The Red Room Read Online Free PDF Page B

would have that picture
on the wall and they would be amused by it and they would
wonder: Who were those children?
I looked at Furth and saw that for him, of
course, it meant nothing. Maybe there was just a
touch of bafflement and scorn. Is this all? This
is what Kit Quinn comes back to every night?
He stood too close to me and looked into my
eyes with an expression of concern that turned my
stomach. "How are you now?" he said. "Everything
all right with the face?"
I stepped back before he could stroke my scar.
"I didn't think we'd ever meet again," I
said.
"We felt bad about you, Kit," Furth said,
before adding hurriedly: "Not that it was anybody's
fault. He was like a mad animal. It took
four of us to lay him out. You should have paid more 45
attention when I told you he was a pervert."
"Is that what you've come round to say?"
"No."
"Then why are you here?"
"Chat."
"What about?"
He looked shifty. "We wanted some
advice."
"What?" I was so startled by the wild
unexpectedness of this that I had to make some effort
not to giggle "You're here about a case?"
"That's right. We wanted a chat. Have you got
anything to drink?" he asked.
"Like what?"
"A beer or something."
I went and found a bottle of something
Bavarian-looking in the back of the fridge and
brought it to him.
"Do you mind if I smoke?"
I fetched him a saucer from the kitchen. He
pushed the glass I had given him to one side and
took a swig from the bottle. Then he lit the
cigarette and drew on it several times. "I'm
working on the Regent's Canal murder." he said
finally. "You've heard about it?"
I thought for a moment. "I saw something in the
paper a few days ago. Body found by the
canal?"
"That's the one. What did you think?"
"Sounded sad." I grimaced at him. "A
little story at the bottom of a page. A young
drifter. The only reason there was any story at
all was that there were some nasty injuries. They
didn't even know her name, did they?"
"Still don't. But we've got a suspect."
I shook my head. "Well done. Now--was
He held up his hand. "Ask me the name of the
suspect."
"What?"
"Go on." He grinned widely and settled
back in the chair with his arms folded, waiting.
"OK," I said obediently. "What is the
name of the suspect?"
"His name is Anthony Michael Doll."
I stared at him, taking it in. He looked
back, cheerily triumphant. "There now, see
why you were just the person for the job? Perfect, eh?"
"Chance to get my own back," I said. "I
missed out on my chance to give him a kicking in the
cell, so perhaps I can help to send him 47
down for murder. Is that the idea?"
"No, no," he said, in a soothing tone.
"My boss was interested in you doing some work for us.
Don't worry, you get your fee. And it might
be fun. Ask your friend Seb Weller."
"Fun," I said. "How could I resist? And
we had such a good time before."
I went over to the fridge and pulled out an
open bottle of white wine. I poured myself a
full glass and held it up to the fading light.
Then I took a mouthful and felt the icy cold
liquid trickle down my throat. I stared out
the window, at the red sun low in the turquoise
sky. The rain had stopped and it was going to be a
beautiful evening. I turned back to Furth.
"Why do you think it's Doll?"
He looked surprised, and then pleased. "You
see? You're interested. He spends his days
fishing on the canal. He's there every bloody day.
He came forward when we had our appeal for
anybody who'd been in the area." Furth looked
sharply round at me. "Does it surprise you?"
"How?"
"A man like that, coming forward."
"Not necessarily," I said. "If he's
innocent, he's better off identifying himself. And
if he's guilty ..." I stopped. I
didn't want to be sucked into a consultation based
on Furth's thumbnail sketch of a suspect.
He winked at me anyway, as if he'd
caught me. "If he's guilty," he said,
"he might like to get involved in the inquiry, even
in a small way. What do you