Death Notes

from her until she found out he was planning a comeback. She assumed he’d start pulling in some money if he got back into the jazz scene again so she started calling him and seeing him again. I can’t say her shortcomings are all her own fault. I’ve thought about it a lot and I think people like my father shouldn’t have kids. They just don’t have what it takes, you know what I mean? He was a great musician, his friends say he was the life of the party, but he was a lousy parent. She was there Saturday night.’
    ‘I know. Were you happy about his comeback?’
    He shook his head and looked away.
    ‘Why not?’
    ‘Sharon. This comeback was completely orchestrated by her. Dad didn’t want to go out there again but Sharon pushed him, kept after him, forced him into detox, then rehab. Kept sending him back.’
    I guess what I was thinking showed on my face because he stopped abruptly and explained.
    ‘Regardless of what the doctors told him, he was okay on heroin. He’d found his maintenance dose and he was fine. A lot of people don’t know this but you can be addicted to heroin your whole life and it won’t kill you. Being straight didn’t help him necessarily. Off it, he worried all the time. Then she started nagging him into playing again. She wanted him to compose. I didn’t think he’d go for it - he told me he couldn’t. Then suddenly there he was, playing new songs again. I couldn’t believe it. But he was better off without her.’
    ‘Don’t you think he wanted to be productive?’ I asked gently. ‘You don’t understand. She was forcing him to live a lie.’
    ‘What do you mean?’
    His gaze went to the picture on the mantel again. ‘Saturday night? That wasn’t the real Match Margolis,’ he said. ‘That was all a lie.’
    The interview was starting to feel a lot like a therapy session. It was pretty clear I wasn’t going to sort his jumbled and complicated feelings out. Besides, I didn’t want to. Sometimes it’s best just to let things from the past stay in the past.
    ‘Do you have any idea who would want to steal your father’s saxophone?’ I asked.
    ‘What ?‘ He looked horrified. When he spoke again, his voice quavered. ‘My mother gave him that sax. Nick DuPont kept it for him all those years. Jesus, when did this happen?’ His reaction wasn’t feigned, so my best guess for the person most likely to want Match’s stuff went out the window. I told him about the burglary at Sharon’s house and, even though I doubted they’d ever turn up anything, assured him the police were investigating.
    ‘Who do you think killed your father?’
    He shrugged. ‘I couldn’t even begin to guess.’
    ‘How about his friends?DuPont, Malone, Tobinio, or Teagues?’
    He shook his head quickly. ‘Those four men? I’d vouch for each and every one of them in a heartbeat. They’d no sooner hurt Dad than themselves.’
    ‘You seem pretty sure about that.’
    He nodded for emphasis. ‘I’d stake my life on it.’
     

28
     
    ‘ Y ou calling it a total wash?’ Blackie asked, wheeling his ancient Buick down a side street.
    We were on our way to Match’s tribute concert down at the musician’s union hall in the Tenderloin and I’d just told Blackie about my trip to the bank - they’d refused to clear Sharon’s check. When I broke the news to Toby and Hakim, I promised to get them the money before the week was out. Now I just needed to figure out how.
    ‘Not a total wash,’ I said to Blackie, keeping my eyes on the road spinning in a blur in front of us. ‘I’ll get something out of her.’
    I’d hate to end up evicted, house-sitting in Marin for Mitch, all because of Sharon Margolis.
    ‘Fuck her,’ Blackie said. ‘Go for the reward.’
    ‘Looks like I’m doing that anyway,’ I said.
    It was the first time I’d seen Blackie beam.
    ‘Fuck Post,’ he said, pleased.
    I told him about the stolen saxophone, the routine autopsy report, and my visit with Clark.
    ‘You been busy, doll. That bitch reporter still on your case?’
    ‘Abby? I haven’t seen her since I read her the riot act. Maybe she listened.’
    ‘Fat chance on that one, doll.’
    He angled the big Buick into a yellow zone outside the hall, then lit a cigarette. When we got out we could hear the band from where we stood on the street. They were doing one of Match’s standards, an upbeat swing number that sounded different somehow.
    ‘Hear that, doll?’ Blackie paused at the curb and cocked his head.