The Axeman's Jazz

thanks.” Cappello sighed and Skip knew she did want to, wanted to be out on the street. “I’m going to stay here and act as message central.”
    If Skip hadn’t been in such a grim mood, she’d have found it comic, what she had to do next—change identities in front of people’s very eyes. She was tempted to go home and put on a uniform—it would lend authority—but wasn’t about to take the time.
    To Di’s intercom she said, “Police. Skip Langdon.”
    In a moment Di appeared on her balcony, flowing pink nightgown spilling boobs. “Skip, what is it? Why are the police here?”
    “I’m a detective, Di.” She held up the badge. “I need to talk to you.”
    “Now?”
    Di was so sleepy (or such a good actress), it took a while to persuade her, but eventually Skip was seated in the incense-smelling living room, candles lit for illumination. She had thrown a T-shirt over her nightgown and looked almost as good with no makeup as she usually did. Skip wondered if that was the purpose of the candles.
    “A couple of things, Di. I need you to tell me what you did after you left PJ’s.”
    “Why?”
    “Just tell me.”
    “But why? Something bad’s happened, hasn’t it? Why are you here in the middle of the night?”
    “There’s been a murder.”
    She shrank back, covering her heart with her hand. “Who?”
    “For right now, I’m going to ask the questions, Di. Where did you go after you left PJ’s?”
    “I came home.”
    “Alone?”
    “No. Steve came with me—the new guy from the group.”
    He hadn’t mentioned that—only that he’d walked her to her car. “Steve Steinman?” she said.
    Di looked blank. “I don’t know. The big guy. Cute.”
    “How long did he stay?”
    “An hour—two, maybe.”
    “Till midnight?”
    “Maybe not. Maybe till about eleven.”
    “May I ask what you talked about?”
No, I may not. Did I?
    “What we talked about? I don’t know. He told me about L.A. He used to live there.”
    “And he left around eleven?”
    She shrugged. “About that, I guess.”
    “Did you go out again?”
    “No.”
    “Talk to anyone on the phone?”
    “No.”
    “A young girl was murdered tonight. A sixteen-year-old straight-A student. Do you know anything about it?”
    “Do
I
? Why me?”
    “Just answer the question.”
    “Of course not. But who? What girl?” She was getting upset, voice starting to give way, tears welling.
    “It was Abe Morrison’s baby-sitter.”
    “Oh, no!”
    Skip didn’t say anything.
    “Sixteen?”
    Skip nodded.
    “Nooo! A little girl!” She got up and started throwing things, magazines she’d had stacked on the floor, a book from the coffee table. It was so sudden, Skip would have thought it an act if not for the anguish of her cry.
    Skip stood. “Di, take it easy.” She reached for Di, thinking to steady her, and caught her eye. A strange look passed between them. Skip couldn’t have said what it looked like to Di, but to her it seemed like mother to child, herself being the mother.
    Di’s shoulders sagged. “I can’t stand the thought of anyone hurting a child.”
    “I know. Nobody can.” It wasn’t the time to bring up certain little unpleasantnesses—if Di was sticky about the phone list, she’d have to get a court order to get it. “I was wondering. Would you mind if I borrowed the phone list from tonight?”
    “The phone list? I only have the one copy. Do you want someone’s number?”
    “I’ll copy it and return it first thing tomorrow.”
    As if hypnotized, Di glided to the bedroom, came back with it. She looked puzzled, but at least didn’t ask any more questions.
    Skip counted twenty-eight names. She said, “Did you happen to notice how many people were at the meeting?”
    “Forty-two.” Di answered automatically, belatedly came alert. “What does that have to do with anything? Skip”—long pause—“could I see your badge up close?”
    “Sure.” Skip produced it.
    “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to doubt you. I just don’t see what the meeting has to do with a murder … and it’s hard to see you as an authority figure.”
    Skip grabbed on to the last part, hoping to distract her. “I know; I should have worn my uniform.” She flashed as much of a smile as she could muster. “I just thought you could help me with the names of people who aren’t on the phone list.”
    “But if they aren’t on the list, that means they don’t want to be called.”
    “This is a murder case.”
    “Wait a