Act of Exposure (27 page)

She reached
for a towel. Her eyes stayed firmly fixed on the doorknob. It
turned one way, then the other.

'Let me in,
Miss Carmel.'

She shivered.
What a voice. Like ice. She swallowed her fear and put as much
professional authority as she could muster into her voice.

'I said go
away. I don't let anyone in here! Now get lost!'

The door
rattled again.

She screamed
as loudly as she could. Someone must be around. Where were Archie's
precious "boys"?

The cold voice
laughed. His laugh, like his voice, was as cold as ice. It reminded
her of icicles, long, thin as the blade of a razor-sharp stiletto
knife.

'Let me in, Miss Jezebel, Miss Carmel.
Miss Abigail Corrigan
.' The last name
was stressed.

Now those
icicles stabbed into her heart. She froze. He knew her name. The
creep knew her real name!

'Who are you?'
Her voice was hushed.

'Someone who
knows your secret, Miss Corrigan. Someone who wants to know you
better. Now why don't you let me in?'

'No! No
chance! Get lost!'

Now the whole
door seemed to bend and buckle as whoever it was slammed his body
against it. Abby wrapped her arms around herself and shivered
inside the thickness of the towel. She leaned against the wall as
though she were trying to melt into it. But of course she couldn't.
Cold tiles, wet with condensation, were solid against her back.
Adventure on the wild side of life was now decidedly unattractive.
She thought of Stephen, longed for him, for his bed, his arms, for
a more ordered structure to her life. These thoughts flew through
her mind in a matter of seconds. They gave extra strength to the
long-drawn-out scream that followed.

There were
suddenly muffled shouts on the other side of the door. Someone had
heard!

Scuffling and
the sound of blows were followed by a cry of anguish, a thud; more
voices, running feet. Then there was the thud of footsteps and
Archie calling, 'Carmel? Are you all right?'

Breasts heaved
against the towel that she still clasped to her body as she fought
to get her breath. Thankfully she leaned her head back against the
wall and closed her eyes. 'Yes,' she said at last. 'Yes.'

When she was
quite sure her appearance was good enough to still be Carmel -
black hair, black eyes, red lips - she opened the door. Archie
looked worried and in that moment, her attitude towards him became
less loathing.

'Are you sure
you're all right?'

She nodded and
took a deep breath. 'Who was it?'

Reminiscent of
a pantomime dame, Archie flapped his hands about. 'I don't know.
One of the boys was passing. He heard you scream. Oh my word! My
word!' he exclaimed, his long fingers scouring across his forehead
and pulling his flesh into worried folds. 'What a mess! What a
bloody mess!'

There were
other people beyond Archie. One of the "boys" lay out on the floor.
A dark pool of red was seeping into the carpet around him.

'Is he
dead?'

Archie nodded.
'I've called the police.' His eyes met hers and she knew
immediately that the police officer most likely to arrive would be
Paul Bennet. Archie confirmed it. 'I've called Paul Bennet,' he
corrected. 'I need someone to clean this up. We have to be discreet
about things like this. A death on the premises would ruin the
club, if news got out.'

Staring at
Archie through her coal-black lenses, a new truth entered Abby's
mind. If that had been her lying on the floor, his policy would
have been the same. Bennet would be along to tidy things up. The
killer would not be hunted by the police, because no one would know
anyone had died. The shivers that ran through her body stopped. The
coldness remained and covered her like a translucent skin.

She was
dressed by the time Bennet arrived, though her body was still cold.
Who was it who had plunged in the knife? A more frightening
question troubled her greatly. How come he had known her true
name?

Paul Bennet
looked her up and down, smirked, then asked his first question.
'Any idea who did it?'

Hugging
herself, she kept her gaze fixed on his shoes. They were shiny
bright, but, she guessed, smelly on the inside. Like him.

'No. I was in
the shower. He was on the other side of the door.'

Hands shoved
casually in pockets, Bennet pushed his toe into the man's
well-padded side as he spoke to her. 'How come you left the door
open? Were you hopeful?'

She jerked her
gaze away from her hands and glared at him. 'Say what you mean,
Inspector.'

He sniffed;
grinned. 'You know, darling, were you hoping I might come calling
and give you a great big one in the...' he paused. 'Shower?'

She flushed -
with anger more so than embarrassment. Bennet was a pig of the
first order. 'No Inspector. The only time my thoughts turn to you
is when I see a heap of effluent or spew go down the plughole!'

Bennet's jaw
clenched and a small nerve flickered at the side of one eye before
he raised his arm and hit her.

She caught her
breath and covered the warmth of her cheek with the palm of her
hand. 'That's police brutality!'

Archie looked
concerned. Bennet only smirked. 'It would be if this business was
official.'

Abby's worst
fears were finally realized as Bennet began giving orders to those
gathered there.

'Grab those
towels and pack them around him to soak up the blood.'

Dev and Ray
the barmen did as ordered.

Smoking
copiously and coughing vigorously, Bennet sat himself down and
watched what they were doing. Just once he turned and ran his eyes
down over her. In turn, she glared at him and truly hoped his bad
habits would kill him.

'Right,' he
said once the boys looked to be finished. 'Now move this furniture
and wrap the carpet up round him. Use tights, belts, anything like
that to tie the carpet up, then put him in the car.'

'You'd better
give him your keys.' Archie's voice sounded weak, almost as if he
were half-asleep. He winced and awoke when Bennet shouted at
him.

'Not my bloody
keys. Your keys, Sonny Jim. It's your place, your mess, so he's
going in your bloody car!'

Archie seemed
to shrink into himself - a bit like a punctured ball.
Apologetically, and with flickering eyes, he handed over the keys.
His hand was trembling.

All through
this, Abby, in her guise as Carmel, kept very quiet, but she took
in all that was going on. It didn't take an Einstein to know that
the body in the carpet would be dumped in the river or in half-set
concrete at some distant building site. She shivered. It could have
been her.

Sick to her
stomach, she got to her feet. Bennet's hand caught her wrist. His
grip was like iron, as hard as his eyes. 'Where do you think you're
going, baby?'

She held her
head high, looked at him squarely. 'Home. Tonight's performance is
finished.' She glanced at the body, then at Archie. He looked away
as though he was ashamed of what might happen next.

Bennet adopted
that baleful grin of his. 'The night is young, baby. You've got
nothing to worry about. Bennet of the force is here, and he's done
a damn good job tonight. Besides that, my mouth's dry, my prick's
hard, and I need a woman.'

'Not this
one!' She spat the words. 'I've performed enough for one night. Let
me go.'

She moved a
leg. Remembering her cricket box kick from before, Bennet stepped
back but still held her tightly. He turned suddenly to Archie. 'Is
the main club closed?' There was violence in his voice and in his
expression.

'Under the
circumstances...' Archie began. Bennet did not let him finish.

'Fine. We'll
go upstairs.' The coldness of his lips came close to Abby's ear.
She made a great effort to hide her shiver, but it wasn't easy.
'Lots of things happen upstairs, you know,' he said to her. 'All
the big dicks get up there - you know, people in the limelight who
like to take their kicks in private. Archie takes pictures of them,
you know. Just in case they're needed at any time.'

'Pictures?
What are they needed for?' Abby's curiosity was aroused. Of course
she didn't want to go upstairs with Bennet. Of course she didn't
want to have any sexual dealings with him. But she remembered her
first impression of the upstairs club. She had told herself then
how vulnerable people could be in such circumstances. Now it
appeared that someone was making full use of that fact.

Bennet's face
came close to hers. His eyes looked cruel. Cruel, she decided, was
definitely the right word. Not naughty or wicked, words that hinted
at a giggle-filled coquetry. Cruel sounded what it was; without
pity, and yet enjoyed by the perpetrator.

There was a
chance that she could struggle and free herself, yet something told
her to hold fast. Upstairs was beckoning. Perhaps the secret behind
the identity of Stephen's accuser was up there.

'Come on,
baby. Let me see how grateful you can be.' Bennet jerked her out of
the door and dragged her through the main floor of the club. Chairs
were already piled on tables. They reminded her of skeletons, and
skeletons made her wonder where the body in the carpet was at this
moment.

The room he
took her into was a pervert's dream. Her heart sank. Please, not
this! There were manacles set into the wall at various heights, a
thing that looked like a spit, fashioned and big enough for a
human. There were metal contraptions that were chairs, but not
chairs, with cruel spikes all over the seat and metal bands around
the arms and the back. There were whips, batons, leather masks, and
various harnesses hanging from the cold stone walls. To all intents
and purposes, the room was a torture chamber.

The room
sickened and frightened her. She did not want to be here with this
man, did not want to do the things she feared he wanted her to do.
But somehow, she knew she had to linger, knew she needed to spend
some time here. If she was clever, she could convince Bennet that
she would be willing to submit to his treatment without him tying
her up. She needed that freedom to move, to search. But first, she
thought to herself, make him want you, make him trust you. Well she
certainly looked the part. Tonight, she wore a short black dress
that had a square neckline and a pleated skirt. It was vaguely
reminiscent of a gym slip and matched the black stockings whose
tops peeped demurely from beneath its hem. The sight of her dressed
like that had put a gleam in Bennet's eye.

Archie, she
noticed, had followed them. He was standing in the doorway. He
looked pale and his mouth hung slightly open. Bennet noticed him
too. 'Get lost, poof.' The door slammed shut.

Bennet dragged
Abby into the centre of the room. 'Little bitch!' He slapped her
face like he had before. It made her slightly dizzy.

Think of Stephen
, she told
herself.
Think of helping
Stephen
.

Doing that
helped the sickness in her belly dissipate a little. All the same,
she knew this ordeal would be horrendous if she didn't keep her
head. She swallowed, willed fear to enter her eyes, and looked
determinedly up at him.

His eyes
glittered. Spittle glistened at the corners of his mouth. 'Well,
babe, my dolly little schoolgirl. Are you going to tell me what a
naughty girl you've been? Are you going to scream when I beat your
delectable little backside? Hmmm? Are you?'

Because his
fingers were squeezing her lips, she couldn't answer. In her mind
she was telling herself to stay cool. At the same time, she needed
to pretend that she was so terrified, she would do anything to
please him. 'Please! Don't hurt me.' Her words were as mutated as
her mouth, but understandable.

He sneered.
One nostril flared more widely than the other. 'Hurt you? Of course
I'm going to hurt you, you stupid little cow!'

With his knee
between her legs, his fingers tight around her wrists, he pushed
her in the direction of the human spit. She played her part to the
full, struggled and screamed. Each time she screamed, he shook her
so hard, she thought her brains might be in danger of falling
out.

From somewhere deep inside she summoned all the strength she
could muster.
I need to find those
tapes
, she told herself.
I need to know what's on them. I need to know who
is being blackmailed
. She did not question
who the blackmailer was. She assumed Archie was the villain of the
piece. It was his club, wasn't it? His premises?

Soon, those
thoughts were wildly dispersed as the door swung open. Archie,
brandishing what looked like the black rod Jezebel used in her act,
leapt across the room.

Bennet did not
have time to turn and face him. There was a sickening crunch as the
hard wood of the rod met the fragile bone of Bennet's skull. His
eyes opened wide before going up into his head. A wet tongue
trailed from a wide mouth as he slid to the floor.

Abby regarded
Archie Ringer in a new light. In that one moment, he had turned
from a homosexual nightclub owner into a knight rescuing a damsel
in distress.

'Come on,
Carmel. Let's get you out of this.'

'He'll kill
you for this, Archie,' she said as she stepped over the inert
body.

'It's likely,
but if I put some miles between me and him, it won't be so likely,
and that, my darling girl, is what I intend doing. I'm off!'

It wasn't
really the time to go into detail, but she asked him the most
pertinent question. 'What about the club?'

'Not my
problem. The owner can deal with that.'

'Owner? I
thought you were the owner.'