Jazz Funeral

to call Ariel. “I need to talk to a drummer named Johnny Murphy. Any idea where I can find him?”
    She’d meant to ask for his address and phone number, but Ariel interrupted. “Johnny? He’s around here somewhere.” She yelled, forgetting to cover the receiver. “Hank! Have you seen Johnny Murphy?” Pause. “What?”
    She came back to Skip. “He’s drinking a lot today. He tends to do that. Hank said he left a while ago. You could try him at home or maybe Cosimo’s.”
    “What’s he look like?”
    “Tall dude. Ponytail. Seems a lot older than he ought to.”
    As it happened, a man like that was hanging on for dear life at Cosimo’s. His ponytail could have belonged to the old gray mare, but it wasn’t only that that made him look old. Johnny had a lot of miles on him. He was handsome, or he would be if he’d get about forty-eight hours sleep, but he had “Bad News” written all over him. In bold type. Skip would have thought Ti-Belle’s taste tended to the better-heeled and better-groomed. And better able to give her a boost up.
    She showed her badge and started to explain, but Johnny Murphy wasn’t ready yet. “Hey, you really a cop?”
    “Uh-huh. As I was saying, I’m investigating—”
    “I just can’t believe a little gal like you is really a cop.”
    Skip was six feet tall barefoot, and she was wearing two-inch heels. “Very funny, Mr. Murphy. Now suppose you tell me where you were Tuesday.”
    “Tuesday? Was Ham killed Tuesday? I hardly knew the man—why you asking me?”
    “Why’re you getting drunk like this? Feeling bad because of ol’ Ham?”
    “Lady, pay attention. I told you I hardly knew him. He did a lot for the city and all that shit, producing the festival and working on Second Line Square and all. But other than that, I don’t give a rat’s ass.”
    “Fine. So you wouldn’t mind telling me what you were doing Tuesday. Also Monday and Wednesday.”
    “Now how the hell am I s’posed to remember somethin’ like that?”
    “Why don’t you check your calendar?”
    “Huh?” Drunken dopiness gave way to shrewdness. “Okay. Good idea. Why don’t I check my calendar?”
    He grabbed a leather bag he’d set on the bar, the kind of man-purse a man like him would never have carried if he hadn’t been a musician, and extracted a battered pocket calendar. “Let’s see now. Monday. Nothin’. Ti-Belle was out of town, so we couldn’t practice. I’m her drummer, you know that, probably. Shit, you’re a cop, you probably know everything about me. Monday night—nothin’. Tuesday I had a doctor’s appointment. Asshole told me to stop drinking. Wednesday, Ham’s party. No, I’m just kiddin’— fact, I was right here with Norm, wasn’t I, buddy?”
    The bartender smiled at hearing his name, but obviously hadn’t heard anything else.
    “You satisfied?”
    “How long was Ti-Belle out of town?”
    “Monday through Wednesday—all three. Right before JazzFest too. But hell, we’re pros. We been through it all. We can play in our sleep. We didn’t need to practice. Hell.”
    Skip wasn’t sure if he was bragging, simply stating a fact, or trying hard to convince himself.
    “You didn’t see Ti-Belle on any of those days?”
    He belched loudly, too far gone to bother apologizing. “Hell, no. Didn’t do a damn thing worth mentioning. Oh, wait—yesterday I played tennis with Tommy Houlihan.”
    “Ti-Belle says she spent those three days with you.”
    “She what?” He guffawed. “Did I hear you right? Ti-Belle Thiebaud said that?” He was having the best old laugh in the world till suddenly the penny dropped. “Wait a minute! Ham was killed Tuesday, right?”
    Skip nodded.
    “And Ti-Belle says I was with her? Holy shit! You know what that means?”
    Skip shook her head, smiling. Johnny Murphy was a pretty funny drunk. “What does it mean?”
    “Means the bitch did it.” He clapped her on the shoulder. “Hey, Sherlock, case solved. Ol’ Ti-Belle just tried to use me as an alibi. Means she did it, right?”
    “You’re pretty quick to accuse her. Any reason she’d want to do her boyfriend in? You ever hear her threaten to?”
    “Hell, no, she never threatened. I’m not accusin’ her, I’m just lookin’ at the evidence.”
    “All the same, you’re a bit shy about it. I might have thought you’d have a little more employee loyalty. Isn’t she a good boss, or what?”
    “Oh, I’m just having a little fun with you. Ti-Belle Thiebaud’d