Death Notes

have been thinking the same thing because he took the heat out of his voice. ‘The chief’s all hot again, Ventana. Because of you.’
    ‘Me? I haven't—’
    He held up his meaty hand. ‘Listen. You’ve been poking around, talking to people. The wrong people.’
    ‘Who?’
    ‘I told you to keep out of this, didn’t I? I said it was high profile. If you can’t leave it alone, why don’t you take a trip, pack up and get out of town for a while? When’s the last time you had a vacation?’
    He was serious. ‘Who are the wrong people?’ I asked. ‘You know who I’m talking about.’
    ‘Give me a clue.’
    ‘DuPont. Malone. Teagues. Any bells ringing for you, Ventana?’
    How could he possibly know? ‘You’re having me followed.’
    ‘No.’
    ‘Then how...?’
    He blinked but didn’t answer. Then it hit me.
    ‘You’re watching them' Shit. What did the SFPD know that I didn’t? ‘You told me this morning you didn’t have any leads.’ And you told me this morning you weren’t working the case.’
    ‘Why didn’t you warn me off this morning? Before I saw DuPont?’
    ‘I work in a bureaucracy, Ventana. I just read the report tonight. Your license plate’s on every other page. Cough up. What’s your business with these guys?’
    I thought of the bad check. I thought about Sharon setting me up for Match’s killer by telling Clark I knew who killed Match. I thought about how Sharon admitted to sending me in blind to talk to presumed murderers and how she hadn’t once played straight with me. I’d hung in with her this long because she was Match’s widow. But if I’d felt any shred of loyalty to her at all, it had vanished tonight.
    ‘They all loaned Match money,’ I said. ‘The little missus hired me to chill them out. She sort of set me up.’
    ‘Christ, Ventana.’
    ‘It turned out okay. They’re all cool with Match. Kind of like a family.’
    ‘Right.’ Post didn’t sound convinced.
    ‘Why are you looking at these guys? What makes you suspect them?’
    ‘They’re underworld.’
    ‘That’s it? Whatever happened to means, motive, and opportunity?’
    Post scowled. ‘We got a tip. That’s all I’ll say. I’ve done more than-—’
    He stopped, cocked his head to one side and listened to the crackling voice breaking in over his police radio. It sounded pretty garbled to me but he was obviously getting something out of it. The only thing I heard clearly was at the end when they gave out the address. That, miraculously, the dispatcher said clearly. 855 China Basin. The Riff Club.
    Philly glanced sideways at me as he picked up the mike and told them in police-ese that he’d be right over.
    He wound the car down Telegraph Hill and started in the direction of the Quarter Moon Saloon and my apartment. I knew he was going to dump me on the way.
    I couldn’t remember if I’d ever begged anything from Post before, but there’s always a first time for everything. I begged him to take me along. I started talking deals. I wouldn’t have to make full disclosure, I told myself, but I was willing to drop him a lead or two in the future.
    ‘No deal,’ he said. ‘After this morning, I don’t think you’d shoot straight with me anyway, Ventana.’
    It was a pretty low blow but he wouldn’t budge. He made a few turns, then stomped on the brakes. We were in front of the Quarter Moon. He scowled at me.
    ‘Out!’
    I didn’t move.
    ‘Come on, Philly. Maybe we could work together on this like we did the Fort Point murder.’ That was the last thing I wanted, but my mouth was working on staying with him, not thinking. ‘Two heads and all that?’ I smiled my most fetching smile.
    ‘Out’
    ‘Dammit, Post. It’s times like these when it gets hard to think of you as a decent human being. Come on.’
    ‘No way.Out.’
    ‘ Please. ' I whined at him like a teenager pleading for a later curfew.
    He reached across me and opened the car door. ‘I told you, it’s too high profile.’
    ‘But you’re not getting anywhere. You said so yourself.’
    ‘Did I say that?’ He showed his big white teeth and revved the engine. ‘Well, Ventana, I think my luck just changed.’
     

32
     
    I watched Philly Post’s car disappear around the corner, then made a dash for my Toyota. I’d just cranked the engine over when my cell phone rang. It was Mitch.
    ‘I gave notice today, Ron,’ he said.
    ‘Good.’
    ‘Good? You said it was a bad idea. You told me not to do it.’
    ‘Right.’ I