night and
day didn't matter. The last time Munch had spent time with Deb, it
had been "wine-thirty" pretty much all day
" Yeah," a sleepy voice answered.
"What are you doing?" Munch asked without
bothering to identify herself.
"I was sleeping. How the hell are you?"
"Good. Are the tulips blooming?"
"Oh, yeah, it's fucking beautiful" A half a
world away Deb yawned loudly "What's up?"
" Your son's staying with me. I thought you might
like to know."
" Is he there right now?"
"No, he's still at work. He got himself a job
doing construction."
" That's the man I raised."
Oh, shut up, Munch wanted to tell her. How dare you
take credit for his survival skills? "He sure did grow up nice."
"Yeah, I'm real proud of that boy He had some
rough spots, but he got through 'em."
" You ever hear from his father?"
"I thought you knew. Walter died."
" He did? No, I didn't know. Bummer. How?"
"Yeah, it was really sad. Just when he was going
to get to know his son."
Munch was quiet. In the years she had known Deb and
Boogie, from when he was six months old until he was a cute little
boy of seven, his father had made no
explanation.
Cassiletti looked at him, then at his knees as he
smoothed his impeccable slacks. "My dad kicked her out because
he came back from a business trip and the makeup she put on me rubbed
off on his hand. "
"She put makeup on you?"
"To cover up the bruises. My dad put it
together, realized the other things weren't accidents."
"The other things?"
" The burns, the chipped teeth." Cassiletti
shrugged as if to say: "History."
St. John drove in silence.
Well, no wonder then, he thought. His dad used to say: "Everybody
has a story" Digger St. John was right about that.
* * *
Munch was not surprised to see St. John's Buick
swinging out from the spot where she'd witnessed the new fence being
installed. She didn't honk or wave and neither St. John nor
Cassiletti had seen her. She was driving a customer's big white Ford
Bronco, which had a whine in the rear end.
A cowgirl was leading a large gray horse out of one
of the stables. Munch pulled in beside her and put a big smile on her
face. "Hi, did I miss them?"
" You mean those cops?"
" Yeah." Munch shifted the truck into park
and rested her elbow on the windowsill. "They ask you if you saw
anything the other night?"
"You mean Saturday?" The woman walked the
horse over. "I wasn't here. I told them that. They were asking
me about some rope."
"What kind of rope?"
" Just regular nylon, might have been
clothesline, I guess. Not the kind we use here." The horse
nudged her arm. "So you know those guys?"
" Yeah, they're friends of mine."
"Do you know if he's married? I didn't see a
ring."
"Which one?"
"The cute one. The big guy"
"Oh, him. " Munch had to smile at the
relief she felt, as if it made any difference which cop this woman
had taken an interest in. "No, he's available, but he's shy
around women. Why do you think the rope was clothesline?"
"Because it was white, I guess. Why?"
"They're investigating the murder of a friend of
mine."
"The woman in the storm drain?" The horse
put his head into her back and pushed. She stumbled a few steps
forward, then pushed back and stroked the horse's face, admonishing
him to be patient.
" That's the one."
" I'm sorry."
" Yeah, me too." Munch fished Thor's
photograph out of her pocket. "You ever see this guy before?"
" No."
"How about without the beard?"
" That would be hard to say Maybe. Who is he?"
"Nobody important."
" Somebody who looked like that would really
stand out around here."
"Yeah, he always stood out."
Chapter 12
Munch got home that night, she found that a thick
letter with a Sacramento postmark had arrived. Roxanne's telephone
bill. Many long-distance phone numbers were circled. There were at
least thirty to Oregon, another ten to Los Angeles, and three to
Amsterdam.
Munch wondered what time it was in Amsterdam as she
put the call through. With Deborah, the boundaries between night and
day didn't matter. The last time Munch had spent time with Deb, it
had been "wine-thirty" pretty much all day
" Yeah," a sleepy voice answered.
"What are you doing?" Munch asked without
bothering to identify herself.
"I was sleeping. How the hell are you?"
"Good. Are the tulips blooming?"
"Oh, yeah, it's fucking beautiful" A half a
world away Deb yawned loudly "What's up?"
" Your son's staying with me. I thought you might
like to know."
" Is he there right now?"
"No, he's still at work. He got himself a job
doing construction."
" That's the man I raised."
Oh, shut up, Munch wanted to tell her. How dare you
take credit for his survival skills? "He sure did grow up nice."
"Yeah, I'm real proud of that boy He had some
rough spots, but he got through 'em."
" You ever hear from his father?"
"I thought you knew. Walter died."
" He did? No, I didn't know. Bummer. How?"
"Yeah, it was really sad. Just when he was going
to get to know his son."
Munch was quiet. In the years she had known Deb and
Boogie, from when he was six months old until he was a cute little
boy of seven, his father had made no
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