Exposure (25 page)

‘What do you want?' he was staring at her. ‘You're not going to print these … I'll sue, I'll fight you to the highest court …' The words were brave, but the man was stricken.

Julia said, ‘Nobody's going to print such things in any newspaper. I haven't come here to expose you or threaten you, Mr Derwent. I've come because I don't like blackmail, and I believe that's what has happened to you. I want to run a feature, but you won't be mentioned. I want to scare off the kind of people who took these photographs and set you up. I'm being absolutely honest. You've got nothing to fear from us. I want your help.'

He shook his head. ‘I'm ruined,' he said, ‘completely ruined. If you don't run this story, they'll go to someone else—'

‘We bought the negatives,' she countered. ‘It was targeted at my feature, and I want to know why. Tell me honestly, was anyone trying to blackmail you? Why did you call their bluff?'

‘With these? My God. I'd have given my last penny to buy them back. No. Nobody approached me. Oh my God,' he said again. ‘I need a drink. Excuse me.'

He got up and opened a cupboard. Bottles and glasses were assembled for entertaining. He poured a large neat vodka and came back to the desk.

‘What a mess,' he said. ‘What a bloody awful mess.'

Julia asked him, ‘Have you any idea who set you up? Do you have any enemies?'

He swallowed the vodka. ‘I've made enemies – who doesn't in politics?'

‘Did anyone know about this affair? Does this woman have other clients? Where did you find her?'

Leo Derwent scowled. ‘I didn't pick her up, if that's what you mean. I met her at a dinner party.' His frown deepened. ‘She wasn't a tart, she was just another guest. We hit it off, and we liked the same sort of games. I never paid her – just a present or some flowers …'

‘She wasn't a guest,' Julia said. ‘She was a plant. Who gave the party?'

He didn't answer for a moment. Then he said, ‘Harold King. I was down at his house for the weekend. She came with another man.'

‘And gave you a very heavy signal?' Julia suggested. He nodded.

‘She came on very strong. Christ. I never thought for a minute …'

‘Why should you?' Julia interrupted. ‘You met her at a friend's house. Would you describe King as a friend?'

‘I know him. I've been down there once or twice. I thought he was aiming me at that daughter … She was always sat next to me, chatting me up. I thought it was rather funny. Christ,' he muttered again. ‘You think it was King?'

‘Who else?' Julia asked. ‘He wanted to get something on you and he fixed you up. Your girlfriend was in on it. She must have set the camera and the tape and handed the stuff over.'

‘Then why didn't he use it?' Derwent demanded. ‘Why pass it on to you? He wouldn't give Western the drop off his nose.'

‘Something more important was at stake. So he sacrificed you.'

‘What do you want me to do?'

He had recovered his nerve. He looked mean and seething with rage. King had made a bad enemy, Julia decided. A cornered fox that would fly at his throat when he got the chance.

‘I want you to do nothing,' she said quietly. ‘Behave as if this hadn't happened. See King, be friendly, ask the daughter out to lunch if you can stomach it.'

He watched her keenly. ‘Why?'

‘Because we're working on something that will bring Harold King up on a criminal charge. A very serious charge.'

Leo Derwent smiled. ‘I love it,' he said. ‘What else do I have to do?'

‘Tell me anything you hear, anything you pick up. That's why I suggested the daughter. Did she fancy you?'

He shook his head. ‘I've heard she fancies girls. Wouldn't surprise me. But I'll try. By Christ, I'll give it my best shot if it'll put that bastard in the shit.'

Then he said quickly. ‘What about this feature on blackmail … are you going to hint at him? What about security for me?'

Julia stood up. ‘I'll make it a general feature. I can cite several examples in a vague enough way to throw anyone off. My boss wants a lot of hares running, not just one. And here's proof of his good faith.'

She handed him the manila envelope.

‘Everything's in it,' she said. ‘Negatives and tapes. I don't expect you'll be seeing her again.'

‘If I did,' he said savagely, ‘I'd make it for real.'

‘He's the worst kind of creep,' Julia said to Ben that evening. ‘I wouldn't trust him an inch if I could help it. But he'll do anything to get back at King after this. And we might pick something up. He promised he'll chat up the daughter … He said she was a dyke, but that won't stop him. My God, we do elect some gems of humanity, don't we?'

‘You get good and bad in everything. Our own profession isn't exactly lily white. And here's something to take the taste of Leo Derwent out of your mouth. I read it in an hour.'

It was a small, privately printed booklet.
Memories of the Desert War
. The author had served as an officer in the East Anglian Regiment. He had won a DSO for bravery at the battle of Sidi Abbas and had been captured trying to escape back to the British position at Tobruk.

There was a photograph on the cover of a good-looking young man in shorts and shirt, his cap at a rakish angle, posing with three other men.

‘Darling,' Julia said gently. ‘I've had a long day. I don't think I'm in the mood for war stories.'

Ben said quietly, ‘I think you'll be in the mood for this one. There are some good photographs inside. Trust me …'

She looked at him and said, ‘Ben? You're on to something … why didn't you tell me? You've let me rabbit on about bloody Leo Derwent—'

‘You needed to get it out of your system, that's why,' he said. ‘I'll make supper tonight. You get stuck into that.'

He was putting steak under the grill, when he heard an exclamation.

He came and looked round the door. ‘Ben,' she said. ‘It's him! In the photograph – look!'

He said, ‘I told you it was interesting. Wait till you get to the end.'

Joe Patrick went through the reports from the detective agency. He didn't repeat his earlier mistake; he kept King informed on a daily basis, but they'd lost the telephone taps on Harris and Hamilton, and there was no chance of getting into the new flat they shared together.

The building was very secure, with TV entry-phone system and resident porter. The surveillance reported Julia Hamilton going to the House of Commons, but that was the only break in her normal office routine. She and Harris led a quiet domestic life, rarely going out. When they did it was usually to the same restaurant and the pub close by the
Herald
offices. There was a dearth of activity that King noted and found reassuring. They were at a dead end after Jean Adams. The negotiations in New York were coming to a climax. He had appointed Gloria to the Board of the Pension Fund Management before they left England. Her signature, combined with his, and that of a terrified accountant who never even read what he was required to sign, released the hundred and twenty million investments into King's personal control. When presented to the Chairman and Board of Field Bank, they appeared as private assets.

He stopped off at Miami, and he didn't involve Gloria in these negotiations. She'd come to that part of his business interests later on.

She accepted the exclusion with her usual docility. He noticed how she bullied the staff who accompanied them from London, and demanded service from their hotels with a high-handedness equal to his own. With him she was a submissive and adoring acolyte.

She went to Mimi's Club, courtesy of King's business acquaintance who owned the place, and sunned herself by the pool while he was busy. She found one of the cocktail waitresses attractive, and secured her services by mentioning her need of a personal maid to the manager. The girl understood that if she wanted to keep her job, she had better accommodate Miss King. There'd be a good tip at the end of it. She was used to taking care of the men. It was her first experience of a woman lover. She confided to her friends that for sheer appetite this ugly bitch left the guys at the starting gate. And she was good, too. It made a nice change having a woman. She rather liked it.

King spent two days in conference with the local Mafia representative who owned Mimi's Club and three of the biggest hotels in the resort. He was a majority shareholder in the company controlling a string of escort agencies and massage parlours. He fronted for the Godfathers who controlled the business in the state. King had obliged him by laundering drug money through one of his own subsidiaries in Liechtenstein. It was more of a courtesy call than serious business, but King believed in keeping his contacts sweet against the time to call in favours. With the take-over planned for the early part of the coming year, he was mustering his allies. On the night before they left for England, King entertained him in his own restaurant, and introduced him to Gloria. She was looking very well, tanned from the sun and relaxed after an afternoon spent with the waitress. King was proud of her.

The mafioso was complimentary. When she had left them to their late cigars he said, ‘A lovely girl. Not married yet?'

King had shrugged and said, ‘She's hard to please. She loves her old Daddy too much to leave him.'

‘Yeah, my daughter's the same. But she's got a good husband and four kids. They make my life, those kids. You find the right guy for her; I picked Maria's man, and they're very happy. A man needs grandchildren when he gets to our age.'

King accepted the flattery. He was at least fifteen years older than the American. ‘There's no hurry,' he insisted. ‘She'll find someone.'

But the idea stuck in his mind. Gloria was a catch. Never mind that she didn't bother much with men. King paid no attention to that. She was a big girl, and shy. He'd warned her about fortune hunters a long time ago. Maybe that had put her off.

He came back to London in a mood of swelling confidence. Everything was going his way. His instincts scented success and ultimate victory. They had never failed him. The biggest gamble of his business life was coming to the final throw, and all the signs told him that luck was on his side.

‘Billy,' Evelyn Western said firmly. ‘You've got to stop driving yourself. You're awake half the night, and you're so on edge you can't relax even at the weekend.'

‘How can I?' he demanded. ‘When nothing's happening? Nothing. There's a bloody feature coming out about the vulnerability of politicians to blackmail in their private lives and nothing about King in the pipeline. I told her, I want the slot in December. So far she's done nothing!' he repeated, banging his hand on the table top. The cut-glass goblet jumped. He wiped the drops of wine off the polished surface.

‘Ever since that woman's murder they've ground to a halt on the whole thing. And now this.'

He had told Evelyn the news as they changed for dinner. He was so upset by it he cancelled a theatre engagement with friends and said he wanted a quiet evening at home with her. Evelyn didn't hesitate. She made the excuses over the telephone herself, pleading a cold and a temperature. When he was wrought up like this, she humoured him. But she lectured him, too. Yes, she agreed, forcing herself to appear calm. It was very disturbing news about King's alliance with Field Bank. But he'd known King was in the States raising money. ‘But not that sort of sum,' he protested. ‘Backed by a huge amount from his own private funds. He's gearing up to strike at me, and I won't be able to stop him. The next step is the rumour mongering. We're in financial trouble. I'm losing control … Good God, Evie, we've seen the technique used on other people. I know how the rot starts. He's got two financial journalists in his pocket; they'll print anything he tells them to – you just wait. As soon as Christmas is over and the decks are cleared for news, it'll start. I'm sorry, I can't eat any more of this.'

Evelyn said quietly, ‘Come on, let's go and have our coffee in the drawing room. I'll pour you a brandy and you settle down. I've got an idea and I'd like to see what you think of it.'

William Western had benefited from his wife's ideas before. She was a very intelligent woman, with a mind untrammelled by the minutiae of his daily business problems. Sometimes she saw things more clearly than he did.

‘Good idea,' he said. ‘Sorry I've been such a bloody bore this evening. Making you cancel the theatre. I know you were looking forward to it.'

She smiled at him and took his arm for a moment.

‘I'd much rather get a good night's sleep without you tossing and turning beside me,' she said gently. ‘I don't care about the theatre. We can go later, it'll run for ever after those reviews. All I care about is you getting into a state. It's bad for you, and you know it.'

He led her to the sofa. The butler brought their coffee and Evelyn said, ‘A large brandy for his Lordship, please, Arthur.'

The hapless Filipino was still in the house in Hampshire. Still being bullied by his employer, but tolerated so far because Evelyn Western knew a replacement wouldn't fare any better. The English butler had looked after them in London for twelve years. He had worked in Royal Service, and Western was in awe of him. He gave the Westerns' establishment prestige.

When they were alone, Evelyn said, ‘Why don't I talk to Julia?'

‘What good would that do?' he demanded.
‘I've
talked to her and I didn't pull any punches.'

‘I'm sure you didn't, but perhaps that's not the right approach. Have you thought of this, Billy – perhaps she doesn't want the job? That poor woman was murdered … Julia's not the type to come to you and admit that she's too frightened to continue.'