The Killing of Olga Klimt by R T Raichev

Author:R T Raichev
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780750958714
Publisher: The History Press
Published: 2014-06-18T16:00:00+00:00

They heard Olga gasp.

There was a pause, then Charlie spoke. ‘What the hell are you talking about? What body?’ He had turned a livid shade of pale.

‘I believe there was blood, wasn’t there?’ Payne said quietly.

‘It was the body of a girl in her twenties. She looked like Olga – from the back at least.’ Antonia enjoyed the process of reconstructing a crime. ‘She is about the same height – has the same fair hair –’

Charlie put his hands into his dressing-gown pockets, clearly to stop them from shaking. Olga’s hand had gone up to her mouth.

‘There was blood,’ Payne repeated.’ That’s why it was imperative that you should wash the floor.’

‘We have met before, actually.’ Antonia addressed Charlie in conversational tones. She had decided to stop being embarrassed about her hunch and put it to the test instead.

‘I don’t think we have met. I am afraid you are mistaken,’ Charlie said coldly.

‘You clearly don’t remember, but that is hardly surprising since you were quite ill that day. You fainted in the street and were taken into a place called the Sylvie & Bruno Nursery School?’

He stood staring at her. ‘I am sure you are mistaken,’ he said again but with less conviction.

‘I am not mistaken. I happened to be there. We watched you as you climbed the stairs – I was with my grandson – it was his first day at school – we’d gone to meet the headmistress. You, on the other hand, were accompanied by your manservant – what was his name now? – Bedaux?’

Olga gave a little cry.

‘You said you were perfectly capable of going up the stairs; or words to that effect. You must remember,’ Antonia went on. ‘Miss Frayle had you taken to her private quarters on the first floor.’

‘Miss Frayle?’

‘Yes. Fenella Frayle – the nursery school’s owner-cum-headmistress. You remember her, don’t you? She took you to her snuggery.’

Suddenly he swayed, as though his feet had turned to clay. He leant his back against the wall.

It looked as though he was about to be sick. So that was the effect Fenella Frayle’s name had on him. Antonia now saw with absolute clarity exactly what had happened, or more precisely, what must have happened and why. The idea had occurred to her earlier on. A very ingenious premise, the crime writer in her reflected, though of course it had already been used; it had served as the basis for a book and a film …

‘Fenella Frayle wanted her aunt dead,’ she said slowly. ‘Aunt Clo-Clo? You, on the other hand, were unhappy about Olga. Extremely unhappy. If I remember correctly, you described yourself as heartbroken, or something similar, I’m not sure of your exact words. You and Olga had had a tiff – more than a tiff – a serious argument? That was the reason for your terrible state that day, wasn’t it? It wasn’t only the heat. You wanted her – dead?’ She could see from his haunted expression that she was on the right track.

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