Susie Learns the Hard Way (32 page)

If the Inspector had been telling Susie the truth then Skase was undoubtedly behind Harry's death, even if he wasn't actually the killer. And Skase thought Susie was safely chained up in a garage awaiting his arrival. Realising it would be a good plan to be somewhere else when he arrived in the office, she was on her feet and heading out of the door in a flash. As she debated the best route to be certain of missing him as he approached in the opposite direction, a terrifying thought struck her with devastating clarity.

If he was the killer, or even just a blackmailing bastard, she'd need proof. And that proof would not drop out of the sky on her head. She'd have to find it by looking for it, probably in his office, at a time when she could guarantee it would be empty.

Like now!

She rang from the accounts office to make sure he was downstairs, but the fact that he didn't answer wasn't one hundred per cent proof. There was no secretary outside his door; it was late, and Susie hadn't expected to find one, but part of her hoped there was. Creeping along the plush corridor that led only to his big office, she felt the icy clutch of fear in her stomach and the paradoxical dampness between her thighs.

She knocked on the door to be sure the inner citadel was empty, and then went in. Her knees felt as if they were going to give way as she stood behind the big desk, looking down at its polished leather top and six drawers, three on each side, and her hand was shaking as she reached down to pull the top right one open. She was so frightened, but no alarm bells rang when she opened it.

Swiftly she rifled through the papers inside, but they were all letters and memos to or from the legal department about lawsuits relating to last week's front pages.

The second drawer was just invoices and receipts, and the third was empty. On the other side the top two contained irrelevant letters and memos to and from the staff, and the third was stuffed with letters of protest from members of the public.

His briefcase, beside the desk, contained only a wallet and car keys. No diary, no address book or organiser – nothing.

And that was it. There was nothing of any consequence on or in his desk or briefcase. Looking around the room she could see only chairs, and a small side table devoid of anything beyond a pot plant. There were no filing cabinets, no cupboards, no shelves – nothing at all. Except... at the far end of the office there was something odd about the wall!

She quickly found the door set flush and opened it with the fingerhole catch, and was inside the small room before she realised her fear had increased. And it had, as she gazed at a wall stacked with electronic equipment; mostly televisions and video recorders. On all four television screens were different images of the outer office, and Susie began to wonder...

She found them in a cupboard on the opposite wall, rows and rows of video cassettes, each with a label on its spine, neatly written in elegant handwriting. The editor's handwriting.

Most of the labelling was in a truncated form, so that the references were hard to understand:
Madvid? 9/96
, read one.
PMBJ 11/97
, read the next, and so it went on. Although part of each title was obviously a date, the rest only meant anything to the person who'd written it originally. Realising her predicament if she were caught sent the butterflies in her tummy crazy and the juices flowing, and she peered nervously around the door to make sure the outer office was still empty before returning to her task.

Her breathing quickened as she realised the last tape on the lower shelf was the small Hi-8 she herself had made when she visited the ‘robots'. It was labelled with the date and
SKrbt
, which gave her a clue about how the system worked. And then her heart jumped when she saw that the tape next to it was labelled
SKfk
, and the date was last month. Since this was only the fourteenth, there was a good chance... no, it couldn't be, could it?

She hesitated, checked outside to make sure she was still alone, and then slipped the tape into a machine and pressed PLAY.

At once the four pictures of the outer office on the screens gave way to the same picture, of the same office, but with two occupants. One of them, standing, was a man. The other, bent across the desk in front of him, was a woman. Susie had never seen herself from that angle, but with deep shame she recognised the clothes, the hair, and the voice she could hear on the speakers, gasping and squealing.

She ejected the tape at once, slipping it back into its case and putting it thoughtfully beside the machine. Then she began to look back along the shelf, looking for anything in Skase's shorthand that might strike a chord, or be dated very recently. In a way she was relieved to see there was nothing this month, nothing that might have been of her recent activities. But she did find one, about a year old, labelled
WPIXXXX
. And then, a little further back, two more, all with different dates.

‘If
WPI
means what I think it does,' she whispered to herself, slotting it into the same machine, ‘then she was right, and I know who's responsible for all this.
And
I can prove it...'

The stupid woman was still wearing her police uniform. The camera was low down and looked as if it had been in a handbag or briefcase placed on the bed. ‘I bet I know where it came from and the bag it came in as well,' she said quietly, somehow finding comfort in hearing her voice. The Inspector sprawled back on the chair Susie remembered only too well, with her skirt up round her waist and her legs wide apart. Between them knelt a small dark-haired girl, her face invisible because it was buried between the Inspector's thighs. Every so often the slurping sounds were interrupted by a swish and a thwack, followed by a short scream of pain as the girl reacted to the stroke of the cane, being wielded by someone just out of shot.

Susie swapped tapes and found the second one to be very similar. The girl, a different girl with long blonde hair, was kneeling in front of a man this time, but performing the same service, and receiving an encouraging blow from that familiar looking riding-crop every few seconds, her squeals of pain once again muffled for very obvious reasons. This time the Inspector was doing the encouraging, facing the camera, still in uniform, but with one foot up on the edge of the chair, and one hand busy at her groin, fingers inside her knickers as her knuckles rose and fell and her fingers flexed in and out.

The third tape was better still – or worse, depending on whether you were blackmailer or victim. The camera was still on the bed, but so was the Inspector, lying back naked, massaging her breasts while a girl with bleached-blonde hair licked tentatively at the shiny pink flesh between the widespread thighs. Susie could only see the girl's face and the Inspector's body, but the clear slaps and obvious squeals of agony told her that the cane or the crop was in use as usual. Then the Inspector spoke. ‘Faster, bitch,' she snarled, thrusting her hips at the girl. ‘Lick me like you love it. Make me come, and then you can go.' The cane thwacked several times and the weeping girl bent her head to the task, tongue slathering away on the Inspector's body.

‘Got you,' she breathed. ‘Got you, you bastard.'

‘
Au contraire
,' countered a cultured voice. ‘I think
I've
got
you
.'

Susie span round, and there was the editor in the doorway.

‘And what exactly do you think you're doing here?' he asked in his melodic tones.

‘I – I'm just looking at your collection,' she blurted, not really knowing what else to say, her mind spinning.

‘I can see that for myself, and I must say I admire your taste. It is rather good, don't you think?'

Susie was going to say that ‘good' was hardly the right word, when she realised the extent of the danger, and her voice died in her throat as her hands began to tremble, her tummy knotted and her perfidious sex began to moisten further.

‘I take it your choice of viewing means that not only was the Inspector unsuccessful in her assignment, but you also managed to persuade her to tell you about me?'

Unable to speak, Susie nodded.

‘I thought as much. No backbone, that woman. Loves dishing it out but she just can't take it. Still, I expect you found that out for yourself, eh?' And he actually smiled, which was somehow more disconcerting than his temper. Susie felt the soft folds of flesh beginning to swell and open.

‘I never wanted the story for the paper, of course, just the drug, or the formula to make it. Billions of dollars we're talking about here, absolutely billions. Which is why I let you go to that club by yourself. Couldn't have Harry sniffing about the place like a bloodhound, sniffing out the bloody story, could I?' He sniggered. ‘Poor old Harry. The eternal white knight, working for truth, justice and the Sunday front pages. He would have written the story, come what may. He'd been a journalist too long, you see. Couldn't break the habit. He was the best. Pity, really. Still, omelettes and eggs, and all that. I had to have the drug myself, you see. Or at least, the name and address of the bloke who makes it. Same thing really, for a determined man.'

He smiled at her again, and she knew she was in serious trouble.

‘But what about you?' he continued. ‘Still new and enthusiastic, of course, but how strong is the journalistic instinct in you, eh? Enjoy asking her the questions, did you?'

She knew to whom he was referring, and didn't want to think about that too much; she'd separated her mind and body and made herself do things she wasn't really proud of.

‘She said you were a natural,' continued Skase. ‘That night in the club. Said you were a very unusual young woman. I think she liked you. Just as well you managed to escape her clutches, eh?' and he inclined his head towards the screens behind her.

The tape was still running and the four identical images were crystal clear. The Inspector, wearing a huge black dildo strapped round her waist, was riding a kneeling figure, lashing away with the riding-crop while the naked girl beneath her screamed and bucked and the thick phallus plunged in and out of her. The quality was so good Susie felt as if she was there, as if she could smell the fragrant fluids that glistened on the plastic length. As it thrust rhythmically, spreading the tender pinkness around its width and pumping inside the kneeling girl Susie felt her own breath catch in her throat. Skase was watching her keenly and her heart sank; she knew he'd read the signs correctly.

‘I do believe she's right, you know. There are very few girls with your, um, inclinations. I think we might have got along very well together, you and I.' He shrugged. ‘It's a pity, really.' Susie suddenly felt nauseous at the underlying threat of his words. And then her spirits lifted cautiously when he said, ‘Unless, that is, you're not as determined to set the world to rights as you led me to believe at your interview?'

She wasn't totally sure she understood.

‘Yes, my dear. What I'm suggesting is that you join me as I spend the profits from this little enterprise on whatever I fancy – and, naturally, on whatever turns you on.' He smiled in the direction of the screen where the Inspector was busy with two girls, a double-ended dildo and her indispensable crop.

‘All this can be yours, my dear, or whatever variation of it you like the best. Men, women... groups of men or groups of women – whatever.'

Susie knew she had to think and act extremely quickly. She hated this dangerous man, but she was clearly in big, big trouble. ‘Well,' she said huskily.

‘Well, what?' he probed, uncompromisingly.

‘I'm a little embarrassed,' she said coyly.

‘Not with me, surely. After all, we have history.'

‘That's why I'm embarrassed.'

‘Why?'

‘That first day, at my interview...'

‘Yes?'

Telling him
was
difficult, partly because it was damned arousing as well as acutely embarrassing. ‘You – you made me tell you about Miss Piggy...'

‘Ah yes, I remember it well.'

Susie took a deep breath. She had to go on and see this through. ‘Well I liked telling you, and – and what you did afterwards...' She looked coyly at the floor, and then back up at him with wide-eyed innocence. ‘Could we do that again?'

A slow broad smile crossed the editor's face. ‘Of course we can,' he replied, his voice husky and low.

‘Often?'

‘Every day.'

A quick glance at the front of his trousers told her she was getting somewhere. She hated what she had to do, but mustering every ounce of determination she slowly and suggestively ran her hands up over her tummy and across her breasts. ‘Watching your video collection made me think about it,' she purred, moistening her lips with the tip of her tongue. ‘It does turn me on so much...'

As she was talking her fingers were teasing a nipple through the white shirt, and her other hand was gathering up the blue serge skirt, pulling one side of it higher and higher until she could reach beneath it and her hand disappeared from view. She shifted her legs apart slightly and gave a small sigh of contentment as she felt herself hot and slippery with fear and arousal; the films really were a turn-on. After a moment she withdrew her fingers, shiny with juices, licked them and then slipped them back under the skirt, exposing a slender thigh and a brief glimpse of blonde hair and pink slickness.