Murder Most Fab (39 page)

Sammy’s
voice took on an almost cheerful tone. ‘The funny thing was that I really
didn’t mind about you and my David. Actually, I thought you might do each other
good. I got a weird thrill out of the idea that I had you on Fridays and David
had you on Mondays. Maybe, just maybe, some trace of my sexual fluid might
mingle still with his. Pathetic, really.

‘Then
everything changed. Georgie died. It may surprise you to learn that I knew the
truth about who killed him all along, and why. You did. For the cash. Georgie
and I had shared our hopes, dreams and disappointments for decades. Did you
suppose I didn’t know everything there was to know? Georgie’s death was so
tailor-made to his very personal requirements that I knew at once someone was
following his instructions. But, then, I hardly needed to be Sherlock Holmes.
The morning before his death Georgie gave me a letter. “Darling, open this
after I’ve passed over to the great behind. And please do as I ask for once.” I
didn’t realize the ink would hardly have time to dry.’

I
managed to speak at last. My tone was reasoning, not callous. ‘He had cancer.
He knew he was going to die. He wanted to leave instructions …’ My voice
trailed away.

Sammy
clucked impatiently. ‘Oh, there was no cancer, I’m afraid. He was lying about
that. No cancer at all. That particular death was simply his ultimate fantasy,
and a silly one at that. Thought you might have seen through his little ploy.
Georgina was as fit as a fiddle. I’m surprised you were so taken in. You knew
how dramatic the old girl was.’

I
closed my eyes, refusing to allow Sammy the pleasure of seeing me shocked.

‘When I
found Georgie’s body 1 went home and opened the letter. Would you like to know
what it said?’

I
didn’t answer.

‘He told
me all about your arrangement and how he’d talked you into it. He pleaded with
me not to mention your name to the police. Nor did I. You ought to thank me.’
He waited. ‘Oughtn’t you?’

‘Yes.
Thank you, Sammy,’ I said, without sincerity, like an insolent schoolboy. I
was utterly hollow, unable to feel anything.

‘It was
against my better judgement,’ he said quietly. ‘But then you moved on to
Bernard and superstardom beckoned. I went to the Isle of Wight and my ability
to keep tabs on you lessened. But every now and then I would come to town and
practise tailing you, just to see what my little JD was up to. And as you grew
more famous and more successful, it occurred to me that you weren’t truly
happy. And why was that? You were no longer servicing David, or anyone else.
You were living for pleasure, for the moment. Then one day in Nicaragua — oops!
Another of my friends gone west. Quite the little butterfingers, aren’t we? But
you came home with Juan, so thank goodness for that. Your career continued to
flourish. I saw the pair of you together one night, dining at the Ivy. Such a
handsome, cheerful boy, I thought. But, no, it seems not. Poor Juan was full of
inner turmoil and soon to take his own life. Who’d have thought it? One way or
another anyone in your circle, as it were, isn’t long for this world. You
really are an unlucky charm.

‘Then I
saw you meet up with Timothy Thornchurch and the plot really started to
thicken. What on earth were you up to? He was the one you loved, I could see
that much. It was all so familiar.

‘But
everything was different now. I had begun to suspect you. After all, everyone
you’d got close to — except for the awful woman you live with — had ended up
dead. What would happen to poor Tim? I began to fear for his safety, and for the
heartbreak David would suffer if anything befell his beloved boy. I was mad
with worry. I should have gone to the police then but I didn’t think they’d
believe my theories about a BAFTA-award-winning serial-killer.

‘When
we met in that restaurant — and I intended you to see me — I recognized the
light of hedonism in your eyes along with a coldness I’d never thought you
capable of. After that, I knew Tim was probably not long for this world. I had
you tailed — sometimes by Big Boy, sometimes by one of his friends — with
strict instructions that you should be stopped if it seemed you were going to
harm Tim in any way. And last night was the night, wasn’t it? You were going to
batter him to death, weren’t you?’

‘No!
No!’ I cried, suddenly able to feel again. It seemed terribly important that
Sammy believed me. ‘I wasn’t going to kill Tim.

I admit,
I went to his flat thinking I’d have to get rid of him. He’d threatened to
reveal everything about me, you see, and I thought I had to stop him. But when
I got there, I knew I couldn’t do it.

I was
going to leave the brick outside his door as a secret sign for him. You must
believe me, Sammy!’

‘A
likely story, JD,’ Sammy said scornfully. ‘You must think I’m a fool.’

‘Listen
to me,’ I said, trying to convince him, speaking in a torrent in the attempt.
‘I’m telling you the truth! I killed Georgie because death was all he had to
look forward to, Bernard because it was what he wanted and Juan because he
couldn’t live without me. Believe me! But I would never have harmed a hair on
Tim’s head—’

Sammy
cut me off. ‘Thank you. That will do.’

He
reached into his jacket pocket and I heard a click. For a moment I thought he
had a gun, but he pulled out a Dictaphone. He pressed a button and I heard my
last sentence repeated back to me: ‘… I killed Georgie because death was all
he had to look forward to, Bernard because it was what he wanted and Juan
because he couldn’t live without me.’

Sammy
stopped the machine. ‘You can come in now, Detective Inspector Anderton.’

Handcuffed in the back of
the police car, I asked if it was really necessary to have the sirens on. To
my surprise they turned them off DI Anderton turned slowly to kook at me. ‘I
thought you might like it, Mr Debonair. Thought it might make you feel important.’

‘My
importance is in no doubt, Inspector. Where are we going?’ I asked.

‘Back
to the beginning. Barnes nick.’

‘Do I
get my phone call there? I think that’s my right.’ As soon as possible I had to
call Catherine. She’d get me out of this mess. She’d know what to do. I half
expected her to have contacted my solicitor already. No doubt a team of legal
wizards was waiting for me in leafy old Barnes. The less I said the better,
until I could take their advice. ‘No comment’, I believed, was the correct answer
to any questions, serious or casual.

DI Anderton
was a bulky man, and I was directly behind him, studying the grey bristles on
the back of his neck. I observed the way they undulated and fanned outwards,
like a sea creature, as he moved his head from side to side.

‘Are
you arresting me on suspicion of murder?’ I asked.

‘Correct,
sir. Your taped confession is a great help, pointing us in the right direction
as it has.’

‘But I
might be lying. What if I simply say I made it all up to help an old man in his
fantasies? Apart from the tape, you don’t have any real evidence,’ I said.

‘As it
happens, we have rather a lot of evidence, sir. Very obliging, your manager.
She seems to know all your secrets. But, as she said to me, things aren’t
looking too good for her Christmas bonus.’

I had
no idea what he meant. I told myself he was bluffing. I decided to keep quiet
until I had a lawyer in the room, or at least had talked to Catherine.

‘I’m
thinking of pressing charges myself,’ I said, a little sulkily. ‘No one seems
to care a jot that I’ve been kidnapped, drugged, tied to a chair and tricked
into a bogus confession.’

‘I
shouldn’t be so keen to mention drugs if I were you, sir. We’ll be taking a
blood test shortly.’

When we
got to Barnes police station I was marched through the main entrance, past an
Irish drunk and a woman, her hair scraped back into a greasy ponytail, in
charge of a hysterical toddler. ‘Johnny D!’ she shrieked, stunning her child
into momentary silence. ‘What are you doing here? Has he been nicked? Can I
have your autograph?’

DI Anderton
and his colleague marched me past her, their minds clearly on the task in hand.
They were not to be stopped by anyone. ‘What’s ‘e doin’ ‘ere?’ were the last
words I heard in the free world. Seconds later I was shoved into a cell and the
door was slammed behind me. Another, more genteel, noise interrupted the echo,
as the cover slid from a slot in the heavy steel door.

DI Anderton
puckered up to the narrow bars.

‘It’s
not exactly the kind of luxury you’re used to, Mr Debonair, but please bear
with us. I must ask you to remain where you are.’ I heard a distinct snigger.
‘I’m sure all this unpleasantness will be sorted out in no time. Meanwhile, if
you do require anything be sure to make a mental note of it and your “people”
will be only too happy to provide it for you the moment your liberty is
restored.’

I was
eventually granted my free phone call but every number I tried for Catherine
went unanswered. I rang my mother.

‘Mother,
it’s me. I’m in a spot of bother and I’ve been arrested. Could you get me a
good lawyer?’

‘Darling?
Whatever do you mean?’

‘It’s
quite serious. “Murder most foul, as in the best it is…” if you get my
general drift.’

‘Not
really, dear.’

‘I’ve
been accused of murder, Mother.’

‘Oh. I
see. Whatever is going on with the world? I’d better phone Grandma. She’ll know
what to do, I’m sure. My geraniums are still blooming beautifully — isn’t it
amazing? Bye!’

Of
course. My mother didn’t yet know about Grandma Rita’s condition and it was
quite likely that when she discovered it she would forget about me. I would
have to request a duty counsel, or whatever it was.

But
before that, lay a cold and uncomfortable night in the cells, punctuated with
sightseers opening the grille on my door to peer in at my plight. The great
Johnny D, curled up on a nasty hard bed in a rank little cell. Who would have
believed it? Goodness only knew how many policemen were on the phone to their
contacts in the press, selling the story.

Grandma
Rita must have had a burst of energy when Mother told her the news and used
some of her connections in legal circles. The next morning, I found that Henry
Vaughan had been appointed my solicitor.

‘There
hasn’t been a more sensational case since Fatty Arbuckle’s! You’re all over the
papers,’ he told me excitedly. ‘This could put me on the map at last! Things
are moving at quite a pace. It’s considered that there’s enough evidence to
prosecute you for three murders, although I believe that the CPS is still
deciding about the third — that is, the death of Juan Castinello. I’m told
there’s also a possible charge for the attempted murder of the Honourable
Timothy Thornchurch but no more news on that one yet. Anyway, you’re to appear
in court tomorrow to answer the first charges — the murders of George Hillington
and Bernard Cohen — and then a trial date will be set.

‘A
little later in the day, your barrister will be over to meet you and set out
your case. Is that all clear?’

I
nodded, speechless. I still couldn’t quite believe what had happened to me .

‘Excellent.
Lovely to meet you, Mr D. May I say that I’m a big fan? I really am! My wife is
the president of the Essex Boxer Dog Rescue Association. Such a worthwhile
charity. They rescue dogs, as long as they’re boxers and as long as they’re in
Essex. Might you be so kind as to donate something for our fund-raising
auction?’

Then it
was back into my cell until later in the afternoon when I was brought out to
meet my barrister, also appointed for me by Grandma Rita, a man of suitable
pomposity called Richard Lipsmack, QC.

We
faced each other over a battered old table in a cold little room lit by a
fluorescent tube.

‘I took
silk in 1986,’ he told me.

‘That’s
nothing,’ I said. ‘I took polyester and cotton in 1992.’

‘Very
good. I was told you were a comedian. Now then. I wouldn’t be surprised if you
had no recollection of any of the alleged murders. Just a stab in the dark, but
might I be right? At the time you were on a number of drugs, I suspect, and
subject to blackouts both on that account and the terrible abuse, both mental
and physical, to which these men subjected you …’ He was a wiry, eagle-like
man in his fifties, and he eyed me beadily through his black-rimmed glasses,
holding his head on one side as he waited for me to nod my reply to each
question. This he wrote down, as if it were now established fact.