Strawberry Tattoo (40 page)

“Exactly. She’s pretty amazing. I’ve learnt a whole lot from her.”

“How come you’re not an assistant yourself?” I asked. “If that’s not being nosy. I mean, instead of working on the archives.”

“Two reasons,” Suzanne said. “One, I get paid a decent wage for what I do. With the assistants it’s more love than money. And”—she smiled at me—“love’s fine, but I prefer money in the end. Besides, I don’t have a great eye. I can’t spot trends or know what will sell. It’s a real gift and I don’t have it. But Kate did.”

Her voice had lowered on the last few words. She looked round assessingly.

“OK,” she said. “No one within earshot.”

“You’re pretty smooth,” I said admiringly.

“I’m the queen of social conversation. So.” She gave me a very serious look. “When do we do it?”

“Not for a while yet. Wait till the evening’s in full swing, even winding down. I’ve got to do the whole public relations bit. After all, it is my opening.”

She couldn’t argue with that.

Over the past few days I had become increasingly convinced that I knew who had killed Kate and Don. It was just an instinct, though: I didn’t have a shred of proof. I needed an accomplice to help me get some. And Suzanne had struck me, for many reasons, as being exactly the right person to ask.

She had jumped at the chance as soon as I explained what my idea was.

“I knew it!” she said jubilantly. “I can’t believe you think it’s her, too! God, I’ve been so frustrated not being able to talk to anyone about this.”

“I thought you suspected Lex,” I confessed. “When you were nasty to him at brunch.”

Suzanne flushed slightly. “Not really. But I was a little jealous that Kate hadn’t told me he was staying with her. She could have trusted me. I guess he got the fallout from that. Still, I never actually thought it was him. I’ve been trying to dig up dirt on you-know-who.” She looked triumphant. “Guess what—she’s done this kind of thing before.”

“Strangled people?” I said incredulously. “But surely someone would have picked up on that already?”

Suzanne tutted at my stupidity. “Trashed paintings. I’ve been going back through the archives and I found this mention of something … so I tracked it down, I’ve been talking to a couple of people who knew her then, and both of them told me they were sure she’d done it. In confidence, though. I mean, there’s no hard evidence.”

“That’s what we need to get.”

“Just tell me what to do,” Suzanne said, her voice hardening. “Anything. I mean that.”

She was a little disappointed when I explained what I had in mind. But it wasn’t hard to talk her into it.

“Say about eight-thirty?” I suggested now. “Sound about right?”

“OK. I’ll give you the signal as soon as I’ve done it.”

Her eyes flickered over my shoulder. Someone was coming up behind me.

“Hey, babe!” Two strong arms enfolded me from behind and so did one of those Nineties ozone-and-fresh-grass scents which Kim always wore nowadays. Ten years ago it was Poison, the Goth perfume of choice, rich and sweet like rotting flowers. For her sixteenth birthday I stole her a nearly-full tester from Boots; it was one of her most prized possessions.

I wrapped my arms around hers and hugged them.

“Suzanne, this is Kim, an old friend of mine.”

“Hi,” Suzanne said, her high white forehead creasing. “From the Mexican restaurant, right? You’re Jon’s daughter.”

“You got it. Are they coming, by the way? Him and Barbara? Me and my dad aren’t great at communication these days.”

“I think so. They were certainly invited,” Suzanne said.

“That’ll be fun.”

“I’m going to help with the drinks table,” Suzanne said. “Good employee discipline.” She shot me a significant look and undulated away, the white knit dress slithering voluptuously as she moved.

“It looks wonderful, Sam,” Kim said when we were alone, leaning back and looking at the mobile. We were in the main, ground-floor gallery, “Organism #1” hanging majestically in the centre of the room, dominating it effortlessly. It beat the crap out of Mel’s “Anal Mouth.”

“Don’t you think it looks like something out of a Fifties science-fiction film?” I said. “Pod 9 From Outer Space?”

“Totally! It’s brilliant. I’m really proud of you.” She hugged me again. “I can’t believe you’re here—showing in Barbara’s own gallery—it’s so fucking cool, like you’ve done it for both of us. Great frock, by the way,” she added more prosaically. “I love this stretch velvet.”

“Betsey Johnson,” I confessed. “I had a splurge.”

“Well, fuck it, you deserve it,” Kim said encouragingly.

“‘Because I’m worth it!’” I cooed, parodying a noxious ad line.

“Oi! Do I get a hug too?”

Lex bounded down the stairs and crossed the room towards us.

“Fuck Sam’s monster artwork, I want to show you mine,” he said, taking Kim’s hand.

“I thought she was pretty familiar with it already,” I said. “F’nar, f’nar.”

They both pulled faces at me.

“Hang on, young lovers,” I said, as Lex started to drag her off. “I have something for you.”

I closed my hand round Kim’s free one. In it was a wrap.

“Is this what I think it is?” she said, lowering her voice a little.

“Leo’s finest. Go with God. That’s yours, by the way. I’ve got my own.”

“And talking of that, where’s your boyfriend?” she said, momentarily forgetting the coke in a rush of sisterly feeling. That’s what I call a true friend. “I thought he was due in today.”

“He had to stay over in England,” I said petulantly. “He’s got a call-back for this important thing he won’t tell me about. So you’ll have to shag for the both of us. He’s promised me a fab holiday if it comes through.”

“What if it doesn’t?”

“Oh, he whines for months and I finally dump him out of boredom.”

Lex pulled Kim into the next room as eagerly as a little boy determined to show her his latest mud-pie collection. I felt hot breath on my neck and turned round to see Stanley hovering behind me nervously.

“Hi, Stanley,” I said resignedly.

“Everything I said to you was strictly in confidence,” he said in a burst of authority.

“Of course it was.” I tried to sound reassuring. As usual it was a dismal failure. I thought he was looking a little better tonight, though.

“Had some good news?” I said, more by way of making conversation than anything else. I didn’t feel the need to butter Stanley up, having discounted him a long time ago as having any meaningful effect on my possible future career with Bergmann LaTouche.

“Well, yes, I have, actually,” Stanley smirked. “I have an alibi for the time Don was killed. The evening before he was found. I had a friend to dinner and she ended up staying over.”

The smirk was of Cheshire Cat proportions now.

“It was you who actually found the body, wasn’t it?” he said, twisting his pudgy fingers together and looking down at them in a way that on Peter Lorre would have been indefinably menacing but, when performed by Stanley, looked more as if he were frustrated by his inability to curl them over each other properly because of the adipose deposits around each joint. “Some people might say that was rather strange.”

It was like being attacked by a handful of enervated sea slugs.

“No one’d say that who knew me well,” I said flippantly. “I have a knack for stumbling across bodies.”

“What are you,” came Laurence’s voice, “Miss Marple’s punk granddaughter?”

He and Jon Tallboy had just come up behind us.

“Laurence!” I said reprovingly. “Think before you speak!”

“Casting aspersions on a maiden lady’s name. I stand corrected.” He flourished a Three Musketeers’ bow.

“Laurence!” I exclaimed again, taking in his appearance. “Your suit! You’ve changed it!”

“I have two,” Laurence said nonchalantly. He took my hand and kissed it, waggling his eyebrows like Groucho Marx. “One for work, one for state occasions.”

This one was darker than the other, almost charcoal, much better cut and positively clean. Laurence’s day-wear version, apart from the dandruff, was worn in some places and greasy in others. Also it was that nasty light cheap-looking grey worn by men who sell kitchen suites on hire purchase.

“Sam! Great to see you again.” Jon Tallboy gave me a fatherly hug. “And the sculptures are amazing. It really takes me back—when I think about you and Kimmy dressing up in her little room and going out to paint the town red—or black, considering what you were wearing….”

Would I never live this down? But I couldn’t help sharing his fond memories. I grinned back at him happily.

“You’ve come so far, so fast,” he was saying affectionately. “I’m so proud of you.”

“Thanks, Jon.” I was very touched. “Kim should start to paint again, too,” I added enthusiastically. “She was so good.”

The predictable expression of discomfort flickered across her father’s face.

“Mm, yes,” he said.

“She’s here, you know. Lex and I invited her.”

“Oh, that’s nice!” Jon said, looking as if it were anything but. On a nervous reflex, one of his long legs lifted, hovered and twisted itself behind the other one, the corduroy trouser riding up to reveal a slice of bony ankle. He looked like a confused stork.

“So,” he said lamely, after having cleared his throat. “You’re Miss Marple’s granddaughter, or some such?”

Clearly he was unable to talk about Kim for more than thirty seconds at a time. Any residual fondness disappeared in a moment. I found myself despising him thoroughly.

“It’s not the first body I’ve found,” I said coldly.

“Do you catch ’em too?” Laurence asked. “The guilty parties?”

“Sometimes.”

Everyone thought I was joking, which was fortunate. My annoyance with Jon’s total failure as a father had betrayed me into saying more than I should have done. I remembered Don calling him a dumb candyass and I endorsed that sentiment heartily.

A pair of hands closed over Jon’s eyes from behind.

“Guess who?” said Kim evilly. Lex, following in her wake, gave me a coke-enhanced grin.

Jon’s whole body writhed with embarrassment.

“Kim,” he said feebly.

“Yes, Daddy darling!” Kim had been hitting the toilets with a vengeance. Her eyes gleamed and she was loaded for bear. “It’s your darling daughter!” She looked around her. “Where’s stepmommie dearest? I’ve been
longing
to see her.”

Kim, in a bright orange Stephen Sprouse tribute minidress with cutouts at the waist, was quite fabulous enough to get away with this brattish behaviour.
Stanley, of course, was goggling at the sight of her. Moving fast for a little chubster, in a flash he was by her side, slipping an arm around her waist.

“Jon! You never told me you had such a lovely daughter!” he oozed. “You must be very, very proud of her.”

He was smiling up at Kim so hard his wide lips looked smeared across his face, his Angers edging themselves far enough around her to touch the bare skin revealed by the cutout. It was mesmerising, in a flesh-crawling kind of way. Lex’s eyes were also fixed on the gradual creep of Stanley’s podge-laden fingers.

“Jon?” called Barbara from across the room. Her husband spun round as if she had just lassoed him and was pulling on the rope.

“Coming, darling!” he called in an attempt to escape from our happy little group. Too late. Barbara was already heading towards us, Carol by her side.

“Mrs. Kaneda’s taken both the paintings she was thinking about!” she announced gleefully. “Carol just told me! Isn’t that wonderful news?”

“Oh, sweetie, I’m so pleased!” Jon hugged her.

With every endearment he lavished on Barbara, Kim’s face drew in on itself as if she were sucking a lemon. She seemed scarcely aware of Stanley’s fingers insinuating themselves onto her bare hipbone.

“They were the ones that were vandalised, weren’t they?” Jon was saying.

“That’s right,” Carol said. “I was concerned, because frankly they haven’t cleaned up a hundred per cent successfully, but Mrs. Kaneda was fine about it. The notoriety, I guess.”

“Isn’t that a triumph for you!” Jon said happily. “Don’t let the bastards get you down!”

“I was just congratulating your husband on having such a lovely daughter, Barbara. And she’s a painter too, apparently!” Stanley put in with a blissful lack of timing and tact. “I’d love to see your work,” he continued in oily tones to Kim. It was extraordinary that he could articulate so clearly through the two feet shoved firmly in his mouth. “I’m sure it’s fascinating.”

Kim stared at him blankly. “Oh, yes,” she said at random, still too upset to make sense of him.

“Yeah, it’s great,” Lex said, elbowing his way to Kim’s unoccupied side and standing there possessively.

Barbara’s round-as-a-doughnut face was as expressionless as the pastry it resembled, her eyes small and hard and icy. She flicked them up and down Kim’s scarcely clad body with one razor-sharp cut of her eyelashes and then swivelled towards Jon.

“Darling, I’m terribly thirsty,” she cooed in a melting voice which went about as well with the rest of her manner as ice cream does with processed cheese slices. “Shall we go and get something to drink?”

“Of course, sweetie,” Jon responded instantly, taking her arm.