Scarlet Women Read Online Free PDF

front pages. Because these werewhores. Who really gave a stuff if whores were killed? Many people would think they’d got their just deserts. Few would care. Few would want to know who did it. All they would say now was, well, they’ve got the bloke anyway, case solved.
    Only it wasn’t. Not in Annie’s eyes.
    Because she knew that Chris could never be a killer. She knew his opinion of men who beat up on women. To physically harm a woman would be beyond him. Like most of the real hard men around the East End, Chris had been raised to respect women, not batter them. He would look down on any man who did that. And to do it himself? No. It was impossible.
    ‘He did hate her going back on the game,’ said Dolly, looking awkward.
    Annie looked across at her friend. She nodded. This was true.
    Chris’s job as a security guard at Heathrow never paid much. They both knew that this had been a source of embarrassment for him. He wanted to keep his gorgeous wife in luxury, give her everything she wanted—and Aretha wanted plenty—but he couldn’t. He made a decent, solid living, but it wasn’t enough for Aretha, who loved the latest clothes, who loved to earn her own money, and the way she’d always done that and earned plenty was through tarting at Dolly’s. When Dolly had extended her business to include a smallescort agency, Aretha had been right up the front of the queue for more work.
    Oh, Aretha had loved money.
    Through all this, despite his own unhappiness with the situation, Chris had supported Aretha’s choices. He’d known his woman since way before he’d ever married her. To him, Aretha had been exotic, exciting, beloved. Annie guessed he’d closed his mind to the rest of it. Made sure as far as he could that she kept herself safe. Waited for her in a parked car on rainy London nights. Didn’t want her on the bus or the Tube that late. Waited for her. Supported her. Loved her in the best way he knew how.
    And now they were supposed to believe that he’d killed her?
    ‘They’ve got it wrong,’ said Annie, laying a hand flat on the table in absolute denial of this shit they were trying to stick on to Chris. ‘Chris did not kill Aretha.’
    Dolly was silent.
    ‘Doll?’ asked Annie after a beat or two.
    Dolly shrugged. ‘Yeah, but from what you told me they’ve got real evidence. Real evidence. That thing, that…’
    ‘The cheese wire,’ said Annie with a shudder. The garrotte.
    ‘Yeah, that. But…well, you said it had Chris’s blood on it. And his hands were cut.’
    ‘From where he tried to get it off her,’ said Annie.
    ‘Yeah, but is that how it really happened?’ Dolly frowned at her. She looked awkward. ‘Is that really it? Or…’
    ‘Or what, Doll?’ Annie looked at her.
    ‘Or—God, I hate to say this—did he get the cuts when he did the deed, you know? Did he get those cuts on his hands, cut himself, when he…when he strangled her with that thing?’
    Annie was silent for long moments. Then she said: ‘You don’t believe that.’
    Dolly swigged back the last of her brandy, slapped the glass back on to the table between them as if laying down a challenge.
    ‘Fact is, I don’t know what to believe,’ she said, shaking her head wearily. ‘But if the evidence is there…’
    ‘Well I do,’ said Annie firmly. ‘I believe that Chris loved Aretha. I believe that he injured himself trying to get the garrotte off her neck. And I believe that unless we help him out here, the plod are going to fit him up with this and with the murders of those other two poor bitches that were topped. He’ll be sent down for Christ knows how long, Doll, and I can’t let that happen.’
    ‘Yeah, fine words,’ sniffed Dolly. She poured herself another stiffener, held the bottle aloft to Annie. Annie shook her head. ‘But what can youactually do ? Supposing he didn’t do it, and you know what? I think he probably did. Once the Bill think they’ve got the right man, do you really think you’re