The Chelsea Murders by Lionel Davidson Read Free Book Online Page A

school to come and tell me that.’
    Frank looked at him for some moments.
    ‘You don’t think I killed her, do you?’ he said.
    ‘Do you know if you did, Frank?’
    Frank stared even longer.
    ‘Well, I’m going home, for God’s sake. Are you mad?’ he said.
    ‘Frank, you’ve been here a couple of days – do you know that? The police are looking for you.’
    ‘Are they?’ Frank said. One lank black lock was touching his glasses and his eyes were squinting behind the thick lenses. ‘Steve, you surely don’t think –’
    ‘I don’t know what to think,’ Steve said, ‘except you need a better story. We’ve got to go back over every bit of it, see how much you remember.’
    Frank drew his robe a bit closer.
    ‘Have you got a drink?’ he said.
    ‘Don’t have a drink, Frank.’ Steve could smell him. He’d left a bottle of Scotch in the room. All gone. ‘Have a cigarette,’ he said and lit two. ‘Okay. The pissy streets and the river and we’re sitting watching the lights, right?’
    ‘Well, nearly,’ Frank said. ‘We’re leaning , actually. We leaned on the wall.’
    ‘At the wharf.’
    ‘What wharf? We were on the embankment.’
    ‘Those pissy streets go to the wharves,’ Steve said. ‘You have to turn off to get to the embankment.’
    ‘Did we?’ Frank said.
    ‘Can’t you remember?’
    Frank thought. ‘I remember a street,’ he said. ‘Fairly hideous. Quite long. Awful.’
    ‘With a power station in it? Lots Road?’
    ‘That’s right.’ Frank was blinking. ‘Lots Road. That’s what it was. That is clever of you, Steve.’
    ‘Frank, don’t take offence,’ Steve said. ‘But Germaine had done a couple of things for you, hadn’t she? Did you sort of – fancy anything just then? Have a small gin, if you want.’
    He got up and poured Frank one.
    Frank sipped the gin. He said thoughtfully, ‘No, I didn’t. In point of fact, I was feeling bloody awful. It was cold in the flat. I was cold. I didn’t fancy anything,’ he said.
    Steve let a silence settle.
    ‘What kind of wall did you lean on?’ he said at last.
    ‘The coping. Fantastic view. Nocturne by Whistler.’
    ‘And you just watched a while and then left her.’
    ‘Yes. Well, hang on. She’d already gone.’
    ‘Where?’
    ‘Back the way we came. I think. I don’t know. I mean, I was shivering. I was awful, Steve.’
    Steve considered a moment. ‘Frank,’ he said. ‘I don’t think you were on the embankment. I think you walked down Lots Road to a wharf. That wall you leaned on was at a wharf. You watched the lights from there.’
    ‘Do you think so, Steve?’ Frank said uncertainly.
    ‘I do. If you think hard, you’ll remember.’
    ‘Wharves,’ Frank said. ‘Atmospheric, aren’t they?’
    ‘Very. Nocturne-ish. Lighrs across the water.’
    ‘Yes. Traffic was passing though, Steve,’ Frank said unhappily .
    ‘Where?’
    ‘In the road just behind us. I don’t think it was a wharf. I mean, we could invent one.’
    ‘Are you sure about the traffic?’
    ‘Positive. I’m sure it wasn’t a wharf, Steve.’
    ‘Well, thank Christ for that,’ Steve said.
    ‘What do you mean?’
    ‘She was killed on a wharf. The police think it was Cremorne Wharf, the farthest from where you were. She was tangled up in some stuff from there. I don’t think you killed her, Frank.’
    ‘Well, thanks very much,’ Frank said. He was looking at him with dislike.
    ‘We had to know. You’re still on the hook, Frank.’
    ‘Well, I’ll have another drink,’ Frank said.
    ‘No you won’t. How did you get home?’
    ‘I caught a cab. On the corner of Beaufort Street, opposite.’
    ‘Would the driver remember you?’
    ‘Well, how would I know that?’
    ‘Did anyone see you when you got in?’
    ‘Did they? I don’t know. Yes, they did. That yellow phantom on the ground floor was in the lavatory. She’d omitted to lock the door. I tried to get in. Some hurly-burly took place with the door. She flashed her fangs at