The Bride Wore Black Leather

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