Act of Exposure (32 page)

'You must be
the man who wanted to speak to my son. He's not ill really. He just
doesn't like to be disturbed when he's working in the
basement.'

'I quite
understand.'

Gilda nodded
before she began to slide back the chain. Seeing as this man had
phoned the paper her son worked for before phoning her, she decided
to overlook the fact that he had an off-white complexion and eyes
the colour of sulphur.

'He's down
there.'

The man moved
quickly in the direction Gilda Vector pointed. He seemed very light
on his feet, and it was only when he was equally quiet when opening
the basement door, that Gilda began to nibble nervously at one of
her fingernails.

'Are you
intending to surprise him?' She said it loudly and intended saying
it louder so that Lance was not surprised by his visitor.

Her comment
made the man turn quickly towards her. He came close. She could
smell him. There was a damp, fetid smell about his clothes, an odd
luminosity to his terrible eyes. Cloying, the smell of him made her
dizzy as he leaned over her. She saw him raise his hand, saw the
flash of metal as it went over her shoulder.

'What are you
doing?' Gilda had a loud voice, but today it trembled. Vaguely, she
was aware of the telephone receiver passing in front of her face,
its coils trailing behind it then pressing against her neck. She
saw the knife flash, saw the end of the wire in his hand. 'Oh, God
save me.' She closed her eyes and began to pray. 'Protect thy
handmaiden, O Lord. Don't let the devil take me. Save me. In thy
name, save me.'

Yellow eyes
belonged to the devil. She'd told her son that. Why couldn't she
follow her own advice? But it was too late for all that now.
Slowly, in strangled breaths amid the last words of her prayer,
Gilda Vector's life left her body.

'Amen.' The
man with yellow eyes said the word quietly, and just as quietly,
let Gilda's body slide to the floor. Back he went to the basement
door. This time, there was no interruption to warn those below that
he had arrived.

Carefully he
spread his fingers over the doorknob, and opened the door. Fearful
of a stray squeak from a loose tread, he very gently put his foot
on the top stair.

Breathless
with the image of Stephen in her mind, Abby was slowly beginning to
enjoy the sensations aroused by Lance's tongue.

'That is so
good,' she breathed, lost in the sensitivity of his touch.

No
, cried a voice in her mind.
I can't let this happen. This is not
Stephen!

It was then
that she opened her eyes.

There was a
figure standing on the bottom step. He was leering, his yellow eyes
wide and staring as he enjoyed the scene before him.

She tried to
scream. It didn't come out loud enough. Lance never even raised his
head, convinced, no doubt, that it was purely an exclamation of
ecstasy.

He didn't even
have time to take a breath before Charwallah was upon him, his hand
clamping Lance's head against her flesh.

Abby cried out
as Lance's arms began to flail against her legs, his fingers
digging into her thighs. She could feel his mouth sucking for air
against her flesh, his nose pressing hard against her clitoris as
the man with the yellow eyes held Lance's head tight against her
body.

Charwallah was
still leering, his eyes and his breath just inches from Abby's
face.

'I bet you
never had a muff job like this before.' There was cruelty in his
eyes, evil in his leer.

'Let him go!
He can't breathe.'

The man raised
his eyes in mock surprise. 'What a way to go!' He shook his head
and tutted in a mocking manner. 'Don't worry yourself about it,
darling. Enjoy the attention of his lips and his tongue. That's
what he's doing it for - so that you can enjoy it. Look. See how
he's enjoying it!'

Abby wanted to
be sick. Lance's arms were still flailing, but their wildness was
slowly diminishing. A vacuum pulled his lips more forcibly into her
body. He was suffocating on her sex, and she could do nothing about
it.

She screamed a long, drawn-out
no!
She remembered Lance mentioning
something about his mother. She must have opened the door to this
man. What had happened to her? The truth made her scream
again.

Charwallah
laughed. He liked his victims to scream. From screams you could
tell how frightened people were, and anyway, there was no one to
hear her. The old woman was lying dead upstairs. There was nothing
she could do, nothing to be done. He'd have her scream some more
before he finished with her - with pleasure and with pain.

Still pressing
the dying man's head into her crotch, he kissed and bit her lips.
She could taste her own blood and wondered just how much would flow
before he had finished with her. By now, the body of the journalist
was twitching slightly, his arms lying limp at his sides.

His lips left
her and she took a deep breath. If she was going to die, she'd
fight all the way. Her eyes blazed.

'Me next, I
suppose. Well, get it over with. What are you waiting for?'

Like a shark
or a wild cat, his teeth were large and only two or three shades
lighter than his eyes. 'Oh no, no, my pretty darling. The delights
of life and of death should never be rushed. Be patient, my pretty
darling. Be patient.'

All her being
cried out for help. Behind him she could still see the tape
running. Perhaps something would be gained by her death after all.
Perhaps someone would notice the recording Lance had done before
Stephen Sigmund had arrived at the lavatories. All it would take
would be for someone to put it all together, question Paul Bennet,
question Medina Frassard, and save Stephen's career. She prayed it
would be so.

'Then get on
with it.' Those words she fully expected to be her last. She said
them with clenched teeth, a dead man's nose still flush against her
sex.

A sudden
rushing of feet made her open her eyes. In a flash, Stephen had
smashed his body against the man with the yellow eyes. Vector's
body fell softly to the floor between her legs.

Stephen was
hitting very hard, but the man beneath him was quick and very
professional. He landed Stephen a hard one, then got to his feet.
Through narrowed, tearful eyes, Abby saw the glint of steel. She
squeezed her eyes shut and waited for the knife to divide her ribs.
It didn't happen.

More
footsteps, more voices. Scuffles and a call for an ambulance.

Naked breasts
heaving, she opened her eyes and looked into those of her lover.
Blood was running down the side of Stephen's face, but he was
smiling.

'Oh,
Stephen!'

He wrapped his
arms around her, and as he kissed her, he undid the sleeves of her
blouse and released her arms.

'Keep this
around you,' he said gently.

Beneath the
roughness of a blanket, she put on her blouse, her skirt, and her
neat jacket.

As he had once
before, Stephen scooped his arm around her back to stop her from
falling.

'My legs feel
so weak.' Leaning against Stephen, she rolled her eyes, still
struggling to take in the scene before her.

The vaulted
ceilings of the basement seemed too low and the walls too close to
accommodate the many policemen milling around in it. Two of those
policemen were laying Lance Vector out on his back. One of them
commenced mouth to mouth. She saw him licking his lips between each
breath and wondered what he was thinking as he tasted what was
undoubtedly the juices of a woman.

There was a
sudden choking sound.

'He's alive!
Quick, tell that ambulance to hurry. Tell them there's only one
dead one now. The other's still alive.'

Abby knew she
had been right to guess that Lance's mother was dead. The thought
made her shiver.

Stephen held
her tight. They both looked at the pale face of Lance Vector.
Gradually, he acquired some colour.

Abby kept her
eyes fixed on Lance while she asked Stephen a question. 'How did
you know where I was?'

'The
roadsweeper saw what happened and described both cars. I knew it
was Vector's car, so I hoped he had set you down at your chambers.
I went to your room and saw the Vector archives on your desk. I
knew you intended to use them to get the truth out of Vector. But
you weren't there so I phoned his paper and was told he'd called in
sick. I rang his home and she confirmed that he was here, and I
decided to come over, fast.'

Abby sighed.
'Shame I can't thank Mrs Vector.'

Stephen felt
her lean more heavily on him as the news sunk in.

'At least
Lance is still alive.' Saying that and feeling the warmth of her
against his body made him want to take her to bed, to snuggle down
with her in warmth and security as the world outside carried on its
own business. The method Lance had almost died by was too bizarre
to easily ignore.

Aching and
longing now replacing the fear, Abby cuddled closer to him. She
looked thoughtful.

'I think,' she
said slowly, 'I now have all I need to clear your name. I also
think that Val Spendle will win her libel case by a
submission.'

The police
took the pile of tapes. 'For evidence,' they said. Thankfully, they
omitted to take the most crucial one from the machine.

Stephen
cuddled both Abby and the tape to him as they left the house,
stepped over the inert body of Mrs Vector, and went to give
statements at the police station.

In the
cloistered chambers of Lincoln's Inn and the marble edifices of the
law courts, men were looking at Abigail Corrigan with renewed
interest.

News of the
attempted manslaughter of Lance Vector had spread like wild fire.
Notwithstanding the method Charwallah had used for disposing of
Carl Candel, the visions such an end stirred in the minds of those
usually viewed as being musty, strait-laced or past it, could only
be speculated upon. And speculation was rife.

Abby bore the
renewed interest in her sexual favours with professional fortitude.
She also made a point of having her photograph taken with Stephen
beneath the headline "Lawyer Rescued by MP".

Newspaper
circulation soared and eyes opened wide as the details of Lance
Vector's near death and Abby's nudity were read in three different
sections of the newspaper.

Charlie Ahmed
Wallis was under suspicion for more than grievous bodily harm,
actual bodily harm, and outright murder. He was a true professional
in that he was not only good at his job, he loved it. He was
everything a true villain should be - except a grass. No matter how
many hours of gruelling questioning Val Spendle put him under, he
stayed silent. The fact that he had been caught in the act of
suffocating Lance against Abby's quim was the only irrefutable
evidence against him.

Lance had
fully recovered, and Medina Frassard had dropped her libel suit
against Val Spendle. According to her legal counsel, she had
experienced a complete change of heart and had no wish to harm such
a shining example of female success.

'Bullshit!'
Val spat after she'd said it.

'My sentiments
exactly.' Abby did not even look up from her papers. It was
mentioned there that a tape had been found relating to the Stephen
Sigmund case. Paul Bennet and Medina Frassard must know what it
contained.

Val had
checked on whether they had links with Swan and Swallow
Investments. Neither did. No shares, no directorships. Nothing. And
neither was letting on as to why they should be involved.

Wallis, too,
was remaining silent. So was the ultimate head of the Daily Sin who
hung out in a glass penthouse at the top of his newspaper building.
No matter what happened, he would be safe. He was unassailable, he
told Val. His conscience was clear.

Val's fingers
drummed impatiently on the desk. Abby tried hard to read the file
before her, but it was her ears that were hard at work. She was
listening for the approach of Lance Vector.

For the first
time since that day in his basement, he was coming to see her.

Their meeting
was necessarily brief. She dictated to him exactly what she wanted
him to say in his newspaper. She also told him that she would
release the story of his illegitimate birth and details of his
father deserting his mother to live in sin with a society beauty.
It was enough of a threat to bring him to heel.

'I'll do
whatever you want. I don't want my mother's memory besmirched with
such things.' He looked sincerely contrite.

Lance Vector,
Abby decided, would no longer be lusting after her. He had a memory
to protect - a dead woman to worship.

'Do you really
think this is going to work?' Val looked doubtful. 'You know I
haven't got much evidence to go on. So far, Medina's denied
everything. It would have been helpful if she'd given her orders to
Charlie Wallis in writing - then they'd both squeal. Unfortunately,
felons don't do that!'

Abby ignored
Val's scepticism. She was in love and soaring high above such
doubts.

She smiled,
and for the first time in months, she felt strangely whole and very
happy. 'It will work. Trust me.'

On the morning
after the news broke of Medina Frassard's involvement in the Swan
and Swallow Investment affair, she was on the telephone to
Abby.

'Can we meet
for lunch?'

Abby agreed to
meet her. She phoned Stephen beforehand to tell him where they
would be meeting.

Cane screens
shielded the two women from prying eyes, though no one could fail
to notice the slim, tall blonde in the strict black suit, the white
blouse, the satin sheened stockings. They would also have noticed
the other woman whose outfit was of powder blue bordered with beige
and teamed with tan accessories. Her hair was immaculate, her
make-up sheer perfection. No matter what her age might be, Medina
Frassard did her best with what she had. She held her head high.
Abby assumed that attack would be Medina's only defence. She was
right.