“How so?” Marge pressed.

“Some are doing hard time, some are dead, maybe one or two is doing okay.”

“Can you give me a list of their names?”

“I will, but I’m telling you, they had nothing to do with Dr. Ben’s death. They didn’t care enough to kill him.”

“Someone cared enough to kill him.”

“From what everyone told me, he was in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

“He was at a local civic meeting and was supposed to come directly home. That was the last anyone heard. What do you think happened?”

“Wrong place at the wrong time. He got ’jacked. He drove a nice car.”

“How’d a guy like Dr. Ben afford such a nice car?”

Arlington shrugged. “I wouldn’t know.”

Too glib? Maybe it was Marge’s imagination. “Did anyone speak to you about the murder?”

“Yeah, friends told me about it.”

“Do the names Calvin Vitton or Arnie Lamar sound familiar?”

“I can’t say…” A pause. “Who are they?”

“Cops involved with the murder of Dr. Ben. I’m surprised they don’t sound familiar. Detective Vitton called you up and asked you questions about the murder.”

“He probably spoke to my nana.”

“He did. His records also indicated that he spoke to you.”

Arlington stiffened. “I’m sorry, I don’t remember.”

“You don’t remember being interviewed?”

“It was a long time ago, Sergeant. I was stunned. If you said he spoke to me, I’m sure he did, but I don’t remember.”

“Do you know a man named Primo Ekerling?”

Arlington paused, then shook his head no. “No, don’t know the man.”

“What about a man named Rudy Banks?”

A beat before he spoke. “Now he sounds vaguely familiar.” He stroked his chin meaningfully. “Someone in high school…maybe he was in chorus with me.”

“He’s a music producer.”

“Okay…so maybe it was chorus.”

“Rudy Banks and Primo Ekerling were in a punk group called the Doodoo Sluts.”

“Punk…” Arlington was pensive. “I wasn’t into punk much-white-boy rebellion. Not my thing.”

“What is your thing?”

“R & B. Hip-hop. I play bass. That’s what I played in orchestra. Later on, I switched to electric bass.”

“Do you still play music?”

“Once in a while, I’ll fill in a spot in the school orchestra. The kids get a kick outta that. Every so often I think about getting another band together, but with my own kids and my job, there’s no time left over.”

“You’ve played in bands?”

Arlington looked down and smiled. “Sure, before I got married.” He laughed. “Singing and playing was always a good way to get the girls. When I first moved in with Nana, she made me join the church choir. I didn’t want to sing in no church choir. I was resentful. But after a while…I really liked it. Being musical separates you from the crowd.”

“Did you have a band when you lived in L.A.?”

“Nah, my peeps were more into rap. Wanna know what’s funny? I had more talent than any of them. If anyone could have made it in rap, it woulda been me. Nana hated rap. She called it idiotic doggerel and told me I was too good for that stuff. I still like rap, but now as a parent, I see her point.”

“But your nana let you play in a band.”

“Nana loves R & B. She’s got good taste.”

“By the way, Rudy Banks went to North Valley High.”

Arlington smiled. “So that’s why I remember him from chorus. The other one…Ekermen-”

“Ekerling.”

“Did he go to North Valley?”

“No, he grew up back east.”

“So that’s why he don’t sound familiar and Rudy does.”

Marge nodded.

But the ages didn’t match up. Marge would check it again, but she had thought that Rudy had dropped out by the time Arlington was a freshman. If there was a reason to reinterview him, Marge would point out the inconsistency at that time.

THE ONLY REASON Decker heard his cell was because it was still in his jacket hanging up in the bedroom closet. Once again, he’d forgotten to plug it into the charger. But this time it was fortunate. He slipped out of bed carefully, so as not to wake up his wife, and barely made it to the cell before the message machine kicked in. He closed the door to the closet and said hello.

“What do you want from me this time?”

It took a moment for Decker to wipe the sleep from his brain. The smooth, albeit irritated voice was instantly recognizable. “What time is it?”

“Your time or my time?”

“On either time, you’re up late.”

“It must be the drugs.”

“What do you know about a guy named Rudy Banks?”

A small laugh over the phone. “You throw names at me like I know every sleazeball in the world.”

“Take it as a compliment. Besides, how do you know he’s a sleazeball?”

“Who else would you be asking me about?”

“He’s a music producer. A former partner of Primo Ekerling.”

“The guy stuffed in the Benz.”

“Good memory.”

“My brain may be swimming in booze, but alcohol is a wonderful preservative.”

“Ekerling and Banks were in a punk group called the Doodoo Sluts in the late eighties.”

“I was twelve, Decker.”

“You’re a musician.”

“Classical musician.”

“Ever heard of the group?”

“Rings a tiny bell. What do you want with Banks?”

“Banks isn’t returning my phone calls.”

“Maybe he doesn’t like you.”

“You have any suggestions as to how I might get his attention?”

“No.”

“Do you have any relative in the recording industry that might evoke some reaction in the man?”

Donatti laughed. “I have friends everywhere. Watch your back.”

“I could give you the same suggestion. How about a name?”

Silence over the line. Decker waited him out. “Sal Crane.”

“Sal Crane,” Decker said as he wrote it down. “What does Sal do?”

“Sal does a lot of things.”

“In the music business?”

“How should I put this?” A long pause. “Sal works in…compensation. For instance, if a group covers a song, Sal makes sure that the original artists get royalties.”

“Using his name might be helpful then. Would he mind if I used his name?”

“No, he wouldn’t like it at all. But if you mention him to Banks, I’m betting that he wouldn’t call Sal to verify that you’re a friend. And even if he did, Sal wouldn’t take his call. Sal doesn’t like to be bothered by the little folk. It makes him irritated.”

“Sal’s got a temper?”

“Don’t we all.”

CHAPTER 17

RINA POURED THE coffee. “Who were you talking to in the closet last night?”

Decker hid his face behind the newspaper. “What are you talking about?”

“I heard you get up, close the closet door, and speak in low tones.”

Busted. “A snitch.”

Rina grinned. “Sure you weren’t playing virtual life behind my back?”

“Check my computer,” Decker said. “If there’s anything racier on it than the Porsche Turbo convertible, I plead guilty.”

Rina sat down. “First of all, why would you be speaking to a snitch? And second, why was your snitch calling you so late?”

“In answer to your first question, I’m working on an actual homicide instead of doing paperwork like a normal lieutenant. A lot is riding on a solve and I need help. Second answer is, snitches don’t keep banker’s hours.” He looked at her and smiled. “Any other questions, Ms. Curious?”

“Just one. Do I have to be careful?”

Decker looked at his wife’s face-a mask of concern. “About what?”

“About weird people showing up on our doorstep.”

“No. The snitch lives three thousand miles away, and there’s not a chance in the world that he’ll hurt you.”

“Oh…” A pause. “Him.” Rina tried to appear calm, although she wasn’t. She couldn’t imagine why he’d be using Donatti as a source of information. She changed the subject. “Cindy called. They’re coming over for Shabbos. She also said for you to phone her when you get a chance.”