Death Notes

whole thing I just went upstairs and took some pills and went to sleep. I didn’t even think to turn it on. I forgot all about it.’
    I felt bad but I didn’t feel half as bad as I had when she was sitting there, slobbering away, letting me think it was all my fault. I counted to ten, let go of my anger, and sighed.
    ‘Show me where he came in.’
    She led me to the back, pointed at the jimmied back door, then showed me into Match’s music room. The sax was gone.
    The impact of seeing the empty rack standing upright in the center of the room hit me with such force that I nearly missed Philly Post poking around in the corner.
    ‘Mrs Margolis,’ he said, and came over to join us at the door. ‘I see you’re feeling better. Do you think you can answer some questions now?’
    Sharon batted her wet eyes at him and struggled to look seductive, but the effect was more horror than romance.
    ‘Not now, Lieutenant. I just couldn ’t. I wouldn’t be back here right now but Ronnie insisted.’
    I bit my tongue and let my eyes drift back to the instrument rack. It stood erect, a lonely, empty symbol of what was once Match Margolis’s world - his hope and his life.
    Sheet music was strewn all over the floor like oversized confetti. Records and tapes had been tossed around, too. Except for the standing rack, the place looked like a cyclone had passed through.
    ‘You slept through this?’ I asked.
    ‘I had three Seconals, honey. I needed my rest.’
    She looked at me like she expected me to tell her that it was okay. When I didn’t, she shrank backward toward the door. In her green peignoir, with her thick arms making fretful, waving motions through the air, she reminded me of an octopus.
    ‘I need a drink,’ she announced at the threshold, then left me alone with Philly Post.
    We stood in silence amid the paper avalanche until her pomponed footsteps receded down the hall. Then Philly trained his hooded eyes on me.
    ‘She told me,’ I said.
    ‘You working this case for her, Ventana?’
    For a split second I considered telling him what I knew. Then I saw the corners of his mouth twitch and I resented the fun he was having over my burglar alarm.
    ‘No.’,
    It wasn’t a lie - any investigating I’d do, I’d do for me.
    I couldn’t be sure if he bought it or not but he didn’t push. We talked burglar alarms for a while, then I looked out the window and decided to push my luck.
    ‘Any big leads?’
    He said nothing, so I turned around to face him. He was scowling.
    ‘I got nothing,’ he said. ‘Three hundred interviews and nothing. A third of them have rap sheets and the rest are all PhDs or society types.’
    ‘Any of them ever been arrested for knifing somebody?’
    Post scowled. ‘I didn’t join the force yesterday, Ventana. I know how to do my job.’
    ‘Well?’
    ‘No.’
    ‘What about the knife? Weren’t there any prints?’
    ‘Nothing we could use.’
    ‘Didn’t you say something about a professional hit theory?’
    ‘For crying out loud, Ventana. Drop the goddamn bloodhound shit. That’s the only thing I’ve got so far. And it’s just a theory.’
    He kicked at a bunch of sheet music. It splayed into the rest of the mess across the floor.
    ‘She tell you she tried to keep Johnson out? Some neighbor called it in when she ran out the front door screaming she’d been robbed. Rocky somebody. Then Johnson shows up and she won’t let him inside. Says it was all a mistake. He wouldn’t leave, so she made him swear to keep it out of the papers before she’d open the door.’
    ‘She’s paranoid about the press. She wants to control what they say about Match.’
    Post snorted. ‘She should have thought of that before she charged out the door. You know what? Even though the old junkie’s dead, I feel sorry for him. She’s more wrung out over losing this crap than she was about losing him.’
    Post had a point. Sharon wasn’t painting herself in a very sympathetic light. Post tugged at his tie to loosen it, then squinted at me. He tried not to scowl, but I guess he couldn’t figure out the right set of facial muscles to relax. They were probably stuck in place from being flexed all those years.
    ‘You got any ideas?’ he asked me. He actually sounded humble. ‘Anything come up for you since Saturday?’
    I wanted to throw the dog a bone but there was nothing I could tell him that he wouldn’t throw a switch over.
    ‘Have you tracked down who started the dying words rumor yet?’