The Bride Wore Black Leather (8 page)

I said as much, and Bettie grinned. “You mean, establishing alibis! Where were you when the lights went out, and all that sort of thing! Can we watch?”

“No. Chang, you keep an eye on the body and make sure no-one interferes with it. Bettie, Charlotte, Dave . . . You can interview anyone you can get to talk to you but don’t get in my way, or I’ll have you arrested for something I may or may not make up on the spur of the moment.”

“You’re going to make a fine Walker,” Chang said solemnly.

“Now you’re just being nasty,” I said.

I went off to have a private word with Razor Eddie. He was still standing in his corner, quietly observing the drama. He nodded briefly to me.

“You’re right. I’m a suspect. No secret that King of Skin and I were enemies. But he was never powerful enough to take me on, or annoying enough to be worth my time.”

“He knew something about you,” I said. “What did he mean when he asked where you got your straight razor?”

Razor Eddie looked at me for a long moment with his cold cold eyes. “He knew things. But not enough to be worth killing over. My secrets . . . remain my secrets. You know too much about me as it is, John.”

“Then how can I be sure you didn’t kill him?”

Razor Eddie smiled slowly, showing ruined grey teeth. “Because if I had killed him, I’d have been a lot more thorough. You’d have found pieces of him all over the room.”

I had to nod. I’d seen the Punk God of the Straight Razor’s handiwork before, and it was always messy. He didn’t simply kill people; he made a statement.

“Don’t go anywhere,” I said. “Please.”

“Ah well,” said Razor Eddie. “As long as you’re saying please . . .”

I left him, and went over to join Dead Boy, who was still hovering at the other end of the buffet table and still eating. He looked at me a little guiltily, put down the plate of mushroom vol-au-vents, and wiped his fingers on the front of his greatcoat.

“Sorry. Bad timing, I know. Should show respect for the dead, and all that. But I’m already dead, and I get no respect. I want to enjoy as much of this as I can before the pills wear off.”

“Where does all the food . . . No, I don’t want to know.”

“Very wise,” said Dead Boy. “Why aren’t you questioning the butler? It’s always the butler who did it, on occasions like these. You saw him when we came in, very shifty-looking fellow.”

“It’s not him,” I said patiently. “On the grounds that he was on the other side of the door when the murder occurred.”

“Ah,” Dead Boy said wisely. “But that’s how they do it! It’s always the least likely suspect!”

“No,” I said.

He sulked. “It was the butler last time. With the Griffin.”

“We are changing the subject,” I said firmly. “What did King of Skin know about you? He said something about your girl-friend.”

Dead Boy scowled. “It’s not easy having a sex life when you’re dead. Most of the kinds of girls who do come looking aren’t the sort you want to encourage. So when I do find someone special, someone who can . . . reach me, she’s going to be very special. So I’m not going to talk about her. But, if I had wanted King of Skin dead, which I didn’t, because basically he was only an annoying little tit . . . If I had wanted to kill him, I’ve got more sense than to do it in front of a roomful of witnesses, and you. I’m dead, not stupid.”

“True,” I said.

Dead Boy looked at me thoughtfully, choosing his words carefully. “You do know it’s almost certainly Hadleigh Oblivion who did it?”

“What?”

“It’s common sense. Think about it. Who else here is powerful enough to kill King of Skin, in front of all these people, and not be noticed?”

“But . . . why would he want to?” I said. “He’s the Detective Inspectre; why would he lower himself to common murder?”

“Because King of Skin knew something about him. And he knew more about King of Skin than any of us. Maybe . . . King finally stumbled on a secret he should have kept quiet about.” Dead Boy looked over to the door, where Hadleigh was standing guard. “If it is him, can you arrest him?”

“Of course,” I said. “I’m Walker. I can do anything. In fact, I’m pretty sure that’s part of the job description.”

“Well, yes,” said Dead Boy. “Obviously. But this is Hadleigh Oblivion we’re talking about. The Detective Inspectre, whatever the hell that is.”

“I’ll have a word with him,” I said. “But for now, he’s just another suspect.”

“Along with me and Razor Eddie?” said Dead Boy.

“Very definitely including both of you,” I said.

“Ah,” said Dead Boy. “But what if it was both of us, working together? What would you do then?”

“Improvise,” I said. “And phone Suzie Shooter for backup.”

“The horror, the horror,” said Dead Boy. And went back to his vol-au-vents.

I was heading for Mistress Mayhem when I was interrupted by Bettie Divine. She planted herself right in front of me, hands on hips, and glared at me.

“You don’t really see me as a suspect, do you, sweetie? After all we nearly meant to each other? I’m not guilty of anything!”

“No?” I said. “What about the Schalcken affair?”

“A clear case of mistaken identity,” Bettie said briskly.

“The Lovett pie-shop fiasco?”

“I was misinformed. Anyone can make a mistake.”

“Big John . . .”

“They never proved anything! Look, the point I’m making is I’m not the kind to go around killing people! I’m not capable of it!”

“Anyone is capable of anything,” I said. “Given sufficient motivation. Now, if you want to make yourself useful, try turning that devastating charm on the assembled immortals and see if you can get someone to admit to something. If anyone can, you can. I have work to do.”

I passed her by and nodded politely to Mistress Mayhem. She was hugging herself tightly, as though against some chill, and she looked a lot younger than she had before. Almost like a teenager playing dress-up at her first adult party. She fixed me with a defiant gaze.

“I didn’t kill him. Didn’t even know the man. I never even met him before tonight.”

“He still knew things about you,” I said. “He knew you touched up your skin with dye to maintain that dreaded Kali connection. And he knew about the baby you would have had.”

She was shaking her head all through this, but the truth showed in her face. When I said the word
baby
, all the strength seemed to go right out of her. When she finally spoke, her voice was little more than a whisper.

“I never told anyone. How did he know? I was never even going to tell Jimmy. It would have upset him too much. But I am a descendent of Kali! I am! I could have killed that slimy bastard with a touch! If I’d wanted. Withered him like a flower, like Hadleigh did . . . They’re saying someone stuck a knife in him. Is that right?”

“He was stabbed in the back,” I said carefully.

“Well, I haven’t got a knife! Look at me! Where would I hide one in this outfit?”

She had a point.

“I’m talking to everyone,” I said. “Don’t take it personally. Did you come here with anyone?”

“No.”

“Then go talk with Dead Boy. He’s appalling company, and his conversation rarely ventures far from the inappropriate, but he’s got a good heart. He’ll look after you and make sure no-one bothers you.”

I steered her in Dead Boy’s direction, then stopped abruptly as a Neanderthal man came rolling through the crowd towards me. He was barely five feet tall, hunched right over but powerfully built. His heavy face was all bone and gristle, with massive lowering eye-brow ridges and hardly any chin. His knees splayed out, and his knuckles barely cleared the floor. He was wearing a shining white seventies disco outfit, complete with a big gold medallion on a chain hanging over his extremely hairy chest. He nodded amiably to me.

“Greetings, Walker. I am Tomias Squarefoot.”

“I know,” I said. “We met once before. Long ago.”

He shrugged calmly. “It is entirely possible. I am the oldest of the immortals. I have met pretty much everyone, at one time or another; but my memory is not what it was. I do not claim to speak for the immortals, but as the oldest here, I think I can represent them. And I think I can speak for all of us when I say it is clear that there is an obvious suspect.”

“Is there really?” I said. “News to me. Who did you have in mind?

“The young man who calls himself Rogue, of course,” said Squarefoot. “He appears out of nowhere, with no invitation, claiming to be part of the notorious Family of Immortals. A group famed for their duplicity, treachery, and general back-stabbing. Either he isn’t who he says he is, in which case what is he doing here, in this company? Or he is who he says he is, in which case, what is he doing here? What secret purpose has brought him to a Ball no other member of his family has ever graced with their presence? On top of that, do I really need to point out that we never had a death here, at any of our meetings, until he showed up?”

I turned to look thoughtfully at Rogue, standing on his own, some way off. He had a drink in his hand and looked far-away, lost in his own thoughts.

“All right,” I said to the Neanderthal. “You have a point. I’ll have a word. But only because you helped save my life, that time.”

Squarefoot shrugged his massive shoulders. “It is possible. I meet so many people; you must forgive me if you don’t stand out. All you mortals look the same to me.”

I nodded and moved away. He was right. It had been almost two thousand years since he helped save me from the Wild Hunt of the old god Herne. But I hadn’t forgotten.

Rogue saw me coming and took a long drink from his champagne flute before facing me, apparently completely unconcerned. I slapped the glass out of his hand, grabbed him, and turned him around and slammed him up against the wall. He hit hard enough to knock the breath out of him, but he didn’t complain or struggle. He simply stood there, entirely relaxed, as I frisked him from top to bottom, making a thorough job of it. I found all kinds of interesting objects in his pockets, the accumulated flotsam and jetsam of a very long life, but nothing that could have been used as a weapon. I stepped back, and he turned around, adjusting his clothing here and there, with neat fussy movements that were completely at odds with his teenage appearance.

“Typical mortal manners,” he murmured. “No respect for your elders. Be careful, young Walker, be very careful, lest I decide to teach you some manners. I could break and cripple you in a dozen awful ways, and there would be nothing you could do to stop me.”

“Oh, you’d be surprised what John Taylor can do,” said Dead Boy, moving in on one side of me, while Razor Eddie slipped into position on the other. Dead Boy sneered at Rogue. “Walker can look after himself. But he doesn’t have to; not while we’re around. You behave yourself, young immortal, or I will knock you down and stamp on your head, and Razor Eddie here will make origami out of your insides.”

Rogue looked from Dead Boy to Razor Eddie, then back to me. He smiled charmingly.

“It’s always good to have friends you can depend on. Rest assured I will do everything in my power to cooperate with the Walker’s investigation.”

“Thanks for the support, guys,” I said. “But I think he might speak more freely without an audience.”

Dead Boy and Razor Eddie drifted away, talking quietly together. I would have given a lot to hear what those two very different souls might have in common, but I had a job to do.

“I didn’t know King of Skin, except by reputation,” said Rogue. “So what possible reason could I have for killing him?”

“I was hoping you might tell me,” I said. “Why did you come here tonight, for the first time?”

“Every time is someone’s first time,” said Rogue. “My family has been destroyed. Murdered. I was looking for something new to belong to. One must make a family where one can, these days. But it is very hard to make new friends when nobody trusts you.”

“Lot of that going around,” I said. “Don’t go anywhere; I may have more questions.”

Rogue smiled sweetly. “I come and go as I please.”

I gave him a hard look. “Even if you could get past Hadleigh at the door, which you can’t, there’s nowhere you can go that I couldn’t find you.”

“Ah yes,” murmured Rogue. “Your famous gift. I have a gift too, courtesy of my family.”

And right before my eyes, the flesh shifted suddenly on his face, slipping back and forth, until my own face looked back at me, complete in every detail.

“I can be anyone,” said Rogue, with my lips but his voice. A really very disturbing effect.

“Ah yes,” I said, carefully casual. “Flesh-dancing. I had heard the stories . . . that everyone in your family could change their face or body, to hide in plain sight. That’s what made you all such marvellous traitors and back-stabbers.”

“Well, quite,” said Rogue, changing back to his own face.

I gave him my best sneer and left him to it. Something about Rogue’s supercilious manners and quiet contempt got on my nerves, but not enough for me to peg him as a major suspect. He was right; he had no motive. Never been here before, never even met King of Skin, wasn’t even here long enough to be insulted by him. But there were no murders until he turned up. Something to think about.

I found the Bride and Springheel Jack arguing quietly but fiercely with Hadleigh Oblivion. They wanted to leave, and he was having none of it. They all looked round as I approached. Springheel Jack took a step towards me, but the Bride stopped him immediately with a large hand on his arm.

“Sorry,” I said. “But the Detective Inspectre is following my orders. Nobody leaves till we’ve sorted this out. Do you have somewhere you need to be?”

“An unseen murderer, with an unknown weapon, hiding among the immortals?” said Jack. “I want the Bride out of here. It’s not safe.”

“Your concern is touching, Jack, but if you don’t cut this condescending crap right now, I will slap you a good one,” said the Bride. “I am old enough to be your great-grandmother, and I know how to look after myself.”

“King of Skin almost certainly felt the same,” said Springheel Jack. He looked around the crowded ball-room. “Something isn’t right here. I can feel it. Like a premonition . . . Someone else is going to die here. There’s a wolf hiding among the sheep, and oh his teeth are sharp . . .”