How to Kill Men and Get Away With It(86)

‘I’m serious,’ I tell her. ‘And him. Did he touch Antoinette? Did he rape her too?’

‘I don’t think so. He was a big believer in that old phrase about three people knowing a secret. You know, how it can only stay a secret if one of them’s dead. Or something?’

We peel off his trousers. Well, I do this bit, while Hen vomits into the en suite toilet. She’s clearly seen more than enough of her own father with his pants around his ankles. Getting the fishnet tights onto him on my own is a bit of a struggle though.

‘Are you sure this is how you want it? We could easily just take him down to one of the abattoirs and sort him out there? It’s surprisingly easy.’

‘That’s because you’ve had a lot of practice,’ she shouts from the bathroom between retches. ‘No. This is what I want. Maximum humiliation. It’s what he’d hate the most.’

I shrug. ‘Your call. You’d really enjoy the chopping up though. It’s the best bit.’

By the time Hen’s finished vomiting, I’m just about done with James and am standing back to enjoy my handiwork. He’s starting to come round from the taser.

‘Thanks for the help, by the way,’ I say to her.

‘No worries. You’ve done an awesome job.’

I agree with her on this. James looks ridiculous lying there, cuffed to the bed, in a leather thong and fishnets. He’s got a stocking stuffed into his mouth and one tied around his neck. To complete the look, I’ve even added some bright red lipstick – Charlotte Tilbury, shade Tell Laura, if you must know.

He comes round slowly, how I’d imagine a bear waking from hibernation. His eyes dizzily move between Hen and me as he realises the situation he’s in. He attempts to say something but the stocking in his mouth stops the words from coming out.

‘Want to hear his last words?’ I ask.

‘There’s nothing he could ever say that I’d want to hear. Just get it over with.’ She doesn’t hang around to watch and heads back into the living area. I hear her pop the cork out of something and pour a long drink.

Before all this started, I had the idea that squeezing the life out of someone would be easy, they’d just go a bit floppy, like falling asleep. But it’s really not like that. There’s a lot more thrashing around than I ever imagined, for one thing. Once they realise what’s happening, they get this wild look in their eyes and try to fight it. It’s amazing how even the worst monsters are so desperate to hang on to their lives.

Take James. He’s an uber-thrasher. He really hasn’t worked out that it’s pointless – seeing as how he’s firmly cuffed to the bed – and the easiest thing would be for him to let it happen. He’s just hurting himself this way. I give the stocking I’m using as a makeshift noose an extra hard tug and watch as his eyes do that bulgy thing, like they’re trying to escape from his head. Sometimes they even kind of pop – it’s blood vessels or something – and the whites turn completely red.

‘How does that feel?’ I say. ‘Nice and tight? That’s how you like it, isn’t it?

Hen may not want to hear his final words. But I fucking do. I want to hear him whimper and beg for his life. Like I said, this is my last hurrah. I take the stocking out of his mouth.

‘Please, the kids.’

‘I think you know exactly how they feel about you right now.’

‘You’re a fucking bitch.’

‘I didn’t fuck you though, did I?’

Well, that was hardly Hemingway. I shove the stocking back in, bored already, by pinching his nose and forcing him to open his mouth.

The other thing about asphyxiation is that it takes longer than films would have you believe. I’ve been straddling James Pemberton for a good six or seven minutes now and he’s only just dropping into unconsciousness. At least the thrashing has stopped. It’s times like this when it would be really handy to be able to order from room service, a nice glass of Chablis would be beyond lovely right now. Maybe I should start bringing a hip flask or something?

I take a last look at James, who finally seems like he’s shuffled off his miserable mortal coil and press my chest up against his, letting my ear drop to his lips. Silence. I ease his eyelids down over his eyes and sit back to admire my work. I think this is my favourite part of it all. They look kind of childlike and peaceful, before I get busy chopping them into pieces for the mincer.

‘All done,’ I say as I walk back through the apartment and join Hen on the sofa. She’s poured me a wine – a nice, chilled Montrachet. ‘So what happens now?’

‘We leave him here. I’ll give the police and a paper a tip-off from a burner phone. Then he’ll be found. The powerful and commanding James Pemberton, strangled by a stocking. Seeing as he loved fucking so much, it’s almost poetic that everyone will think he’s died in some kind of sex game gone wrong.’

She chuckles, but it’s hollow.

‘And what about me?’

She looks at me, disdainful. ‘What about you? Why are you always trying to make things about you?’

‘I just mean, what are your plans for me, Hen? I’m not trying to steal your glory here. You made the right decision. The world is a better place without some people contaminating it.’

She shrugs again. ‘I guess you’ll go back to your happy little life with Charlie while I’m left to hold the pieces of my family together.’ She pauses for a moment. ‘Can I ask you something?’