Free No offence Intended - Barbara Seranella by Barbara Seranella

subtitles,
read a prepared statement.
    "The LAPD is investigating a shooting that
occurred on the southbound San Diego Freeway thats the four-oh-five
freeway this afternoon at approximately three-twenty near the Santa
Monica Freeway interchange. The victim is identified as a male
Caucasian in his late twenties to early thirties. six feet tall,
medium build. The coroner's office will release a photograph of the
man sometime this week if no one comes forward to identify him. We
have no information as yet on the assailants or the motive for this
attack."
    The scene switched to the on-scene reporter. The wind
whipped the woman's hair as she stood in front of a parking lot full
of police cars. She held one hand to her ear; the other held a
microphone. She looked directly into the camera. "Police say
this is the third such freeway vigilante-style shooting this year.
What authorities won't say is what is being done to prevent such
attacks in the future. They are asking anyone with any information
about this latest incident to contact the department. If you were
driving on the San Diego southbound freeway near the Santa Monica
Freeway at approximately three-thirty this afternoon and might have
seen something, please call the number appearing on your screen."
    A telephone number flashed across the scene.
    "This is Sheena Moral live from Culver City Back
to you, Jerry."
    "In other news," a gray-haired anchorman
cheerfully reported, "police are investigating the shooting
death of a couple in Venice Beach tonight. The couple was discovered
late this afternoon by a local merchant. Police say that the man and
woman, identified as twenty-one-year-old Cynthia Ruiz and
twenty-two-year-old Jesus Guzman, had probably been killed sometime
this morning."
    Munch stared at the TV The scene switched to the
apartment building. The detectives working the case were easy to
spot, with their dark sportcoats and gold shields. One was a tall
good-looking white guy who radiated an air of tacit superiority He
strode past the reporters and onlookers, brushing aside their
questions with unsmiling curtness. She'd met his type before. The
second detective was a plump Hispanic man. He looked like the kind of
cop who would joke around with you. The kind who didn't feel they had
to be a hardass all the time. She thought about Mace St. John, the
homicide cop who had once come after her. Maybe it was time to give
him a call. She turned back to the picture on her TV screen.
    It was getting real, she thought, whether she was
ready for it or not.
 
 
    8
    MUNCH WOKE THE next morning and knew there was no way
she could go shopping. She reached over to the nightstand beside her
bed and grabbed a cigarette. Then she remembered that she wasn't
going to smoke in the bedroom anymore and not first thing. She put
the cigarette back in the pack. She'd had weird dreams all night:
searching for something lost, but not sure what it was that she was
looking for; unable to find her voice; trying to make phone calls but
not being able to dial. She had a good idea what was at the root of
all those uneasy images. She needed to find out for sure if Sleaze
was dead. That was all there was to it.
    Surely they would just run the dead man's
fingerprints through their computers. If it was Sleaze, they would
find a match soon enough. She got out of bed, grabbed her smokes, and
went into the kitchen to put on the coffee water. As she passed the
TV she turned it on to Saturday morning cartoons. She paused briefly
to watch Wile E. Coyote fall off another cliff. Then she turned the
sound down and called the Venice police department, asking for Mace
St. John. The woman who answered the phone told her that the
lieutenant was on his vacation and would be out for the rest of the
week. So much for that ace up her sleeve.
    She drank two more cups of coffee before she got out
the phone book, turning to the front where county services were
listed.
    Under Coroner there were several numbers: one for
regular