was able to eliminate most of them quickly.
It was the entries without any history that caught her eye. And there was only one such entry.
It was listed as a J. Markowitz. The address was in Venice. The name rang a very distant bell in Mary’s head. She knew she’d heard it from somewhere.
A J. Markowitz living in Venice, with virtually no history as a human being.
Mary knew she was close.
Jake’s name appeared on her cell phone moments after the first ring. She was exiting the 10 freeway and taking 4th Street when she punched in.
“Hi,” Mary said. “I can’t come to the phone right now so leave a message, or for more options, stop playing with your nuts, hang up, and try again.”
“Cute, Mary.”
“Thank you,” Mary said. “That’s actually the system greeting.”
There was a pause as Jake said something she couldn’t quite make out.
“What do you need, Big Boy?” Mary said. “A career advisor?”
“You know, a crime scene just isn’t the same without you, Mary,” Jake said.
Mary paused before responding. Her nerves were frayed and she wanted to clue Jake in on everything that had happened, but she was worried that if she did, he’d tell Davies and there’d be an APB out on her instantly.
“And the underwear section of a Wal-Mart flyer just isn’t the same without you, Jake,” she said, after a deep breath. She had to stay strong for just a little while longer. A homeless man’s shopping cart shot out into the street, and Mary swerved to avoid it. Her tires squealed and she hoped Jake hadn’t heard.
“So somebody blew Harvey Mitchell’s head off,” Jake said with a tired voice.
“I bet his hair is still perfectly in place.”
“Actually, not. Most of it is gone along with chunks of his head.”
“That’s too bad. And you thought his monologues were bad before,” she said. “This is going to hurt his ratings.”
She heard Jake sigh on his end of the line.
“Where does he live, anyway? On Crenshaw?” Mary said.
Mary swung onto Ocean Park Drive headed for Venice’s Main Street. Her heart was racing right along with the engine of the car. It was a challenge to keep her voice level.
“No, Mary, he actually lives in Malibu. I’m surprised you forgot so soon,” he said.
“What the heck are you talking about, Jakie?” Mary said. “Are you doing some of that auto eroticism stuff? Shutting off oxygen to the brain?”
“Well,” Jake said. “It seems there was somebody here when Mitchell was shot. And the physical description sounds an awful lot like you.”
“A total hottie with a huge rack and an ass you could bounce a quarter off of?” Mary said. “Who said that? Give him my number.”
“So I take it you’re not coming over to chat with us?”
“Hey, I’m working and I don’t even know where this Mitchell guy lives. I’m way out here in Long Beach,” Mary said. “But let me tell you with utter sincerity that it really chaps my ass I can’t help out you and Davies in some way.”
“You realize that if we get anything more conclusive, you’ll have to come downtown,” Jake said.
“Oh, of course,” Mary said. “I love to go downtown. Maybe we can get some tacos somewhere? Oh, but you get so gassy…”
“Mary,” he said.
“Gotta run, honey!” she said, her voice taking on the chirp of a songbird. She thumbed the disconnect button on her cell, and tried to ignore the fact that her hand shook in the process.
The house was shabby chic. Whitewashed brick with white windows and light blue shutters. The landscaping in front was nice, if overgrown. There was no car in the driveway and the mailbox was empty.
J. Markowitz. Mary thought, the name was still bugging her. Where had she heard it? At her office? On the Internet in one of the many articles she’d read? At the comedy museum? At one of the comedy clubs? Mary shook her head. It wouldn’t come to her.
So she focused back on the house.
No lights on in any windows. But she knew someone lived here, at least recently. Someone who used a cell phone and called Harvey Mitchell, probably more than once.
Someone named J. Markowitz.
Mary reached inside her sportcoat and loosened the .45 in its holster. She was still mildly fearful of knocking on strange doors, after the one at the old guy’s apartment had proceeded to be blown to smithereens. Her breath was rapid and shallow, so she forced herself to take a few deep breaths.
The doorbell was to the right of