Unpaid Dues (32 page)

Nathan pulled up his shirt to wipe his face. "Those
V's in the bodies were her idea. To make the cops think the 'niggers
were offing each other.' She said that."

Munch shot a worried look at Doleen. The older
woman's eyes were closed, her face seemed folded in on itself, but
she was still breathing.

"Did you come here to kill us all?" Munch
asked.

"I never meant to kill anyone. I just wanted . .
." He looked lost and very young. "I don't know what I
wanted. I called her a few weeks ago, told her I had some pictures of
her she might not want anyone else to see."

"And you knew where to find her because your mom
kept tabs on everyone."

"
My mom made sure it never went away for them.
Every year on my dad's birthday she sent out those
I-haven't-forgot-you cards. That's all she did," he added
bitterly "Just so they'd know somebody remembered."

"What pictures?" Munch asked.

"
I didn't really have any But I figured it would
freak them out a lot more if they thought I had, you know, proof."

Munch spoke slowly and carefully unconsciously
mimicking Jim McManis's tone and cadence. "So you contacted Jane
to confront her, to make her apologize, to face you."

"Lissen what she's saying, boy" Doleen
said.

"The truth is you weren't really sure what you
needed from her," Munch said.

Nathan nodded, tears flowing freely now. "She
agreed to meet me at the job site where I went for an interview. She
was drunk when she got there. Kept me waiting an hour. Everyone else
had gone home for the day cuz it started to rain."

"It was also Valentine's Day" Munch said.

"She never said she was sorry. I told her what I
saw her do. She was holding a baby The rain started coming down real
hard. She said, 'Let me get my baby out of this weather.' I told her
I felt sorry for any kid of hers and she hit me with it."

"It was a doll," Munch said.

"I didn't know that. I thought she was swinging
a real baby at me. I just snapped then," he said. "I went
off on her and by the time I stopped swinging"—he paused to
stanch the flow of watery mucus dripping from his nose—"it was
too late. She was dead."

Doleen shook her head slowly and she said, "Jesus
help us."

Munch considered the irony of Jane's demise,
wondering if this was the first time Jane had fought back, and if
that had cost her her life. Maybe in some sick, sad way that had been
her hope all along. Suicide by instigation.

"Can't I just go?" Nathan asked. "I
could leave the country and never come back."

"
It's not up to me. The police are here. They're
going to arrest you."

"But I—"

Munch held up a hand to silence him. "I'm not
going to abandon you. When the cops read you your rights, you tell
them you have a lawyer and don't want to speak to them without him.
Here's his name and number." She handed him Jim McManis's
business card.

"You think we can beat the charges?" he
asked. The look on his face shattered her heart into another thirty
pieces. He was five again and wanting to know if Santa would still
come even if they didn't have a tree.

"No, honey" she said. "They have too
much on you. The lawyer is so you don't have to spend the rest of
your life in jail or be tried as an adult."

He looked at Doleen. "Do you think it would be
all right if my grandmother kept the Honda?"

"
I think that would be very nice."

St. John knocked at the door. Panic crossed Nathan's
face.

Munch wanted to hold him, to comfort him, but the
time for that had passed. If his father hadn't been murdered. If Deb
had called the police ten years ago, instead of fleeing the state. If
she hadn't taken her black-skinned baby to be raised among people who
would revile him without mercy. If Munch could have been mother and
father to him, stolen him away from Deb, and raised him herself.
Things might have turned out differently. And if any of them had been
different people, they would have had different lives.

The reality was that Deb was an outlaw and would
never dream of calling the police for justice. She had raised her son
to believe the same. Munch couldn't save anyone else until she'd
found a way to save herself. And that had come too late for Nathan.

St. John entered Doleen's tidy little house. His
manner was respectful, almost reluctant.

St. John asked Nathan to take off his jacket. Munch
watched St. John examine the scratch on Nathan's arm that had tom
through the tattoo of his father's name. There would be a match with
the ink found under Jane's fingernails. Then St. John brought out his
handcuffs. Nathan consented without protest. His shoulders relaxed
with resignation, but also relief. This was truly the only way to
save him.

Love didn't get any tougher. He'd almost gotten away
with it. But the truth was no one gets away with murder. Better he
take his punishment now.

McManis had thought—although he wasn't promising
anything—that the courts would take into account Nathan's age, the
trauma of watching his father butchered. If Nathan came clean with
everything, expressed remorse, and was willing to cop a plea and save
the county the expense and hassle of trial, the cops and the DA would
deal. One day not too many years from now, Nathan would be able to
face the world a free man. Munch vowed to do what she could for him
to keep him on the right path.
 

Epilogue

Munch sat next to the St. Johns. It was the
eighteenth of March. The auditorium was filled to capacity with the
relatives and friends of cast members. Tinker Bell was saving Peter
Pan by drinking the poison Captain Hook intended for the hero of
Never-Never Land. Tinker Bell, played by the ever-smiling and
over-enthusiastic Asia, was at a distinct disadvantage being that she
couldn't speak and warn Peter Pan.

Throughout the play Asia had done much with her part,
especially showing her jealousy toward Wendy but for the big death
scene she was outdoing herself. She downed the poison and then went
into her death throes. First she clutched her throat and pirouetted.
Then she staggered, an outstretched hand clutching in what was
supposed to be a pitiful gesture, but lost some in the translation
due to her wide smile and twinkling eyes. The child playing Peter Pan
waited patiently to deliver his line, but Asia/Tinker Bell took her
time to gasp her last breath.

A collective giggle started in the audience,
flashbulbs went off. This brought another inappropriate grin from
Asia, aimed at her adoring fans. She swooned to the floor, her legs
kicking and arms flopping. Finally she lay still.

Peter Pan discovered the flask of poison and realized
what had happened. The script called for Peter to appeal to the
audience. If they believed in fairies, then the power of their belief
(shown by applause) could bring the fallen Tinker Bell back to life.

The audience was apparently possessed of huge magic
that day because no sooner had Peter Pan made his plea than Tinker
Bell was back on her feet, bouncing across the stage with an
ebullience reserved for the resurrected.

"Can't keep a good fairy down," St. John
quipped. Munch laughed in delight. Rico was gone, yet she didn't feel
alone. Life was good and full of endless possibilities.

She had another reason to feel lighthearted.

The DA had allowed Nathan to plead to second-degree
murder. He had also offered Nathan a deal whereby he would serve his
time at the California Youth Authority. It he behaved himself there,
he would avoid one of the tougher, so-called "gladiator school"
prisons. There was a good chance he'd be out in time for his
twenty-fifth birthday which probably sounded like forever to a young
kid, but, given the alternatives, it was the best anyone could have
hoped for.

He'd have to do his penance one day at a time and
cling to the belief that he'd be free while he was still young enough
to make something of himself. He had avoided a more severe charge of
first-degree murder. The police didn't have enough evidence to
support premeditation or lying-in-wait.

The second call Munch had made from the police
station was to Nathan's grandmother. She told Doleen to gather up all
the clothesline at her house and put it somewhere where it would
never be found. Doleen had not asked questions, which was telling in
itself. The police never came up with a match or source of the rope
that bound the cement block and doll to Jane's body If Nathan had
brought the rope with him to Jane's murder scene, the DA would
certainly have argued premeditation and Nathan would have not seen
the light of day again until he was an old man. St. John, if he were
ever to learn of Munch's choice, might not agree with it. But she
remembered the little boy who was, and she had faith in the man he
could still become.

Doleen and Munch had their little secret and each
would take it to her grave.
 
 

Acknowledgments

Many good people helped with the composition and
research for this book. I'd like to thank Marilyn Hudson for sparking
the idea years ago when she asked me "Whatever happened to
Boogie?" after she reviewed No Offense Intended. Terry Baker of
Murder Ink in Venice Beach told me she'd like to see a prequel to N0
Human Involved that showed the events leading to Munch sitting on
that bar stool. And Bay Area bookseller Sandy Graves told me the
story of her little sister who, like me, ran away from home at age
fourteen. Instead of going to the Haight Ashbury the sister went to
Spahn Ranch and lived with the Manson Family. She left two weeks
before the Tate-La Bianca murders. This got me thinking about twists
of fates and how lucky some of us were.

I also gained valuable insights and information from
my friends Riverside County Sheriff's Investigator Carl Carter and
his wife, Deputy District Attorney Dianna Carter, what a dynamic duo
they are. Patty and Charles Hathaway for the info about the Riviera
Country Club. Phyllis Spiva for her in-depth research on "The
Eskimo Story," Scott of Valley Block for the clue about the
pigment. Janet Newcomb for her explanations of the battered wife
syndrome. My author friends Robin Burcell for police procedure and
Sinclair Browning for the horse stuff. Barry Fisher for forensics
information. LAPD Narcotics officer Joe Flores for helping me
understand where Rico grew up. My Coachella Valley critique group,
Poison Pen's Patrick Millikin, and the Fictionaires of Orange County
for valuable feedback (with special mention to Patricia McFall and
Gary Bale). And always my A-Team: Sandy Dijkstra and staff; Susanne
Kirk, Sarah Knight, Laura Wise, Emily Remes, and all the wonderful,
gifted people at Simon & Schuster; my publicists Jackie Green and
Jim Schneeweis.

My husband, Ron, for making it all possible.

Con mucho gusto.