You never get used to death.

Her body lay on the soft plush carpet, spread out like a prize jewel, a carefully unwrapped package bestowed by an enraptured admirer.

Beside her, a bouquet of the finest red roses.

A note that went with it:

 I promise no tomorrow
For today will always last

Who could destroy beauty this young, this fragile?

There was only one.

I think back to that first time I got the call.

Myra McCall.

I headed down to Gypsy’s where she was a pricey torch singer.

Gypsy’s was the sort of place that had priceless art surrounding the tables and they charged you a pretty cover fee to admire them.

I spoke to the Manager, Jake Brody, my first suspect.

“Yeah, me and Myra, we had our ups and downs. Mostly downs. All over money.”

“She wanted more?”

“Lots more!...Ha! Money! What good’s money gonna do her now?”

The club’s bandleader, Tommy Cairo, burst in at that point.

“I know why you’re here!” he shouted. “Well, there’s a hundred guys that would like to murder that two-timing skunk!”

Then he hung his head a little, softened his words, acting like he was genuinely sorry. He added, “And a thousand others who’d defend her to the death!”

“How long did you know Myra?” I asked Cairo.

“Too long!” he replied. “I loved her, but I couldn’t compete with the others.”

“She had a string of lovers?”

“Yeah, and a flair for poetry. I could neither buy her enough baubles nor spout the words that would entice her.”

Brody then said, “Yeah, Poetry. You might check in with Wendell Wilmer. He runs the Book Nook, that’s where Myra bought her weekly paperbacks.”

Wilmer was a little fellow, with eyes like an owl and horn-rimmed glasses. Exactly the type I’d expect to find in a joint like this.

There were  books everywhere, neatly stacked in surrounding bookcases, piles on the floor, books upon books, all sizes, all shapes.

Wilmer agreed to speak to me in his office.

I almost think I’d have stood a better chance outside. His office was also stacked with books. Books, books, books, everywhere.

“Myra was the type of gal you meet once in a lifetime,” he said. “Gorgeous, and with a brain. Classy.”

“Was there anything particular you can tell me about her?”

“Well, for one thing, she liked to act…well…smarter than she actually was.”

“Smarter?”

“Yes. I always felt there was something tragic about her. That something may have happened to…denigrate her…that she wanted to build her, her vocabulary, her understanding of the world…”

“And your books were the way to do it?”

“Yes, yes. My books.”

“Tell me, Mr. Wilmer. Was there any special kind of reading she preferred.”

“Well, sir, she dabbled in most areas, but I’d say she particularly enjoyed poetry.”

“Poetry?”

“Yes. Particularly those with short, easy-to-read words. I think she felt a sort of…well, superiority…when she could understand the words. You know how some poets seem to rattle on with all kinds of allusions. She preferred the simpler words, the simpler meanings.”

“Thank you for your time, Mr. Wilmer.”

I felt like I had hit a brick wall. I had no strong leads at this time. My next bet was to speak to the super of the apartment house where Myra lived.

I didn’t have to wait long for another suspect. This one came to me.

Something was funny. I had ordered her door locked. But, I could tell, someone had messed with the lock.

I entered slowly, cautiously.

Cushions were overturned, desk drawers left open, their contents strewn about.

As I passed the closet door, it suddenly whisked open. A tiny man with curly black hair tried to ram his way out.

I grabbed him by his collar.

“Please, sir,” he pleaded. “I…I…just came to retrieve something that was mine!”

“The police took everything that was of value!”

“Yes, sir, but…but Myra had secret places, places where she would hide things…”

“Well, I guess they didn’t go over this place with a fine tooth comb. What exactly is it you are searching for?”

“Sir, must I tell you?”

“Right now, I’ve got enough on you to have you booked on suspicion plus breaking and entering.”

“Please, sir, if I tell you..can you keep it…confidential?”

“I make no promises! Now, tell me!”

“A neckace, sir…A sapphire necklace!”

“And what’s so secret about a necklace?”

“There are certain…others..I’d like to keep it from!”

“Like a wife?”

“Yes, sir. Can you assure me that…?”

“I told you. I make no promises.”

I got his name and address. Joel Canino.

I could have had him booked at that moment, but decided to let him go. He may have been an innocent dupe of Myra’s. I had no wish to break up a marriage. Besides, I knew where I could pick him up anytime.

This time, I ordered a police guard outside the premises at all times.

The super, Danny Sternwood, had little to tell about Myra I had not already gotten from others. I had a feeling he was another fish on her hook, but didn’t grill him too strongly on that. People’s affairs are people’s affairs, unless they add up to murder. I had a strong feeling, if there was any link, it was a purely…sociable…one.

The hot breath of the city overpowered me once more. People scurrying about, like ants, each with his particular duty or obligation to fulfill, under the intense assault of the summer sun, beating down on us like a madman on a deadly drum.

I stopped at Nat’s. He sees all kinds. Sometimes, you can get a good tip from a guy like him.

“Don’t you guys ever come in for just a drink?” he says. “Who do I look like? Buddha?”

“Look, Nat, I need a clue, anything.”

“A gal like Myra, she don’t come in a place like this often,” says Nat. “When she does, it’s for a guy.”

“What kind of a guy?”

“Does he have to have a name? You know the kind of guy I mean. On the streets they call him a…”

“Yeah, they call him the same thing in St. Louis,” I answered.

Another brick wall.

An idea was rolling around in my head. Somehow, I had to knock it out.

I returned to Gypsy’s.

Tommy Cairo was warming up his band for the night’s performance. I walked over to him.

“You again,” he says. “Aint you through with me, yet?”

“I have one request,” I told him.

“If I do it, will ya leave me alone?” he asks.

“Promise.”

“Give.”

“Promise,” I repeat. “Can your band play I Promise No Tomorrow?”

“No. You should know we can’t!”

“And why is that?”

“Cause there is no such song. Now, au revoir!”

The dust was finally settling in my head. I was finally zeroing in on the suspect.

Back into the city streets once more. Sometimes the towers of the city conceal more secrets than man can hold in his primitive mind. Sometimes they conceal motives, shadows…

He jumped out from a doorway enshrouded by shadow and I felt something blunt and wicked strike at me.

When I awoke, I was in a hospital room.

The Doctor gave me a cross eyed look. “How can someone like you get so stinking drunk in the middle of the day?”

I gathered my assailant had knocked me out and poured whisky over me. He could have silenced me for good.

This was a warning.

I felt now I was on the right track.

I was discharged and now more determined than ever to solve this case.

I had an idea as to the suspect and his physicality. I stopped again at Nat’s, but he couldn’t add anything to what I already knew. Guys like that came to his place all the time, most without names, and most seeking for women.

I was tired and needed a break. I took a stroll in the park. I bought a hot dog, drank some ginger ale.

My mind was clearer, more sure I was on the mark.

I watched part of an amateur ball game. The home team pitcher should have stayed home that day. The team was getting creamed.

I walked on some more. A flock of sea gulls flew overheard, seemingly screaming, “Get him! Get him! Get him!”

I saluted them and said I would do my best.

If I was right, he wouldn’t be going anywhere.

I passed some children on the playground. I pushed a little girl on the swing set. I laid on the green grass and enjoyed the cloud show The Lord had put on just for me.

Yes, my mind was clear. I would wrap up this case.

I remembered something. I had to get on it while it was in my mind.

I returned to The Book Nook.

Wendell Wilmer walked straight over to me.

“Greetings! I see you’ve returned to my establishment. Any luck in finding the culprit?”

“A little,” I said, “But first, can you give me a hand? I’m looking for a particular book.”

“Books are what we’ve got here.”

“This is for someone that really loves poetry. I need you to find one specific book.”

“Do you know its title?”

“No, but I can describe it!”

“It’s Poetry, as I said . The author writes about Christianity and the hereafter. He uses simple words…”

His owl eyes widened. “Sounds like you’re describing David Romano.  He wrote a poem, When Tomorrow Starts Without Me.”

“Sounds right. Can you recite a bit of it? Then, I’ll know for certain!”

“I promise no tomorrow
For today will always last
And since each day’s the exact same way
There is no longing for the past…”

I reached for my pair of cuffs.

“I suspected you following the attack. It had to be someone small. Small enough to hide in the mid day shadows. There were only two short suspects. The other had, well, a personal need. You were the one with the motive.

She came to you with her needs for poetry and you had a need for…her…She wasn’t the brightest lamp in the ballroom, so you offered her words of a simple poet, who used simple language…”

“Sounds like a lot of speculation to me,” said Wilmer.

“Oh, no!” I replied, “You see, I have a fatal flaw. I always get my man, no matter what! It's a compulsion! I never give…”

Before I could finish my sentence, he blasted me with the revolver in his pocket.

“You see, I, too, have a fatal flaw. I just love using my gun. It's a compulsion! And I never miss!”