The Tooth Tattoo (19 page)

‘So did you take her drinking?’

‘We were under age. Couldn’t afford it, anyway.’

‘Was she better off than you?’

‘Definitely. She got an allowance from her dad as well as her mother. But she spent most of it on the music.’

‘Tough for you, being second best,’ Diamond said. ‘How do you make any headway with a girl like that? What did she drink – Coke?’

Mikio reddened. Plainly he saw where this was heading. ‘Lemonade actually.’

‘Lemonade doesn’t have much of a kick.’

‘It was her choice.’

‘I expect she was drinking stronger stuff these days.’

He was quick to say, ‘I wouldn’t know. I didn’t see her.’

‘If she still drinks lemonade, there are ways of pepping it up, aren’t there?’ Diamond said. ‘You know all about getting girls in the mood. Ecstasy, GHB, or whatever the latest is.’

Mikio snapped, his voice rising. ‘Look, that’s out of order.’

‘I wasn’t talking about your schooldays. We’ve moved on. It’s a different world here. The girls drink as much as they want of whatever they want and sometimes things get added as well.’

Pushed to the limit, Mikio launched into a defence of his actions. ‘Taki’s been talking to you about me. If she told you I drugged her at the end of last term, it’s a lie. I didn’t add anything to her drink. I don’t do drugs myself and I wouldn’t dream of giving them to girls.’

‘What happened, then?’ Ingeborg said, fixing him with an uncompromising stare.

‘Do you really need to know?’

She didn’t answer and neither did Diamond.

‘Okay.’ Mikio gripped the chair arms. ‘There was this end of term booze-up in a pub. We thought it was a laugh when she was getting giggly and I filled her glass to encourage her, but I didn’t know she was legless. When it was obvious she couldn’t stand properly I felt bloody mean and ashamed. The least I could do was see her home safely, so I drove her back to her place. It wasn’t what you’re thinking. She threw up in my car. I got her to the house and helped her upstairs. If she told you I did anything else, I didn’t. She had vomit down her front. Would you fancy anyone in that state? I opened the door and guided her in and she sat on the edge of her bed and pulled off the smelly top and started unfixing her bra. I decided I’d done my duty and ought to leave fast, so I did. We haven’t spoken since.’

The words had come so rapidly and with such strong recollection Diamond found them convincing. None of it sounded rehearsed. ‘Did you put disinfectant in the car to take down the smell?’

Mikio needed a few seconds to get over his statement. ‘I’ve given it several goes. Air freshener isn’t enough.’

Diamond was ready to move on, whatever Ingeborg had decided. ‘What happened between you two isn’t my concern unless it touches on the death of Mari. Let’s get back to when you were dating her in Yokohama. How did it end? Did you have a row?’

The young man’s eyes rolled upwards. ‘How did it end? It didn’t really. There was never much to it. We stopped seeing each other, but we stayed friends, or she wouldn’t have asked to see me on this visit. I couldn’t compete with the musicians she idolised, and that’s all there is to it.’

‘Did she name any of them?’

‘I don’t remember any names. It was groups mostly, like
any pop band, only classical. And you might say she was like any groupie, dead nuts about them.’

‘Is that what you really mean?’ Ingeborg asked, her feminism challenged yet again. ‘A groupie? That’s something more than idolising them. It means she was willing to sleep with them.’

‘Sorry. I shouldn’t have used the word,’ he said, on the retreat. ‘It’s unfair now she’s dead. I don’t know what was in her mind. The music thing was all a bit obsessive, but that’s a stage teenagers go through, isn’t it?’

‘Who were the groups she liked?’

‘They didn’t mean much to me.’

‘The Staccati?’

He shrugged. ‘Don’t know.’

‘Where did that come from?’ Diamond asked Ingeborg.

‘Tell you later,’ she said. ‘But I think we should speak to Taki again before we leave.’

They let Mikio return to his studies. He was out of that office as if a fuse had been lit.

‘What did you make of him?’ Diamond asked Ingeborg. ‘Is this a Japanese crime?’

‘If it is, we need to know a lot more about the motive,’ she said. ‘I was all ready to pin it on him after listening to Taki and how he treated her, but I thought he came across as honest. Jumpy, but truthful.’

Diamond murmured in agreement. ‘And the smell of disinfectant in the car definitely came from the floor in front of the passenger seat, which backs his story. When he first opened the door I thought maybe he’d had a corpse in there and tried to clean up, but you wouldn’t stick a corpse beside you in the front. The boot area was free of the smell.’

‘And he needn’t have shown us the car,’ Ingeborg said. ‘He could have said it was at the other end of the campus.’

Diamond surprised Ingeborg by suggesting she alone should do the follow-up interview with Taki. ‘She’ll respond better to you. In kindness you should tell her Mikio’s version of what happened the night she got drunk. If she’s alone
with you and more relaxed she may recall something of real importance.’

On the drive back to Bath, he said, ‘Well?’

‘Well what, guv?’

‘Well, you’re looking pleased with yourself. How did it go?’

‘It was rather sweet. She wept a few tears, but they were tears of relief. She’s given herself a hard time these last few months imagining what happened. I think they’ll be back on speaking terms soon.’

‘And did you get any more from her?’

Ingeborg smiled. ‘I did. I asked about the musicians Mari was keen on. We’d talked earlier about the posters in her room, but we didn’t get down to names.’

‘We asked Mikio and he couldn’t remember any.’

‘Taki did. She said there was one string quartet that stood out and it was called the Staccati.’

‘The name you brought up earlier?’

‘Yes – because they’re based in Bath.’

‘Really?’ He turned to look at her, eyes gleaming. ‘How do you know about that?’

She played casual. ‘Who’s been doing the rounds of all the music colleges? I heard the name and remembered it and what’s more I’ve met one of the players.’

T
he four were united again for the next rehearsal at the Michael Tippett Centre. As if to compensate for the day before, they had a spat-free session, rounding off with an hour’s bar-by-bar dissection of the ‘
Grosse Fuge
’ and then a run-through.

‘The best yet,’ Ivan said, resting his instrument on its case. ‘We can all improve our intonation, but that will come. Some of your playing was exquisite, Mel.’

‘Thanks.’

‘Some of it?’ Cat said, laughing. ‘Good in parts like the curate’s egg?’

‘I didn’t mean that,’ Ivan said.

‘He can take a joke.’ She turned to Mel. ‘I liked your sound, too, sunshine, and Anthony won’t say a word, but he was quietly purring at those last Arpeggios.’

‘Do we have a date for this recording?’ Mel asked, to steer the attention away from himself.

‘That’s up to us,’ Ivan said. ‘We’re not ready yet.’

‘The recording studio has its own terrors,’ Cat said. ‘Personally, I prefer performing in front of an audience.’

‘Don’t we all?’ Ivan said. ‘I always find I can bring out something extra.’

‘Is that one of your Ukrainian customs, bringing out something extra?’ Cat said. ‘Do that in public here, comrade, and you’ll get arrested.’

Ivan clicked his tongue. ‘Isn’t it possible to say anything serious in present company?’

Anthony stood up and packed his violin away, indifferent to the banter as usual.

Cat said to him, ‘Your turn to share a taxi with me and my cello, right? I’ll phone for one now. Want me to order a second one, guys?’

Ivan said he was staying on to teach a student, but Mel said he was ready to leave.

When they reached the foyer only a few minutes later, a cab was already outside.

‘Can’t be ours,’ Cat said. ‘It’s too quick.’

‘I’ll check,’ Mel said.

The driver lowered his window and when Mel asked who he was waiting for, he said, ‘Mr. Farran.’

‘That’s me,’ Mel said, surprised. ‘Is the other cab on its way?’

‘I wouldn’t know, mate. I was asked to pick up Mr. Farran, the viola player.’

‘Fair enough.’ He gestured through the window to the others that he’d got lucky.

It all happened so fast that the taxi was zooming along the road to Bath before he realised he hadn’t given his address. He must have used this driver before, he decided. Often at the end of a rehearsal he felt so wrung out that he wouldn’t have recognised his own father in the driver’s seat. They were heading in the right direction, so he relaxed and thought about his plans for the rest of the day. He’d need to fit in more practice. In spite of the praise from the others, he knew Ivan was right. His intonation – accuracy of pitch – could be improved. With such latitude possible in their creation of sound, string players had a huge advantage over anyone else in an orchestra, yet there were phases, say in a long legato line with open strings, when the pitch should be suppressed. He’d noted a couple of passages in the Beethoven when he needed to adapt better to the violins. Ivan would certainly speak up if there wasn’t an adjustment next time they practised.

The taxi forked left at Park Lane, heading directly north past Royal Victoria Park – an odd decision considering Mel’s lodgings were in Forester Road, north-east of the city. Cab drivers
were a law unto themselves, so Mel didn’t question the route. Maybe the man knew about some obstruction along the way. Or maybe he was putting another half-mile on the clock. If so, it didn’t worry Mel, as all the fares went on the quartet’s account and were settled by their agent, Doug.

But when they slowed to a crawl for no obvious reason he tapped on the glass. ‘Hey, this isn’t where I live.’

‘All right, mate. It’s under control. I’m picking up another fare.’

‘What?’

‘Just ahead. Your lucky day, by the look of her.’

A woman was waiting opposite the entrance to the Botanic Garden, hand raised for the taxi to stop. People sometimes shared when cabs were in short supply at the station, but this woman was behaving as if she was hailing an empty one. Mel was on the point of objecting before he saw what a dream she was. She could have stepped off the style pages of a weekend magazine. Blonde, in a short white leather skirt and black top, she was smiling as if she knew exactly who Mel was, even though he was sure he’d never met her. She wasn’t in any way forgettable.

Mel was a ladies’ man. Any lingering thoughts of protest went out of the cab door when it opened and a tidal wave of cleavage almost engulfed him.

‘I’m Olga and you must be Mel.’

Distracted, he almost forgot to move his viola case from the seat beside him. ‘How do you know my name?’

‘Relax. It’s all good news if you’re up for it.’

‘Up for what?’

She laughed. ‘Wait and see. It seems a bit cloak and dagger, but from now it’s champagne all the way.’

The taxi was already speeding along Weston Road. Mel had abandoned all thoughts of objecting to the extra passenger.

‘Heavy practice this morning?’ Olga asked. This close, her perfume was overpowering.

‘I’m used to it.’

‘But you’re new to the quartet.’

‘Newish. You seem to know a lot.’

‘Only the essentials.’

‘Where are we going?’

‘The Royal Crescent Hotel.’

The taxi took the turn to Marlborough Buildings and was soon rattling over the cobbles in front of Bath’s best known thirty houses, a five-hundred foot semi-elliptical terrace faced with Ionic columns. The crescent’s position, high above the park with views across lawns and trees to the city, was intrinsic to its glory. Three months into his stay in Bath, Mel hadn’t been here before. He was awed.

The famous hotel occupied the space for two houses at the centre, fitting unobtrusively into the architecture. From a distance the only way you could tell it wasn’t private dwellings was a pair of ornamental trees in tubs either side of the entrance.

A doorman in dark blue livery stepped forward and opened the cab.

Mel was in such a state that he almost forgot to reach for his viola, an unthinkable oversight ever since he’d been mugged that time in London. He snatched it up and stepped out.

In the front hall, it became obvious Olga knew where to go when she crossed the chequered floor to the staircase. Mel followed his new companion up the stairs as if her undulating bottom had hypnotic powers. Powers of some sort, for sure. Whatever she planned next he was unlikely to object.

The doors along the first floor corridor had the names of well known former residents of Bath. Olga stopped outside the John Wood suite.

‘We have the use of this for the afternoon.’

Which beat working on the Beethoven, he decided.

She opened the door.

The suite was spacious and honey-coloured, with a padded sofa and armchairs at the centre and walnut furniture. The windows facing the front were elegantly pelmeted and draped in a gold fabric. To the left, discreetly recessed behind a white wooden balustrade, was a kingsize bed.

At full stretch on it was a man.

Mel came to an abrupt halt. A threesome wasn’t in his thoughts, and certainly not a threesome in this combination.

Olga said, ‘Mel, this is Mr. Hamada. He doesn’t speak much English so I’ll need to translate.’

‘That won’t be necessary,’ Mel said. ‘You’ve got the wrong idea about me. I’m leaving.’ He turned towards the door.

‘No, please be reasonable.’ She put her hand on his arm.

Something sharp but unintelligible was said from across the room. Mel glanced back.

Mr. Hamada had sat up and removed himself from the bed. He was fully dressed in an expensive-looking suit. He stepped over the little balustrade, bowed solemnly and spoke some words in his own language.

Mel reached for the door handle.

Olga said, ‘Wait.’

There was such unexpected force in her voice that he froze.

She went on with more moderation, ‘Mr. Hamada apologises for all the inconvenience, the secretive way you were brought here. As a passionate lover of music he has been looking forward to meeting you.’