Exposure (23 page)

‘I hate him as much as you do,' she said. ‘We're not doing it for him. Thank you for being so brave.'

‘Brave? What the hell's brave about backing down?'

‘Everything,' she murmured. ‘For someone like you.'

‘Hello,' Felix said. ‘Warburton said you wanted to see me.'

Ben looked at him; it wasn't a friendly look. ‘Sit down,' he suggested. Felix lounged in one of the chairs, crossed his legs and gazed at him enquiringly. He wasn't friendly either. This was his replacement; mentally he sneered at the age difference, the heavy spectacles and the hint of grey in the hair. ‘Julia's got a problem,' Ben announced. ‘That's what I want to talk to you about.'

‘Oh? Why didn't she tell me herself?'

‘She's busy,' Ben snapped. ‘So I'm asking for her.' He said, ‘She's told you about her job with “Exposure”?'

‘She mentioned something, yeah. She was very excited about it. Why?'

‘What exactly did she tell you?'

Felix uncrossed one long leg and sat up straight. It was defensive body language, as Ben recognized. ‘What I said; it was a big career jump, big money, bags of opportunity. You haven't told me why you're asking.'

‘Because there's a problem, as I said. It could be a serious problem for her. If you'll think back and answer the questions, I'll be able to put you in the picture. Did she ever mention Harold King?'

Felix frowned. ‘Sort of, yes. It was pretty obvious she had him in her sights. She hated his guts.'

‘Like a lot of people,' Ben said slowly. ‘Now this is important. Did you ever talk about it? Ever mention to anyone that Julia was targeting King?'

‘No,' Felix protested. ‘Why should I? We broke up on account of that bastard. We'd gone to Mario's, and he was shouting his head off – Julia got all steamed up and next day gave me the shove.'

‘Just think,' Ben insisted. ‘Did anyone ask you what she was doing?'

Felix said, ‘Come on, what's the score? I know King's a rough player – he's not suing Julia, is he?'

‘No,' Ben answered. He decided to tell part of the truth. Felix wasn't going to make an effort otherwise.

‘But her phone's been tapped and bugs were found in the rooms.'

‘Jesus—' Felix stared at him. ‘Why? Who did it?'

‘We think it's King. She
is
investigating him, and that really is confidential. You said he was a rough player … that's an understatement. There's been a leak and we've got to trace it to protect her. She thinks it's you, because you're the only one she talked to; nobody's blaming you, Sutton, but it would help if you could remember if you passed anything on and who to.'

Felix scowled in concentration. ‘Wait on,' he said. ‘I did get a call from some tout with a story to tell … It wasn't any good to me, and it cost me fifty quid …' He hesitated, and then said quickly, ‘That's right, it was a real sleaze-bag, peddling dirt. He had a juicy titbit about –' Harris stared as he mentioned the name, ‘Porno stuff with kids. A paedophile ring. I told him I couldn't use that sort of thing, and he suggested “Exposure” … I remember I said that she wouldn't touch it.'
She
. Ben didn't interrupt him.

‘He started arguing; he was that type, cocky little know-all. He got up my nose and I think I said she was after bigger fish.' He stopped.

‘Go on,' Ben said. ‘He was needling you for information. So what else?'

‘I
think
I mentioned King. I think I did. Yeah, the Honours List. That's what Julia said at Mario's. She might do a feature on the Honours List and scumbags like King getting on it …'

Ben leaned back. ‘I'd say he was a plant,' he said. ‘You weren't to know. Anyone else apart from him?'

Felix shrugged. ‘No. He never tried again.'

Ben asked, ‘He didn't leave a contact number? You couldn't find him again?'

‘I could try the pub; it was the Jug and Bottle off Dean Street. He gave me a name … Patrick. Joe Patrick.'

The hostility had faded between them.

Felix said, ‘You're with Julia now, I hear say.'

‘We work together, and we're together,' Ben admitted. ‘Look, will you help sort this out for her?'

‘Sure. What do I have to do?'

‘Go back to that pub, see if you can contact this Joe Patrick.'

‘And if I do, what then? Say it wasn't true, put him off the scent? I tell you, he was very sharp. He wouldn't swallow it.'

Ben said slowly, ‘He might, if you play it the right way. And I think I know how. We've got to convince King that he's safe. It won't be that difficult because our one star witness was murdered the other day. I don't have to spell it out for you, do I?'

‘No,' Felix got up; he moved very lightly for a big man. ‘Julia's really in trouble – phew! I opened my big mouth …'

‘Meet me in the pub at seven,' Ben told him. ‘I'll have the line worked out for you. Don't blame yourself, Sutton, just put it right. Get her off the hook.'

‘Don't worry, will do,' he said. ‘See you at seven.' He held out his hand. Ben took it. ‘She's a great girl,' Felix repeated. ‘You're lucky.'

Joe Patrick was in a sunny mood. King had sent him a present. It was a confirmation of a transfer of fifty thousand pounds to his account in Switzerland. Joe was a rich man. He was secure for life, and so long as King used him for jobs like Jean Adams, his fortune would continue to grow.

He'd brought back the old woman's few trinkets and the stolen cash. The money was safe, the jewellery, such as it was, couldn't be disposed of to a fence. There were a couple of rings, a string of pearls, and a chain bracelet set with tiny coloured stones. Nothing worth a toss in terms of real jewellery. He prised the small diamonds and a sapphire out of the rings, tested the pearls between his teeth – they were smooth, not gritty, so they were only costume, and inspected the bracelet. It was hallmarked, but the stones were little more than chips.

He gave the bracelet to his favourite Tina. ‘Somethin' for you next time,' he said to her friend Tracey. Tina grimaced when he had gone.

‘Mean sod,' she murmured. ‘Looks like Woolworth's. Wonder where he got it—' Her companion shrugged. She was fond of her friend Tina; they'd grown up together in the black ghetto of Brixton. ‘Out of a cracker – last year's,' she giggled. They had a laugh together, and in spite of the rough times, they lived well. They expected to take a beating now and then; both had gone on the game in their early teens, victims of a pimp who ran a string of girls. Joe had picked them out of a cheap nightclub doubling as a brothel. He'd bought them from the pimp. They belonged to him till he got fed up and sold them on to someone else. It was a life of luxury compared to what they'd known. Tracey didn't hate him the way Tina did. ‘Try it on,' she said. ‘It's pretty. I like it.'

Tina slipped it onto her wrist, fiddling with the clasp. ‘I'd give it to you only he'd knock my teeth out,' she said. ‘Fuck, I can't get it off—' She wrenched at the delicate chain.

‘I'll do it, I'll do it,' her friend said. ‘You'll break it—' She peered at the clasp. ‘It's got a catch on it,' she said. ‘Stop it falling off. It could be gold – that's done it.'

Tina held it up, the little stones glittered. ‘Could be.'

‘Junk doesn't have a catch like that,' Tracey insisted. ‘Might be worth a few quid one day.'

‘Might be,' Tina agreed. ‘Wonder where he got it …'

Felix went up to the bar and ordered a pint of lager. The pictures of the boxers posing with their fists up were faded and dirty, the signatures illegible. There wasn't a recent champion among them, and Felix knew them all from his days as an amateur. ‘I'm looking for Joe Patrick,' he said to the barman.

‘He's not here,' the answer was prompt and the look that went with it was wary.

‘Know where I can get in touch with him?' Felix persisted.

‘I can tell him if he comes in,' the offer was grudging.

‘I met him here,' Felix went on. ‘We did some business together. Can you tell him to call me – Felix Sutton,
Sunday Herald
?'

The man put down the glass he was rinsing out. Joe Patrick was a big man. He mightn't thank him if he lost out on a deal. ‘You hang on a minute. I'll see what the boss says.'

The boss, the same pudgy figure posing with the fighters like a fat midget, was in his back room watching TV. He picked up the phone and called Patrick's number.

Felix stayed by the bar, leaning on one elbow and drinking the cold beer while he waited. It seemed to take a long time.

The barman was back, serving customers; an obvious tart was eyeing Felix and getting ready to pick him up, when the proprietor appeared, the barman pointed out Felix and he came up to him.

‘Joe's coming round,' he said. ‘Take a seat and order what you want. On the house.'

‘Thanks,' Felix said. ‘I'll have another pint.' He went to a table and sat down. The surface was wet and smelt of slopped beer.

The tart came up behind him. She was young and very pretty with a skirt that just skimmed her upper thighs. The man looked round and jerked a thumb at her. He didn't say anything. She pulled a face and retreated.

Felix grinned at her. She grinned back. He wouldn't have minded, he thought, but he wasn't going to pay for it.

‘Hi there,' Patrick pulled out a chair. He was swathed in a cashmere coat, and he smelt of strong cologne. Felix felt as if a rat had sat down beside him. ‘You wanted to see me?' The bright teeth flashed at him, tribute to modern dentistry.

‘Yeah,' Felix said. ‘What are you drinking?'

‘Scotch,' Joe said. ‘What can I do for you?'

‘You remember that story you offered me?' He lowered his voice.

Joe said softly, ‘The porno stuff – kids?'

‘That's right. I may have a market for it.'

‘You said you couldn't use it,' Joe pointed out.

‘I can't. It's not my stuff. But I talked to my girlfriend – my ex, she is now,' he shrugged, ‘and “Exposure” would be interested. She asked me to contact you. They'd pay good money.'

Joe tossed down half the whisky.

‘You said they'd be running something else. I don't want to fuck about with this – it's a hot story.'

‘Which nobody else will buy,' Felix pointed out.

Joe squinted at the Scotch, then put the glass down. ‘What happens if they don't use it? I'd want money up front. There's my pal on the tabloid and his pal in the Vice – they'd want money up front from me.'

‘They'd get it. I told you, there's good money.'

‘What made your bird change her mind then?' Joe countered. ‘You said she wouldn't touch it with a barge pole. Your very words.'

‘She's under pressure from her boss. Western owns the paper. He's my boss, too. Difficult bugger. She had a big feature lined up for the first issue in November, House of Lords and Harold King. Dynamite stuff. But it's dead. They can't run it, and Western's kicking her backside. They had some witness who died on them. So I mentioned your proposition to her and she jumped at it. Western wants a big scandal to kick off with now they've killed the King story. I'd say you can name your price.' He looked hard at Joe Patrick.

‘So what's in it for you?' Joe asked in his soft voice, losing the phoney American twang.

‘I might get her back,' Felix said. ‘And I'd want a cut; nothing big, just luck money, as they call it in Ireland.'

Joe grinned. ‘So they do,' he agreed. ‘Are you the go-between then?'

‘No,' Felix said. ‘She does her own negotiating; she'd send someone else to talk figures. You mentioned five hundred.'

‘That was to you,' Joe smiled at him. ‘For a big feature it'd be in the thousands. You said I could name me price. I tell you what—'

He drained the last of the whisky. He pushed the glass away and Felix knew the meeting was over.

‘Tell you what,' Joe was on his feet. ‘I'll talk to my pals. Then I'll get back to you. I know they had someone else in mind.'

He held out his hand; Felix made himself shake it, and gave a powerful squeeze that caused Joe Patrick to wince. He enjoyed that.

‘You'll be in touch, then, but make it quick. She's pushed for a story …'

‘You'll hear real soon,' Joe Patrick promised.

Felix left the pub. It was cold outside with a thin drizzle falling. The girl he'd seen in the pub was walking down the pavement, slowly, looking for kerb crawlers.

She came up to him and smiled. ‘Hello, handsome. Want some fun?'

‘Not tonight,' Felix said. ‘Thanks anyway. Buy yourself a cup of coffee. It's bloody cold.' He gave her five pounds, and then swung off towards Tottenham Court Road. He wouldn't hear from Joe Patrick again. There was no story to sell. There never had been. Ben Harris was right.

Harold King flew to New York by Concorde. He had decided to take Gloria with him. Her gratitude and excitement touched him. She reached for his hand as the plane took off, its ascent was very steep, and he squeezed it affectionately. She was scared of landing, too. The cloud had lifted, and he was in buoyant mood. ‘Exposure' had dropped the investigation, because, as Joe repeated, they had a witness who'd died on them …

Joe had been grinning like an ape when he reported his meeting with Felix Sutton. He'd cut the main head off the Hydra by getting rid of Jean Adams. Without her, they had nothing but hearsay. He could dispose of Hamilton and her friend Harris when he took over the
Herald
. Neither would ever work in newspapers again by the time he had finished with them.

He was confident, pleased with Joe, but, as always, he left nothing as a hostage to fortune.