Act of Exposure (31 page)

A slight frown
creased Vector's brow. Abby still considered him as Vector. There
was no way she intended or, indeed, wanted to consider any
familiarity with the man.

'They
think
I
do it all their way. But I don't.' He smiled and nodded his head as
though he were agreeing with himself. 'I do some things they don't
know about. I keep copies of some of the tapes and photographs I
take. They don't know that.' He laughed, then reached across and
shyly touched her hand. 'They don't know I keep the ones I like. I
keep ones they know nothing about.'

Abby retrieved
her hand from his grasp. He looked hurt, but he kept on talking.
'Sometimes, I arrive early at a shoot. I start filming from the
time I get there. Of course, they don't want that footage. So I
keep it. Might come in handy one day.'

Abby listened
carefully. Some of what he said triggered a reaction in her
brain.

'Did you
arrive before time in the Stephen Sigmund case?'

Even without
looking at him, she knew he had tensed at the sound of Stephen's
name.

'Him! He's
finished, you know.' He sniggered and shook his head. 'You might as
well forget him. They're out to destroy him. And they will. I know
they will.'

He looked at
her and winked salaciously. Instantly, she raised her hand to her
breasts as if she were screening them from his gaze. Remembering
his phone calls to her, his offers of lunch brought on a certain
coldness. It intensified when she realized that he had been
following Stephen and might even have seen them making love. At
this moment in time, she had no intention of pursuing the
assumption. There were some important questions to be asked.

'Do you still
have transparencies of the photographs you took?'

He looked at her and laughed before returning his gaze to the
road. 'Copies of the photos, the article
and
a tape.'

He patted her hand again. 'I'll show you it. I think you'll
like it. You'll be amazed at the look on his face when he's
confronted outside the lavatory -
and
dressed in women's
clothes!'

Abby was more
than willing to accompany him. At last she could see a light at the
end of the tunnel.

Unwilling to
disturb his dear mother, Lance drove her round to the yard at the
back which was on the same level as the basement.

'Come on,' he
said smiling. 'I'll show you everything I've got.'

The double
entendre did cross her mind, but she dismissed it and followed
Vector into a stone-floored room. Its only light came from the row
of evenly placed spotlights sunk into the ceiling.

'This,' he
said, spreading his hands, 'is my workshop. You could say it's the
devil's kitchen, but don't let mother hear you call it that. She
might take it the wrong way. I only mean that I do all the things
down here to expose those who do wrong.'

Abby did not
comment. She was too busy taking in the banks of computers, video
machines and television sets. There was also a pile of notepads, an
audio transcriber, and a metal bin full of used tissues.

'So where is
the tape you took of Stephen Sigmund?'

Vector, who
was bent before his video machine, did not appear to hear her, or
if he did, chose not to answer.

Abby looked
around her again and shivered. This place might be quite cool in
summer, but it was November and the mist outside had not yet
shifted. It was freezing.

'Now,' said
Lance, 'I will show you the tape I took of Stephen Sigmund. But
first, I want you to take your clothes off.'

Abby was about to laugh and tell him not to be so stupid. Then
she saw the knife he held in his hand. She took a deep breath. Had
she really escaped a dangerous man just to be at the mercy of
another?
Be cool
,
she told herself.
Think
carefully
.

'You wouldn't
use that, would you?' She smiled as she said it. He did not react.
His eyes did not leave her face. They were glazed and wide. It was
as though he had not heard her.

'Take your
clothes off.'

Slowly, she
raised her hands to the buttons of her neatly-fitted jacket. It was
navy, matched her skirt, and had been bought in a Harrods sale from
money won in the Cheltenham Gold Cup. It had seemed apt to buy
something extravagant from money won on a long shot outsider, and
at this moment in time she was loath to let it leave her body.
Nevertheless, she continued.

He offered her
a hanger. It seemed an odd thing to do until she reasoned he was a
fastidious man, a man whose jeans had a neat crease down each leg.
Someone, she reasoned, took care of him.

She unzipped
her skirt, put that with the jacket, and covered her pubic area
with one hand. She was shivering. Already the cold was playing
havoc with her flesh.

Vector's eyes
were popping out of his head. A lone trail of sweat ran past one
eyebrow and over his chin.

Purposely,
Abby took her hand away from her pubes. She heard him gasp, knew he
was aroused by the sight of her pubic lips and the fact that she
now wore only her blouse, her suspender belt, her stockings and her
shoes.

Fear was upon
her, yet she knew she must retain her coolness. At the same time,
she had to humour him. Abigail, the blonde, blue-eyed barrister,
was taken over by Carmel acting out her part as Jezebel Justice.
Slowly, as her fingers unbuttoned the cuffs of her white blouse,
she began to sway. Her hips moved hypnotically from side to side.
Vector watched, another trail of sweat running down his face and
mingling with the previous one. He licked his lips and the hand
that held the knife shook slightly.

'What are you
doing? Stop it!'

She did not
stop it. As she slid the blouse down over her arms, she turned
round and bent over, showed him the firm cheeks of her behind and
the pink lips smiling from between her legs.

Smiling, she
looked at him over her shoulder.

'Is that what
you want, Lance? Do you want to see my pussy close up? Do you want
to touch it, to kiss it, to push your wet tongue inside me and suck
the saltiness out of my body?'

'No!' She saw
him wince before he leapt towards her. Agile as she was, he had
caught her off guard. Because the sleeves of her blouse were
halfway down her arms, he had her at a disadvantage. Quickly, he
made full use of her predicament and tied the two sleeves behind
her back, then pushed her into a chair.

Naked except
for her stockings and garter belt, she sat there, her breasts
heaving as he looked her up and down. Suddenly, his mouth spread
into a gruesome leer. 'I've seen you naked before.' He made an odd
noise, a wheezing sound, a sound like a chuckle being strangled. 'I
saw you with him, with Sigmund. But you didn't see me. You never
saw me. But I saw you. You and him rolling in the leaves, leaning
against the rocks, romping naked in the back of his car. I saw
everything you did; everything you did to him, and everything he
did to you. I saw you in the forest. I saw what you did there.'

Abby felt very
cold. This man had a dangerous look in his eyes. Before, she had
regarded him as a laughable hindrance. Suddenly, she was very
afraid of him.

Stephen rushed
into chambers. Frowning, Barbara, the receptionist, told him Abby
had not been in. 'I did expect her to be in. She specifically asked
me to get two briefs out of the archives for her and wanted them on
her desk first thing.' She pouted like a child though she was well
past her fiftieth birthday. 'I stayed after five to find those
briefs. She said it was important to your case.'

'Really? What
briefs were they?'

Barbara
flicked at a stray lipstick stain at the corner of her mouth and
looked him up and down. He knew she was considering whether she
should tell him regardless of the fact that they had some bearing
on his case. Her large bosom heaved as she made her decision. 'One
is a paternity suit coupled with a charge of GBH referring to a Mr
Henry Vector. Plus a divorce and a charge of GBH. The other is
regarding a matter dealt with by Mr Probert. I'm afraid most of it
seems to be missing.'

'Vector! Can I
see that one?'

Undecided,
Barbara, who was shared by all six barristers in that particular
chambers, viewed him a little suspiciously. 'Well, it is
confidential... but, perhaps...'

Quickly, he
unbundled everything, then smiled as he read the contents. Lance
Vector, that crusader for moral purity, had been born out of
wedlock. His father had been in banking and had also been well
battered by Lance's mother when he left her high and dry.

It was all
very enlightening, but why had Abby deemed it necessary to retrieve
the file from the archives? There was no answer to that. Unless she
was going to use such information to force Vector to talk. He made
a decision to go along and speak to Lance. Glancing at his watch,
he first phoned the paper Vector worked for and was told he wasn't
in that morning. He was given his home address. He rang Vector at
home. A woman answered.

'He's at
work,' she told him sharply.

'I've phoned
them. They told me he's not in today.'

'Then phone
him on his mobile. They know his number.'

Stephen kept
his patience. 'No. You don't understand. They told me he phoned in
sick. They assured me he was still at home.'

There was a
pause. 'Wait a minute. I'll see if his car's still here. He might
be working down in the basement.'

Stephen heard
slow footsteps walk hesitantly across what he guessed was an
uncarpeted floor. Impatiently, he drummed his fingers on the
receiver for what seemed an age before she got back.

'My son's
working in the basement. I'll tell him you called.'

The telephone
was put down before Stephen could say he would be over to see her
son. He swore as he replaced the receiver at his end.

A fear was in
him, a worry that was making him think quickly. No matter that
posses of journalists were still hunting him, looking for other
angles from which they could slant their stories. Abby was missing
and he had to find her. First stop was the home of Lance
Vector.

'What's the
other brief about?'

Barbara
shrugged. 'I told you. Most of it's missing. Mr Probert handled
it.'

He lifted his
hand. 'Never mind. I'll come back to that later.'

He left a
message with Barbara. Told her Commissioner Spendle would be
arriving shortly. 'Tell her I've gone to see Lance Vector,' he
called as he flew out of the office door.

Despite the
fact that she was naked and the eyes of Lance Vector were raking
her body, Abby stared at the video screen. Anger replaced fear as
realization dawned. This man who held her prisoner had been party
to a set-up. There before her were three people: Inspector Paul
Bennet, rent boy, Carl Candel (deceased), and a woman. Despite a
wide-brimmed hat and dark glasses, the sheer sophistication of the
woman was instantly recognizable. It was Medina Frassard. But
why?

'Bitch!' It
was Lance who was speaking.

Suddenly she
was aware of Vector's hands upon her knees, his palms prising them
apart. She gave no resistance.

'Take no
notice of them, my darling.' His voice sounded like that of an
amateur actor; as though he were aping someone else. 'Let me see
your pussy. Let me see your hidden little treasure.'

As her legs opened, she stared at him. His eyes were closed
and he was breathing in her scent, gulping the perfume of her body
as his head and his lips came nearer to her.
Be cool
, she told herself.
This is his fetish, his thing. Best enjoy it. That
way you might keep your head and your life!

It was impossible not to groan as his tongue licked over her
sex in one long motion, its tip delicately flicking between the
sensitive lips. Her legs tensed, her inner thighs trembled as she
threw back her head and wished she was somewhere else and it was
Stephen's tongue stroking her flesh.
I have
to get through this
. She gritted her teeth
as the thought passed through her mind.
Pretend it is Stephen
, she said to
herself.
Pretend it's his tongue licking
you, his palms pressing against your thighs
.

A strange
calmness came to her. Imagining it was Stephen made her feel she
was riding above this thing, scoring over this man who was moaning
long and low as he sucked at her sex.

Different
sensations ran over her body. There was arousal, but there was also
an odd detachment from it as though she were viewing herself from
the ceiling: enjoying it, but not participating.

Stephen, she
thought to herself, would be more gentle. His hands would caress
her thighs, his fingers would lightly tickle the backs of her
knees, and his tongue would flick quickly in the places he knew she
liked best. Thinking about him made her want him, and wanting him
made her wonder where he was.

Gilda Vector, Lance's mother, ached, so she grumbled as she
went to answer the doorbell. Through the frosted glass that was
surrounded with alternate panels of bitter blue and ruby red, she
could see the outline of a man.
Perhaps
, she thought to
herself,
he's the man who phoned just now
and asked for Lance
. All the same, she was
a cautious woman, so she slid the chain across before she opened
the door.

'Good
morning,' he said, and looked a bit surprised to see her. Once it
had crept across his face, his smile lightened his features and the
colour of his eyes did not seem to matter so much. Reassured, Gilda
brightened.