This is my third time reading The Chelsea Murders, and this time I actually remembered which of them was the killer about halfway through. I don't think there's a murder mystery out there that I've ever enjoyed quite as much, certainly not of the classic English variety which this both is and sends up.We are, as it were, led by the nose through a series of murders terrorising London's bohemian Chelsea area. The killer, who enjoys sending cryptic literary notes to warn of his coming exploits, is one of three students making a film. The police are all over them and the press are sniffing round like bloodhounds and everyone's trying to work it out, but the killer always seems one step ahead.By all accounts this is packed to the rafters with London arty/publishing/whatever in-jokes of which I can fairly confidently say I got bugger all. That doesn't matter. It's clever, sharp, witty, full of characters that are mostly unlikeable but who are all doing interesting things and the whodunnit aspect is utterly, deliciously maddening in a way that most whodunnits just aren't. Davidson didn't write another one like this. Like DCS Warton he'd had enough of the murder game, which was almost a pity. Luckily he wrote some other great stuff instead, and we can always go to Chelsea.
