showed off the silver earrings, the tan freckled skin that was going only slightly flabby under her chin, around her upper arms. For a woman on the wrong side of fifty she looked great. The entrance wound was nothing—a black dime stuck to her temple.
Her face was turned away from me but it looked like she had the same politely distressed expression she'd given me yesterday morning when we'd first met—a little smile, friendly but hesitant, some tightness in the wrinkles around her eyes.
"I'm sorry," she'd told me, "I'm afraid—surely there's been some mistake."
Ray Lozano, the medical examiner, looked in the shotgun window for a few seconds, then started talking to the evidence tech in Spanish. Ray told him to get all the pictures he wanted before they moved the body because the backrest was the only thing holding that side of her face together.
"You want to use English here?" Schaeffer said, cranky.
Ray Lozano and the tech ignored him.
Nobody bothered turning off the country and western music that was playing on Julie Kearnes' cassette deck. Fiddle, standup bass, tight harmonies. Peppy music for a murder.
It was only eightthirty but we were already getting a pretty good crowd around the parking lot. A KENSTV mobile unit had set up at the end of the block. A few dozen SAC students in flipflops and shorts and Tshirts were hanging out on the grass outside the yellow tape. They didn't look too interested in getting to their morning classes. The 7Eleven across San Pedro was doing a brisk business in Big Gulps to the cops and press and spectators.
"Tailing a goddamn musician." Schaeffer poured himself some Red Zinger from his thermos. Ninety degrees and he was drinking hot tea. "Why is it you can't even do that without somebody getting dead, Navarre?"
I put my palms up.
Schaeffer looked at Julie Kearnes. "You can't hang around this guy, honey. You see what it gets you?"
Schaeffer does that. He says it's either talk to the corpses or take up hard liquor. He says he's already got the lecture picked out he's going to give my corpse when he comes across it. He's fatherly that way.
I looked across the parking lot to check on Jem. He was sitting in my orange VW
convertible showing one of the SAPD guys his magic trick, the one with the three metal hoops. The officer looked confused.
"Who's the kid?" Schaeffer asked.
"Jem Manos."
"As in the Erainya Manos Agency?"
" 'Your fullservice Greek detective.' "
Schaeffer's face went sour. He nodded like Erainya's name in this case explained everything.
"The Dragon Lady ever hear of day care?"
"Doesn't believe in it," I said. "Kid could catch germs."
Schaeffer shook his head. "So let me get this straight. Your client is a country singer.
She prepares a demo tape for a record label, the tape turns up missing, the agent suspects a disgruntled band member who would've been cut out of the record deal, the agent's lawyer gets the brilliant idea of hiring you to track down the tape. Is that about it?"
"The singer is Miranda Daniels," I said. "She's been in Texas Monthly. I can get you an autograph if you want."
Schaeffer managed to contain his excitement. "Just explain to me how we got a fiddle player dead in the SAC parking lot seventhirty Monday morning."
"Daniels' agent figured Kearnes was the most likely suspect to steal the tape. She had access to the studio. She'd had some pretty serious disagreements with Daniels over career plans. The agency thought Kearnes might've stolen the tape at someone else's prompting, somebody who stood to gain from Miranda Daniels remaining a local act.
As near as I could tell that wasn't the case. Kearnes didn't have the tape. Didn't mention it to anybody over the last week."
"This is not explaining the dead body."
"What can I tell you? Yesterday I finally talked to Kearnes, told her straight what she was being accused of. She denied knowing anything but seemed pretty shaken up.
Then when she bolted out the door this morning I figured maybe I'd been mistaken about her innocence.
Maybe I'd stirred things up and she'd arranged to meet with whoever'd asked her to steal the tape."
Ray Lozano moved Julie's fiddle case off the passenger seat. He sat next to her. He began picking fragments out of her hair with tweezers.
"Stirring things up," Schaeffer repeated. "Nice fucking method."
One of the campus cops came over. He was a heavy guy, a former boxer maybe, but you could tell he hadn't dealt with homicides before. He approached Julie Kearnes