Death Notes

waited, hand poised over his pad. I’d gone over the whole short murder scene in my mind while waiting for the cops. ‘There is one thing,’ I said. ‘Where was the little missus? I got the impression she never left his side, but when Match went down, I looked around for her. I thought maybe she’d know if he had a health problem, you know, or maybe she’d have some medication for him or something. But I didn’t see her anywhere.’
    ‘Aren’t most murders committed by people close to the victim? Spouses?’
    Post was shaking his head before I’d even finished. ‘You’re wrong, Ventana. Mrs Margolis was in plain sight up on the bandstand. She was with Hank Nesbitt, the drummer. They were picking up...’ He glanced over at Kendall. ‘What was it, Kendall?’
    ‘Sheet music, sir.’
    ‘Yeah, that’s it, sheet music off the racks. Everybody could see them. She’s not going to stab him on stage.’ He paused and nodded at Kendall who stopped writing.
    ‘I want you to stay out of this, Ventana. Don’t get any ideas about working it. It’s too high profile, understand?’
    ‘No problem.’
    My rent was past due. I needed a case that paid.
    ‘Good. Go home, Ventana. We’re done. Take Coogan with you. I don’t even want to talk to him.’
    He straightened his back and stretched, thick arms raised high over his leonine head.
    ‘He didn’t see anything, did he?’
    ‘Ask him yourself.’
    ‘Forget it. Go home. Get outta here. We’re done.’
     

3
     
    Y ou all right, doll?’
    We’d left the Riff Club and were making our way down the block to Blackie’s old rusted Buick. Post had changed his mind and asked Blackie a few perfunctory questions that left Blackie swearing all the way out the door. But the night was warm, the stars were out, and the perfect September Indian summer weather seemed to soothe him.
    ‘Sure,’ I answered.
    Blackie glanced sideways at me with those sexy I-don’t-give-a-shit-about-the-world eyes that made most women drool, then reached into his shirt pocket for a cigarette.
    ‘Sure you are,’ he said.
    I was probably the only woman Blackie’d ever met who hadn’t made a pass at him, but I’d just signed the divorce papers the night he offered to buy me a drink in a bar four years ago and, basically, I wasn’t functioning quite right. Later, I’d found out there was more mileage in being his friend than his lover. He taught me everything he knew about being a private investigator and bailed me out when I needed it. I’d seen his girlfriends come and go in droves.
    ‘Blackie!Blackie!’
    The two co-eds from the Riff Club popped out of a recessed doorway in the next building down. They skipped over to us and the tall, blonde one - the one built like a Barbie doll -smiled seductively at Blackie.
    ‘You’re not going home now, are you, Blackie?’
    ‘Nah,’ he said, grinning and fingering his cigarette. He was obviously pleased to see them. ‘Too early.’
    ‘Who’s she?’
    They both stared daggers at me with a boldness I hadn’t seen since high school. The short blonde had a pout straight out of a Glamour magazine cover. Blackie winked at me.
    ‘This is Ronnie Ventana,’ he said.
    ‘Is she your girlfriend?’
    ‘I’m his friend,’’ I told them.
    ‘Oh! ’ They both brightened. ‘We’re going to a party, Blackie. Wanna come?’
    The short one added, ‘She can come, too.’
    ‘Can’t make it tonight, girls. How about we do it some other time?’
    He winked at them and they both practically fainted. The tall blonde pulled something out of her pocket.
    ‘I want you to have my phone number, okay? I’m Charlene.’
    ‘And here’s mine. I’m Sandra.’
    Blackie stuffed both slips of paper into his breast pocket. Each of the girls kissed him, then scampered off, giggling like schoolgirls. They dove into a red Jaguar convertible parked across the street and sped into the night. When I turned to Blackie, he was jotting their license plate number down on the back of one of the slips of paper.
    ‘Cute, Blackie.’
    He chuckled. ‘They loved it.’
    ‘I think you loved it. I hope you’re not planning to call them, Blackie. There are laws about girls that young.’
    ‘I always run a check on ’em first, doll. If they don’t show up on the DMV I leave ’em off the list.’
    Blackie’s version of safe sex.
    ‘That’s disgusting.’
    ‘What the fuck’s disgusting about it? Weeds out anybody under sixteen.’ We walked a couple of paces in