How to Kill Your Family(42)

The girl who was young enough to be his daughter said something to him and headed towards a side door. Lee was left holding her tiny Chanel bag as he came towards the bar, scrunching it up in his meaty hand as though it were made of paper and didn’t cost close to three grand. He was clearly fairly drunk, his eyes slightly glassy, his brow glistening with sweat. He smiled when he saw me, recognising my face. He was adept at greeting people as though they were old friends, an accomplished blagger who never knew your name but made you feel welcome and warm for the fifteen seconds he’d spend on you before moving onto the next person.

‘Hello again,’ he said as he reached me and air-kissed the space next to the side of my head. ‘I thought you were looking for something a bit more hardcore than this?’

‘I’ve found it,’ I said. ‘I’ve come here to invite you. But I see you’re busy tonight.’

He looked slightly confused and then looked down at the bag he was holding. ‘Oh her. She’s on the job, if you know what I mean.’

I nodded, not wishing to get into the details of how he was in the habit of hiring a sex worker some thirty years his junior, but he must’ve imagined I was still in the dark, because he leant forward, his hands slipping on the bar, and lunged at my face.

‘Virginie is a tart,’ he stage-whispered, breathing whisky fumes into my face. ‘A tart who looks like … art.’ He laughed at his own rhyme, and clicked his fingers at the barman, who narrowed his eyes and ignored him.

‘So are you going to try out this new place with me, or are you just going to talk big about all the dark and twisted stuff you like and never go anywhere remotely different? Virginie will do whatever you want, I guess. But that doesn’t strike me as very exciting. She’s not getting off on it. She’s getting her rent.’

He laughed again, but he was too drunk, and I couldn’t see how to nail this down before his friend came back to find him.

‘You girls are all the same. You put up a big show of being edgy, but you won’t do what I need. Paying for it is easy. I don’t have to ease this one into it, she’ll just get it done for the right price. Scowling bird that she is.’

‘Well, I won’t waste my time. I’ve found a place where everything is catered for, no questions asked. It makes this place look like a yoga class for bored housewives. I don’t want to go on my own, because where would be the fun in that? I think we could have a good time together. If you get tired of paying by the hour and want to play with someone who’ll really put their all into it, give me a call.’ I smiled at the barman, who came over immediately. ‘I’m sorry this man was so rude earlier. I believe he’d like to apologise. He’ll have a whisky on the rocks and whatever you’re having. And could I possibly borrow a pen?’ The barman delivered a biro and I wrote down my number on a cocktail napkin and put it in Lee’s jacket pocket. ‘Remember to save that before the maid finds it. Or worse, your wife does. Though I imagine that discovering a woman’s mobile number would be fairly unsurprising for her.’

He looked at me, and frowned. ‘You’re a bitch, you know that?’ he said, over-enunciating like all drunks do.

‘I do know that, yes,’ I said, as I turned to go. ‘But that’s what you really want, Lee. Isn’t it?’

I left the bar and called a taxi. He’d call me. Now I just had to make the final preparations.

*

Prep work for killing someone is an odd thing. I wish there was an online group where you could share tips and offer up advice to newbies, telling you which gloves are the most practical and weigh in on whether a shove down the stairs is an effective way to take a life. Mumsnet, but for murders. Actually, I assume there is something like this on the Dark Web somewhere, but I’m not going to seek it out. It’s a lonely business, and it involves a lot of waiting around and a fair bit of trial and error.

For Lee, I had two things to do. The first part I’d ticked off already – a visit to the Mile End establishment where he’d be shuffling off this mortal coil. Having seen the place, I almost think his family would be more ashamed that he died in Mile End than that he died of auto-asphyxiation. The venue was off the main stretch of road, below a bridge, the door almost hidden in the arches. There was no glamorous girl with a clipboard here, just two slightly grim-faced men behind a screen, who demanded twenty quid, took my phone and pointed to a staircase which led down below ground. But my God, it was perfect. The place was dark, with sticky floors and no windows. Bodies packed together, loud thumping music almost deafening the moans which came at me from all angles. There was no polite drinking area where you could gingerly inch yourself into the depravity, this place was teeming with people in various states of undress. And they were going for it with really joyous abandon. And it was sort of glorious actually. People of all shapes and sizes writhing around, as though it were a huge Bacchanal orgy and not taking place in a former railway warehouse. I picked my way through the throng, bracing for a stray hand or embrace, but was pleasantly surprised at how well enforced the rules of consent were. I wasn’t interested but it’s always nice to be asked before the fact.

As with the other clubs I’d been to, there were doorways off the main room, and I’d checked out every single one to size up suitability. Most of them were small and airless, with rudimentary furnishings and different themes. One room was lined with black rubber. One had a huge swing in the middle which was having its weight limit tested by four energetic bodies. But these rooms were gentle and that was no use to me. On and on I went. Further away from the main area, the people thinned out. And then I found the right place. A door painted glossy black took me into a room which looked like an old storage cupboard. There were big silver hooks attached to the brick wall, with ropes attached to each of them. Looking directly at it, I could see more clearly that they were arranged in the shape of a person, with one further hook dangling promisingly from the ceiling. A metal chair was propped up against one wall. I sat down and looked at the room for some time. Since cameras were not allowed in the club, I had to memorise the set-up for later. The chair was integral to the plan, and I could only hope that nobody removed it. Having to go and look around for another one would surely ruin the mood for Lee somewhat.