Free Unfinished Business - Barbara Seranella by Barbara Seranella

hands extended, as if he, too, felt the need to do
something. "Bring over your air compressor," she said. He
wheeled out his portable compressor and plugged it into one of the
extension cords he had running from the storage building next door.
The spur of track that the Bella Donna rested on was private
property. Munch knew St. John had spent many hours following miles of
track to find such a location. When he stayed there full-time, he was
allowed unlimited access to water and electricity. His presence added
security to the industrial park on the V of Exposition and Olympic.
Even though it was five minutes from the Brentwood Country Club and
the miles of professional buildings on Wilshire, you only had to go a
few short miles south to run into serious homeboy territory The
flavor of the neighborhoods in L.A. changed just that quickly. Anyone
who'd ever gotten lost downtown could tell you that. Even on the West
Side you had Marina del Rey sharing boulevards with Venice Beach.
Pasta and legumes on one side of the road, spaghetti and beans on the
other.
    She knew about both worlds now, she thought, as she
hooked up her gauges to the fittings on St. John's air-conditioning
unit and attached the outgoing hose to her evacuation pump.
    "What does that thing do?" he asked.
    "Sucks out all the air and moisture. This will
also tell me if you have a leak."
    St. John turned on the air compressor, and they
waited while it built up enough pressure to operate the evacuator.
The compressor's noisy pumping made small talk impractical.
    She waited until the AC gauges showed fourteen inches
of vacuum, then she closed the valves. She drew a finger across her
throat and pointed at the compressor.
    He shut it off and the air was filled with an abrupt
silence. She looked for Asia, feeling a sudden, terrible panic. Asia
was still where she had been moments earlier when Munch looked. But
isn't that what they always say? I only looked away for an instant.
    "Now what?" St. John asked, meaning his AC.
    Without turning to him she said, "I want to wait
about five minutes, make sure the system holds a vacuum." Asia
wandered over and sat near them on the platform steps. The big dogs
lay panting at her feet. Brownie was in her lap. Munch thought about
Diane Bergman, still not quite believing her death was real, that
she'd never see her again. Then she thought about Robin Davies and
how shitty it felt to have your peace of mind ripped off. Also, how
relatively easily somebody could do that to you. "I need your
help with something else."
    "Oh?"
    "A woman who lives near the station, a customer
actually. She was assaulted." Munch looked at Asia. The little
girl didn't appear to be paying attention to the conversation, but
Munch knew from long experience that little ears never closed. "She
was personally assaulted. Guy told her he'd come back. She's living
like a prisoner in her own home. I told her we could help her. "
    "You mean like provide protection?"
    "I was thinking more along the lines of getting
involved in the case."
    "You were, huh?"
    "Yeah. I mean, you could put in a word, right?
Make sure she doesn't just get swept aside."
    "What's your part in this?" he asked.
    "I like her and she's really hurting. Just let
me introduce you to her. And you're going to need me there when you
guys talk. At least at first. I told her to call me tomorrow morning
at work."
    "Did she make a police report?"
    "Oh yeah, she got assigned a case number and
everything."
    "Who's the detective?"
    "Peter Owen/'
    St. John made a noise through his teeth, like steam
escaping.
    " Do you know him?"
    "Yeah," he said with a disgusted tone, "I
know him."
    "What? Isn't he any good?"
    "He's about to retire. I tell you, once these
guys pick a date, they should just pack their shit and go." He
cast a guilty glance over to where Asia was sitting, but the little
girl hadn't reacted. She was too engrossed in her mission to teach
her new best friend Brownie to shake hands. "Most of