Act of Exposure (30 page)

'So how easy
was it to get this?' He flicked the pages as he said it.

She sighed,
nuzzled his chest and stared for a minute at his nipples before she
answered. She sensed rather than saw his frown. 'Go on,' he said.
'Tell me.'

She did just
that. 'Dangerous. Very dangerous.'

She felt him
tense.

He laid his
hand gently on her head. 'Tell me.' So she did.

He hugged her
tighter after that. He didn't even laugh when she told him about
how she had left Paul Bennet trapped and exposed in his favourite
room.

'Do you think
this book is the answer?'

Obviously,
Stephen's mind was running along the same tracks as her own. She
frowned.

'Not
necessarily. But we could use it as a lever to ask a few questions.
There are bound to be some very interesting people in that
book.'

'With some
very interesting hobbies,' Stephen added.

Abby nodded as
she flicked over the pages. Then she frowned. Some names were
marked with a red asterisk. She flicked a few more pages.

'Look.' She
pointed at each red asterisk and the name beside it.

'Carol Anne
Flowers. Nigel Porter. Stephanie Grockling and Amanda Ticklow.
Peter Grimshaw and Maureen Pierce.'

Their eyes
met. Those names were significant.

'All exposed
in the tabloid rag lately.' Stephen's voice now sounded grim. His
face looked grimmer.

Abby added to
his statement. 'And all reported by Lance Vector.' After untangling
herself from Stephen's limbs, she rose quickly to her feet.

'Where are you
going?' Stephen asked.

'To ask our
friend Vector some questions.'

'I'll come
with you.'

She shook her
head. 'No. I don't need you to do that. You'll only get in the
way.' On seeing his expression, she could have bit her tongue. 'I'm
sorry, Stephen. But this is something I want to do by myself. It's
my job to ask questions.'

He gripped her
shoulders and stared intently into her eyes. 'It's your job to ask
questions in court, Abby. Let me come with you. This thing is
getting too dangerous. Who knows what that man might do? He's
obviously out to get you. What if he succeeds?'

Stephen was
missing the point. She had to put it to him. 'But why does he want
to kill me, Stephen? Why?'

Stephen
shrugged and struggled to find the answer. 'I don't know. Perhaps
he thinks you know something you shouldn't know. But that's not
really the point. As I have just said, what if he succeeds?'

There was
genuine concern in his eyes. It made her want to stay, but she
couldn't. On the other hand, he was right. She was now in real
danger, but the solution to this conundrum was now in sight, and
much as she loved Stephen, she had a yearning to finish things
herself. All the same, she nodded her agreement.

'Good. I'll
get dressed.'

Stephen
whistled with cautious confidence as he sallied forth into the
bedroom. Abby was dressed before him, and quietly, while he was
still talking to her from the bedroom, she let herself out of the
front door.

She looked
both ways before leaving the suspect camouflage of the tiled
portico. Lance Vector was nowhere in sight.

Cautiously,
she glanced again up and down the road. Perhaps Vector had parked a
little further down the road. She began to walk. She was feeling
nervous. The man with the yellow eyes was still in her mind.

The street
appeared empty, the air was damp and gave her cheeks colour. A mist
softened the chain of parked cars, lampposts and the red pillar box
at the end of the street.

As her
footsteps clattered on the uneven pavement, she saw the sleek black
car coming towards her. She saw a window wind down. Despite the
mist, there was no mistaking the yellow eyes of the man behind the
wheel. She turned and began to run.

As her heart thumped against her ribcage, she heard the
slamming of a car door.
He's
stopped!
The words screamed through her
brain.

Eyes wide,
hair flying, she glanced over her shoulder. A big man in black was
running behind her. She screamed as another car slid to a halt just
in front of her.

'Miss
Corrigan!'

The passenger
door flew open. Saved! There was no way at this angle that she
could recognize the driver, but recognition was the last thing on
her mind. He had called her name. She literally threw herself into
the passenger seat, but not until the car was in motion did she
realize that it was Lance Vector who sat beside her.

Judging by the
absence of her clothes from the chair on which she had thrown them,
Stephen assumed Abby was in the bathroom. Thinking about the
bathroom and what they had just done in the shower made him feel
warm and not entirely sensible. But he made an effort to rein in
his emotions. After all, this was a serious matter they were
involved in. Not only was his career on the line, but now it
appeared that someone was out to kill the woman he loved. Loved!
Was that really how he felt about her? Then why hadn't he told her
more forcibly?

He picked up
the book that Abby had risked so much to acquire. Lovingly, as if
it were her skin, he ran his hand over the cover and casually
opened it. The list of names and sexual preferences danced before
his eyes. At this moment in time, they were not important to him.
It was her that filled his mind. He then leaned his head towards
the closed bathroom door. 'I love you, Abby.'

There was no
response. No sound of movement, of running water, or even of the
flush being pulled. He frowned, then cursed himself for being so
stupid, for depending on her too much. Hadn't she said that Vector
had been outside watching the house with his weasel eyes? Wasn't it
now time to question him?

He threw the book onto the table and ran out into the street.
There was no sign of her. The street was strangely empty and silent
except for a lone street cleaner. He was bent over his work, his
brush swishing over the cobbled gutter, and his shovel clanging as
he filled it with a pile of stiff-looking tissues.
Someone
, he thought
off-handedly,
has one hell of a
cold
.

Stephen rushed
back into the living room. Briefly, he glanced at the open book
before picking up the phone. One name above all others jumped out
at him. Now, at last, things began to slide into place. Now also
was the time for him to save himself and to save Abby too. First he
called the police. Not Bennet or any of the other men who
frequented the Red Devil Club. He got straight through to Val who
was due at the Home Office, but was willing to spare him her time.
He told her of what they knew and of the killing at the Red Devil
Club. He also told her of the yellow-eyed man and the fear - no,
the fact that Abby was in danger.

Val was
instantly understanding. 'Stuff the Home Office. I'll send my
second along. They can do without my black ass in their plush
chair. The whole bloody lot of them get on my tits, Stevie boy.
Besides that, you sure have the best white body I've ever seen, and
you sure got the tongue of an angel! Wow, you can blow my pussy and
my mind any time you like. And I appreciate a pal like Abby. Like
minds, her and me. Kindred spirits, you might say, with brains in
our heads and fire in our pussies. I've a mind I might know where
Archie boy is. Leave me to check it out.'

'Okay. Okay,'
Stephen was breathing heavily. He liked talking to Val and on
another occasion, he would have talked longer and dirtier with her.
But Abby was still on his mind. 'I'll go to the office and see if
she's checked in there first. After that, I'll go along and see
this Lance Vector. I'll get his address from his newspaper.' He
spat the last words. It would be hard not to throttle the man who
had written the article about him and taken the picture that had
featured day after day on the front page of the tabloid newspaper
he worked for.

'Vector? The
exposer?'

'Yes. All the
people he's exposed are marked with a red asterisk in a book kept
at Archie's club. All of them were members of the upstairs
elite.'

'I didn't know
you were.'

'I wasn't. I
presume the others were blackmailed or just their sexual practices
revealed for public consumption in a bid to improve circulation. In
my case, they had another reason to set me up and broadcast the
event, but whoever owns the Daily Sin also owns the club. Do you
know who it is?'

'No. Can't say
I do, but I'm beginning to understand your problem. You were making
too many waves in the Swan and Swallow case; getting too near the
real fraudsters, and one of those concerned might very well be this
big wig newspaperman.'

'That's
right.' Stephen could not prevent his tone from becoming more
hurried. 'Look. I have to go. I have to find Abby.' Enough was
enough. He promised to meet Val in Abby's chambers around
lunchtime.

The
roadsweeper was propped against the railings when Stephen went out.
He was smoking and at first seemed to be only gazing into space. A
second look stopped Stephen in his tracks. Abby had spoken about
surveillance equipment. This roadsweeper had been caught up in the
onslaught of technology. What had once seemed futuristic was now
commonplace. The earphones on his walkman were almost invisible.
What if Archie wore earphones at the club, and what if, on that
night he had gone there with Val, someone watching from the
surveillance room had recognized him and, through a hidden
earphone, had informed Archie. That would explain why Abby in her
guise as Carmel, had seen him looking so intently at the woman with
the blonde hair. Suddenly, so much became feasible. But who was the
man upstairs?

The
roadsweeper saw him looking, nodded, then tapped something behind
his ear. 'I need the relaxation,' he said, half-mockingly, and
half-daring Stephen to pick up the phone to the private contractor
who now paid his wages. 'Specially after all the excitement 'ere
this mornin'. Like bleeding cops and robbers it is. First one bloke
running after this 'ere woman, then this other car speeding up an'
'er gettin' in it.'

Before the man
had time to tune back into his favourite music, Stephen stayed his
hand. 'You saw a woman being chased by a man? Did he have yellow
eyes, you know, like a cat? And a black car? Did he have a black
car?' Stephen remembered everything Abby had told him.

The man looked
suddenly startled. He eyed Stephen up and down as though what he
had talked about now seemed very secret, very personal, and what's
more, he wanted to keep it to himself.

Impatient to
know what the roadsweeper knew, Stephen grabbed the man by the
collar of his crumpled jacket. 'Was it a black car?'

The man
grabbed Stephen's wrists. 'All right, mate, all right!'

Stephen's grip
loosened.

The
roadsweeper took a deep breath. 'A black car pulled up, a big
geezer got out and chased the blonde dolly down the street. Then
another car came along. She got into that one.'

Stephen
stared. 'What colour car?'

'Green - I
think. But it might have been blue. Yes, blue. Sporty job, I think.
But I can't be sure. It was a bit foggy, you know.'

Stephen let
him go. His emotions were in uproar, and although he would have
liked to know more, he had a greater need to search for Abigail.
First stop was chambers. It was there that the jigsaw might finally
fit into place.

Gradually,
Abby ceased to tremble and her breathing returned to normal. She
thanked Lance Vector for rescuing her.

'To the victor
goes the spoils,' he chuckled. She didn't like to ask him what he
meant by it. She was just glad to be able to catch her breath and
get her thoughts into some sort of order. However, there were a lot
of questions that she had to ask him.

'Mr Vector,'
she began.

'Lance. Call
me Lance.'

'Lance.
Judging by the fact that the more scandalous headlines in your
paper are closely followed by your name, you are a very busy
man.'

Lance Vector
responded to the baited statement. The merest hint of praise
brought the braggart in him to the surface.

'I do all the
best ones. Uncover all the more lurid cases. They never know I'm
there. Never. But I'm always about, spying through keyholes,
looking through windows, listening at letterboxes.' He chuckled
again. 'I'm the original fly on the wall. Any fornicating going on
between the high and the mighty, and Lance Vector is the one to
report it.'

A man truly
proud of his job, she thought. Perhaps she could turn such conceit
to her advantage.

'I admit to
being truly amazed. How do you manage to find out about these
people? Where do you get your leads? How do you know where they are
likely to be when they indulge in these illicit copulations?'

She saw him
smile. Glittering, his eyes lingered on her for a few seconds
before returning to the road.

'The governor
gives the leads to me, and his governor gives it to him. Or at
least, one of the directors does.' He thought of the man in the
penthouse suite on the top floor. Directors, owners, managers. They
were all faceless, but none so faceless as the one on the top
floor. Even now, he had still not seen his face, though he recalled
something dangling on one side of his head. He glanced at Abby
again and saw the neat silver earring in her ear. That, he decided
suddenly, was what the boss wore, but his earring was far from
being neat. It bulged like a swinging carbuncle from one ear.

'Does he
really dictate exactly how you should approach your subject, or
does he give you some leeway to allow for original thought?'