The Axeman's Jazz by Julie Smith Read Free Book Online Page B

his age, twice his size, and not his type—he preferred men—but something in her had touched him. They had both been depressed when she moved in—Skip for so many reasons she kept losing track of them, Jimmy Dee because he’d lost friends and knew he’d lose more, because he’d taken a vow of celibacy, because he’d seen his whole world come apart with the AIDS epidemic. He had taken Skip on as a project.
    Now that she had Steve, they spoke this way to each other—it was easier on both of them than spewing mush, gave them a vocabulary they hadn’t previously had for expressing affection.
    “I just want you to be happy,” he said.
    Skip feigned vomiting and Jimmy Dee changed the subject. “So how come Joe’s letting you go in the middle of a case?”
    “I got down on my knees and begged.”
    “Is that all you did down there?”
    “No. I unzipped his fly and…” She stopped, licking her lips. “…and then…”
    “Yes?”
    “I slipped my hand in…”
    “Go on.”
    “…and let go of the stack of bills I was holding.”
    “You disappoint me, Tiny One.”
    “I know. I should have gone to law school—I’d be a much better liar today.”
    “Now if I’d told that one…”
    “Spare me, Counselor.” She shrugged, returning to Jimmy Dee’s nearly forgotten question. “He let me make the choice. Three days and three nights—”
    “I notice you’re looking a little wan.”
    “—and I haven’t gotten diddly. He doesn’t think I’m going to get anything, and neither do I.” She sighed and held up a pair of walking shorts. “Okay for L.A.?”
    “If you wear them with some kind of metallic-spattered T-shirt.”
    “I’m pretty upset about it, to tell you the truth.”
    “But it’s nothing a bear of a man can’t fix.”
    “I’m not kidding, Dee-Dee. It’s a professional failure. Not a trace. Not lead one. Every idea exhausted and nowhere else to go. It was such a nasty murder, too.”
    “Don’t think about it, Snookums. Think about hard cocks and firm asses.”
    “Obviously you don’t understand the spiritual nature of my relationship.”
    Jimmy Dee took a deep drag on his joint, held the smoke, and said: “How was she killed?”
    “Strangled bare-handed. By somebody who probably wore gloves.”
    “Was she raped?”
    “I thought you said not to think about it.”
    “I changed my mind. You need to talk.” He touched her wrist.
    Without knowing she was going to, she sat on the bed, her packing forgotten. “I do. You’re right, I do.” The words poured out. “Dee-Dee, it’s the weirdest thing. There was no evidence of sexual assault, no sign of a struggle, no trace of drugs or alcohol. Not a thing in her stomach but coffee. No pregnancy. Nothing! And she doesn’t know a soul in town except her landlord and the people at the office.”
    “Gotta watch those landlords.”
    “Hers couldn’t strangle a gerbil. And let me tell you something else. There wasn’t any physical evidence either. Like the guy wasn’t even there long enough to leave hairs or fibers.”
    “And no prints, of course.”
    “Not only no prints, but no surfaces had been obviously wiped. Like he’d worn gloves. And it’s August, Dee-Dee.”
    “In other words, we’re talking premeditation.”
    “Yeah.” She sighed. “I wonder if she had a date with him. You have coffee on a first date, don’t you?”
    “You’re asking me?”
    “They had coffee, he brought her home, and then he strangled her.”
    “If I were heterosexual, I guess I’d say, ‘I’ve had those kinds of dates.’ ”
    “Right. Everybody jokes about it. Nobody does it. You don’t strangle someone you don’t know.”
    “Unless you’re crazy.”
    “Nobody she knows got her a blind date, so where’d she meet the guy?”
    “Maybe she advertised—or answered an ad.”
    Skip shrugged. “No rough drafts of ads lying around; no copies of
Gambit
; no receipts, bills, telephone messages, or any other kinds of notes that might