Murder Most Fab (19 page)

It was a week later when,
after the usual session with Sammy, I went next door to find Georgie in a
sombre mood. He didn’t pass me any instructions or say a word as he opened the
front door, just led me into the lounge and sat down.

‘I’ve
got some rather depressing news, JD. I’ve been to the doctor again. I haven’t
said anything to you — it would spoil the atmosphere so — but I’ve not been
feeling right for some time. The reason for this has now become clear. It seems
I’m positively riddled with cancer and there’s not a thing they can do.’ His
black and white cat jumped on to his lap and nestled down. He stroked it
listlessly. ‘I’ve been advised to put my affairs in order rather quickly.’

I sat
beside him and put my arm across his shoulders. ‘Georgie, I’m so sorry. Is
there really nothing they can do?’

‘Oh,
they could blast me with this and pump me with that but it wouldn’t do a scrap
of good and would make my last weeks positively hellish. The stupid thing is,
I don’t feel all that bad — just dull, nauseating pain here and there. I’m sure
it’ll get worse but they have a lovely thing called morphine for that. Any of
their therapies would make me feel a million times worse and give me only a
tiny bit more time, if I were very lucky. I don’t think it’s worth it.’

His lip
trembled and I hugged him tighter. I felt sorry for him, and rather upset. I’d
grown fond of him over the months I’d been beating him senseless.

‘This
has set me thinking …‘ Georgie tried to continue, then stopped himself,
hesitated, took some deep breaths and gave up.

‘It
must be a terrible shock,’ I said, to fill the gap. ‘I don’t know what to say.’

‘Can
you see,’ Georgie said, clearly choosing each word carefully, ‘that if
something is inevitable, one might as well embrace it?’

I gave
him a sympathetic squeeze. ‘I think that’s a very healthy way of looking at
it.’

‘Healthy?’
repeated Georgie, and threw back his head as he pretended to laugh.

‘Well,’
I said, ‘acceptance is better than regret under the circumstances.’

‘Exactly!’
said Georgie, recovering himself. ‘That’s how I see it. And if death is on the
cards, why not grasp the opportunity to deal the hand yourself?’

‘I’m not
sure what you mean, Georgie,’ I said.

‘No,
no, no, you’re not quite with me, are you?’ He stood up, suddenly energized.
The cat toppled off his lap and walked away crossly as Georgie paced the room.
‘Can we not extract a little happiness, a little pleasure, from circumstances
that are by tradition tragic and upsetting?’

‘How?’
I was baffled now. ‘Are you talking about Jesus or something?’

Georgie
went to the sideboard and poured himself a large gin with a splash of tonic. He
took a gulp and closed his eyes, inhaling purposefully, summoning the strength
to say something important.

‘You
know what I like sexually, JD. You alone know of my fantasies. Your hands round
my neck, choking me. It’s the only time I’m happy, to be perfectly honest with
you. What I’d like to suggest — and I’m not sure how to phrase this properly —
is that you do me a great favour.’ There was a long pause. ‘Murder me,’ he said
quietly.

I
stared at him. He didn’t open his eyes but talked on. I realized he was
sharing with me some very private and important thoughts and felt strangely
honoured.

‘I have
always dreamt of being strangled. It’s the Mecca of my desires. The ultimate
experience. I’ve wondered why, of course —I’ve questioned the genesis of my own
fantasy — but I’ve never come up with an answer. I’ve gone as far as I can in
acting it out, but life was always of greater importance to me. Ultimately I
wanted to live. I still do, but my time is up. I could never seriously
contemplate this before, but now …’

I stood
up and moved towards the door. What Georgie was saying had made sense and I was
horrified. I needed to get out of this situation, stop listening to his
ramblings.

He
opened his eyes and leapt in front of me. ‘Here is my choice. I let the cancer
take its course, enduring the pain as it gets worse and worse until,
eventually, they dose me with so much morphine that I slide into a coma and
die. Or I pay you twenty thousand pounds to give me the sensational erotic
finale of my choosing. Then I don’t let the Grim Reaper have it all his own
way!’

I stood
there, staring at him.

He
looked at me pleadingly, his hands clasped. ‘Please, JD. It would make me
happy.’

‘Can I
… can I think about it, Georgie? You must realize you’ve asked something very
serious. I can’t just say yes. I need time to think.’

‘Of
course, of course. But not too much!’ he called after me, as I went past him to
the door. He looked suitably tragic. ‘I don’t have much left.’

‘It would make me happy.’

This
sentence stayed with me all the way home, as I thought over the absurd thing Georgie
had asked me to do. Kill him? How on earth could I? The last time I looked, the
penalties for snuffing out a life were fairly stringent, no matter what the
deceased party had had to say about it. I tried to convince myself that the
whole thing was one of his elaborate ruses, but he had been far too convincing.

As soon
as I got home, I told Catherine what had happened.

‘Those
old boys are full of fun and games, aren’t they?’ she said, laughing. Then,
suddenly, she was serious and gazed at me with wide, excited eyes. ‘Twenty
thousand pounds, Cowboy … That’s the important part. Is there some way of
getting the money without doing the business?’

‘That’s
called “clipping”, I believe. A dirty trick and I’ll have no part of it.’

‘Such a
good Catholic boy. You warm my heart. OK, then. If murder’s the only honest way
to get our hands on the lolly we’d better seriously consider it.’

‘You’re
as mad as he is!’ I said, astonished.

‘Think
about it. First, we need the money.’

Catherine
was right. Our move upmarket was proving much more expensive than either of us
had anticipated. Besides the constant need for grooming and clothes, the rental
on our new flat was five times the amount we had been paying for the last
place, and the Italian furniture we’d eyed up wantonly in Selfridges had been
beyond our means but we’d bought it anyway, along with many other luxurious
items that we couldn’t live without. And there was our ever-increasing cocaine
habit, which was now costing us hundreds a week. No matter how much we earned,
the money melted away.

‘Can’t
we just shag some more Arab princes?’ I asked. That seemed a much nicer
proposition than killing Georgie.

‘It’s
bloody Ramadan, isn’t it?’ Catherine pointed out. ‘They haven’t got the energy.’

‘Oh.’

‘It’s
not just the money, though, sweets. Think about it. He’s going to die anyway.
Don’t forget, I used to be a geriatric nurse and I’ve seen those poor old
people suffering and dying in their hospital beds. Forget skipping gently away
between clean sheets with your family gathered at your bedside. Think of
horrible pain, sliding in and out of consciousness in a strange place
surrounded by people you don’t know as you listen to the sounds of a busy ward
and the beeping and clunking of all the machinery keeping you going.’ She eyed
me meaningfully, as she swirled an expensive cognac round a cut-glass tumbler.
‘Or die quickly, at home, in ecstasy, with someone you like. I’m pretty sure
which I’d choose.’

She had
a point. But still …

‘Sleep
on it,’ suggested Catherine. ‘Twenty thousand pounds! See how you feel in the
morning.’

By
breakfast Catherine had convinced herself that ‘we’ should carry out Georgie’s
wishes. ‘It’s his choice, after all. The way I see it, it’s euthanasia for
thrill-seekers.’

For a
moment, we munched our muesli in silence.

She saw
that I wasn’t as enthusiastic as she’d hoped. ‘I don’t see what’s wrong with
the idea, when you think it through. He’s going to die anyway. It’s a
compliment to you that he asked. Being able to make someone happy is no small
thing. And we sure could use the dosh.’

‘We?
You’re not the one who has to squeeze the life out of a little old man.’

‘I’d be
with you in spirit. I’ll be standing by with some Wet Wipes.’

‘You’ve
just got your eye on the cash, Catherine,’ I said plainly. ‘It’s really rather
vulgar.’

Her
eyes kit up. ‘Cowboy, you’re right! We’re behind with the rent, we’ve got
credit-card bills coming out of our ears and I’ve seen a fridge-freezer with a glitterball
inside that turns when you open the door. We’ve got to have it. Please?’

I shook
my head sadly. ‘I just don’t think I’ve got it in me.’

Catherine
looked cross. ‘He’ll only leave the money to the other silky old fart or a cats’
home. What a fucking waste! Do things his way and we’re all winners. Don’t be
so mean. Anyway, I thought you cared about your clients.’

‘The
bottom line is I don’t think I could kill a man. It’s all very well for you,
sitting at home planning the spending spree, but I’m the one who’ll have to do
the deed and live with it for the rest of my life.’

Catherine
held up her hands to stop me. ‘All right, enough! Let’s forget it. Tell him
he’ll have to find someone else.’

I
loaded our dirty bowls into the dishwasher and poured us some more tea.
Catherine was sulking now, burying her face in a glossy catalogue of chic
leather furnishings. I sighed. ‘How much is the fridge-freezer?’ I asked.

‘Thank
you! Thank you!’ said Catherine, tossing the catalogue to one side to give me a
hug.

‘I’m
not saying I’ll do it,’ I warned. ‘I’m very far from that …‘ But she could
sense that something in me was weakening. By lunchtime she had made a list of
our sudden new ‘must haves’ and precious little of the impending twenty grand
was unaccounted for. The camp fridge, new sofas, a coffee-table and our rent arrears
were neatly listed. A thorough make-over for our patio garden and a thousand
pounds worth of ‘miscellaneous’ expenses had crept into the equation. A huge
amount was noted as ‘partying’. I assumed this was earmarked for Catherine’s
coke dealer.

‘I’ve
put aside three hundred for a holiday for you in Gran Canaria. You’ll need a
break afterwards, I should think, to come to terms with what you’ve done.
You’ll probably have night sweats or a spot of eczema. The sunshine will do you
the world of good.’

‘Three
hundred pounds isn’t much for a holiday,’ I observed.

‘No,
well — have you ever been to Gran Canaria? Monte Carlo it ain’t. If you want
any spending money while you’re there I’m sure you can earn it. The place is
crawling with desperate old queens recovering from their exertions during the panto
season.’

Somehow,
as we talked, the money became more real and more difficult to imagine not
having. Over the next few days, Georgie’s proposition went from being an old
man’s ridiculous fantasy to something I had solemnly undertaken to carry out.

When I told Georgie I was
prepared to murder him, he was delighted, then agonized over exactly when he
wanted to make his exit.

‘Does
the seventeenth of September suit you?’ he enquired, as if he was booking a
manicure. ‘I’ve had a look at the long-range weather forecast and it’s likely
to be cool but bright with sunny spells. Perfect, I thought. We can start in
the early evening. You should be home for
Newsnight.’

He
seemed so rejuvenated by the prospect of his own violent death that it was hard
to believe he was sick. It was as if he’d been waiting all his life for this
extravaganza. The following Friday he clucked round his flat, excitedly
instructing me on which restraints were to be applied where and in which order.

‘I
shall, of course, have all this written down for you, but we’ll start with a
little playful strangulation in the hallway. Handcuffs we won’t bother with —
they’re so old hat — but I’m going to Bond Street tomorrow to look at some silk
scarves. I’ll treat myself to something expensive. As for the business round my
neck, I think the leather strap from a Louis Vuitton bucket bag should do the
trick, don’t you?’