to never tell anyone where it was. Strange—not convinced it WAS her studio—it looked like she brought finished works into an empty space. No sign of any work actually being done there. Regardless, can’t believe one so young has such command of brush, palette, and composition. Like she was born with it. She has a fine eye, is an obsessive observer. You can feel her watching you, it’s almost creepy. Wanted to offer her a solo show immediately, but every painting is a portrait of the same man. Some are complex enough to not be considered just portraits, but . . . no. Encouraged her to branch out; she was indignant. Conversation was strained and difficult. Asked her who the subject was and she said she didn’t know. “I see him in my dreams.” Bullshit. He has to be a lover or a crush. They’re too good, too consistent. She knows him from life—or a thousand photographs. I said, “These are paintings to die for,” and she laughed and said, “They really are. You have no idea.” Woman needs a shrink and a prescription.
I looked up at Susan, who was hovering over me expectantly. I hoped she couldn’t see the hairs on the back of my neck standing at attention. She put a hand on the back of my chair. “Paintings to die for,” she said. “That gave me the creeps.”
“Me too.” There was more but I couldn’t concentrate. “Susan, let me have this.”
“David, I’d like to, but I think I should give it to the police. Look at the last page in the file.”
I skipped ahead.
Convinced Ashley to give me a piece for the 5x6 group show. You would think she didn’t want to sell anything. She insisted on absolute secrecy, still won’t tell me her last name—I didn’t divulge that Masello already leaked it. She said, “These paintings could get me killed.” I told her she was being overly dramatic. She grabbed me, very disconcerting, and made me promise I wouldn’t tell anyone about her studio or her other work. “This is nitroglycerin. You can’t tell anyone about me. I’m a dangerous girl.” I’m sure it’s all in her mind but a promise is a promise. She’s unbalanced, and I worry she could easily become unhinged. I wonder if she was abused. Before I left she asked if I thought all our dreams came true in heaven. I told her I hoped so, and she said, “Bless you” and gave me a haunted look. What a nut job.
“Susan,” I said, “just give me two days with this before you go to the police. All right? Let me make a copy. I want to talk to this Masello character before the cops get to him and spook him for real.”
“All right,” she said, nodding. “Take it.”
I finished my beer and was on my way out when something about the way she was fingering the strap on her dress made me pause.
“What?” she asked, looking at me with radiance, her head slightly askew. “What are you looking at?”
“Nothing.” I took her face in my hands and kissed her—a deep, soul-destroying kiss that lasted half an hour and took us into the bedroom. We made furtive, silent love for what seemed like a week. The sheets didn’t match her underwear; she wasn’t wearing any.
9
The cop at the door made me jump until I realized it was only Michael, a South City radio-car cop who grew up across the street and often comes by to visit his parents, a sweet couple, Chinese immigrants.
“Hey, Michael, how are you?”
“Can I come in?”
“Please.” I pushed open the screen.
“Can we sit? This is business, David.”
I sat him down in the kitchen and offered him the stale coffee that had been in the pot since the day before. He refused. I poured myself a cup—it was still early, I’d come in late from Susan’s, and I felt like I’d slept for about twenty minutes. The coffee was terrible but still coffee.
“Listen, David, I’m here on about six favors, so I really need you to be straight up with me.”
“What favors?” I was just waiting to hear the name Ashley.
“I got a call from an SF inspector. Something tied in to South City, and they wanted me to pick up a possible perp/possible witness, and bring him in for questioning.”
I sat down across from him, sipped my coffee, and waited. He gave me that cop look. I relented. “And?”
“You know a woman named Susan Dalton?”
My heart was in my throat and I didn’t want it to go back down. “Yes, I know her. Why?”
“Neighbors thought they heard a gunshot in her building last night. Susan was in her bed with a bullet under the chin.”
I stood up quickly. “Oh, fuck no.” I went to the sink and leaned over it. This was all my fault, somehow. That poor, wonderful, sweet girl.
“Apparently it was pretty messy.”
I glared at him. “Save me the details, will you?”
“Sorry. How did you know her, exactly? See, they found your business card in her apartment. You’ll have to go downtown and make a statement.”
I shook my head and stared at the errant Cheerios circling in the bottom of the drain. “I . . . I went to this art show south of Market. There was a big hubbub because . . . apparently the owner was shot. Susan’s brother. Anyway, I met her there, and . . . guess you could say I was seeing her.”
“The guys said she was pretty hot.”
“Yeah.” I wanted to hit him. “You could say that.”
“You fuck her?”
“With all due respect, officer, fuck you and your mother.”
“Hey, David, I’m just trying to save you some trouble. It’s gonna come out. They did the preliminary autopsy this morning and they found semen in her.”
Susan had these condoms that were like circus balloons. One broke, and after the initial freakout, when we confirmed that we were both clean and that she was on the pill, we giggled about it and the second time didn’t use anything at all.
“Yeah,” I confessed, “that would be mine.”
“Rawdoggin’ it, huh?”
His smirk made me want to hurt him. He caught my look and I didn’t have to say anything.
“Well, listen, I’m no inspector, but I’m guessing you were the last person—well, second-to-last—to see her alive. You gotta go down and make a statement. I don’t think you’re really a suspect or they would have come to get you already. Just be honest about what time you left and hope it clears you from the estimated time of death.”
“Thanks so much for your concern and consideration.”
He stood up then and came over and put a hand on my shoulder. “I’m sorry, man.” I liked him for that. “But David, tell me one thing.” I hated him all over again. “Were you working something?”
“What do you mean?”
“Come
