Exposure (43 page)

Leo took a deep breath. ‘I'll get myself a glass of wine,' he said. He poured some chablis for himself and came and sat down opposite Harold King. He couldn't take his eyes away from that untouched drink. He swigged it down in a few swallows when he was at home. But not this time. He sat and glared at Leo, emanating hostility.

‘Well?' He raised his voice.

Leo lifted his glass of wine. ‘Your very good health,' he said, and waited.

King didn't respond.

‘I asked you to meet me in private because I've got something rather … well, personal to talk over with you. See how you feel about it. Is that drink all right?'

‘How do I know when I haven't tried it!' King snapped. ‘Get to the point, can't you? Stop waffling.' It was Gloria, he knew that now. The little creep was going to sound him out about Gloria. He felt a rush of anger. His pulse rate began to rise.

‘I've been seeing Gloria for some time,' Leo began. His throat felt so dry he sipped more wine before he could continue. The ice was melting in that untouched drink by King's elbow.

‘I know that,' King interrupted. ‘I can't say I'm impressed by her choice, but that's her business.'

‘I know you aren't happy about it,' Leo was losing hope. He'd been there long enough and hadn't touched the drink. It wasn't going to work. At any moment he might just lose his temper if Leo got it wrong and walk out. Julia mustn't come up. The whole bloody plan was going wrong. He said, ‘She told me how you feel about me. I don't blame you. If I had a daughter like Glory, I'd be protective, too. That's why I wanted to reassure you.'

King looked at him. ‘I don't need reassurance from you. I don't know what the hell you're talking about.' He shifted forward in his chair. It was the attitude of someone about to get up.

Leo risked everything. ‘I'm in love with her,' he said. ‘I've never been in love with anyone before. I've never met a woman like her. She's got everything, brains, poise, personality …'

King sat back in his chair. He said in a flat voice, ‘She's ugly.' Then he reached out and took the glass and drank very deeply from it as if he was thirsty.

‘Not to me, she isn't,' Leo said. He tried not to look, but a second's glance showed King had drunk half of the mixture in one swallow.

‘She's not ugly. She's different, she's not a bimbo.'

He got up, he felt excited, all his nervousness had disappeared. He said, ‘Let me refresh that for you,' and taking King's glass he refilled it to the brim and handed it to him.

‘She's rich,' King said. ‘She could give you everything you want, that's what you mean. She's my daughter and you could ride to the top with me behind you. Isn't that what you really mean, you little bastard?'

Leo couldn't be sure he detected a change. He went on, ‘I've told you, I love Gloria. She's in love with me. I haven't talked to her about marriage. I wouldn't, till I'd had a chance to discuss it with you.'

King leaned forward. ‘Well, you've discussed it,' he said, ‘and the answer is no. Not in a million years will I let my girl marry a fucker like you.'

His voice had grown louder, the German accent more pronounced. Leo stayed calm. He said in a pleasant way, ‘You don't have to insult me, Harold. I've told you, I understand how you feel. She's your only daughter, you're very close in every way. You don't want to lose her. But you've nothing to fear from me. I'm not the possessive type.'

He got up again, and as he passed the table on the other side of King's chair, he switched on the little tape recorder hidden behind a pile of magazines. He filled his glass with wine and turned to Harold King. ‘I'm glad you like my mixture,' he said. ‘One more refill?'

And then the phone rang. Leo answered it. He smiled and said, ‘Yes, up to my room, please.' He came over with the jug this time. The glass was empty. King had drained it while he was speaking. He looked different, Leo realized; his features were suffused with red, his nose seemed enlarged and his mouth had slackened.

The eyes were bright and glowing with a demonic rage. For a moment Leo's elation waned. He felt afraid. Then there was a knock at the door. King didn't seem to hear it. ‘Another,' he snarled at Leo, holding out his glass. ‘Fill me up,
dummkopf
! Marry my daughter …' He started to laugh. ‘She likes her bottom smacked, that's all you mean to her!'

Leo had gone to open the door. He said quietly, ‘Come in, Julia.' He glanced back at Harold King and nodded to her. ‘He's pissed,' he murmured and then stood aside to let her pass. Julia hadn't seen him since that night in the restaurant when he was showing off by bullying the manager. He had looked so powerful, almost bestial then. Now he was
louche
, sprawling, his limbs at an angle, his face red and bloated.

She stared at him. Her heart was beating so hard she felt it in her throat. Leo was right. King was drunk. Drunk and dangerous, his eyes travelling over her, resting on her face. She said, ‘Good evening, Mr King. I'm Julia Hamilton.'

‘I know you,' he said. ‘I remember that ugly red hair. I won't have anyone with that hair in my building. You stink like foxes. You're Western's bint, aren't you?'

‘No,' she said. ‘I'm not anyone's bint. I don't sleep with my employer.'

‘More bloody fool him, then,' King sneered. ‘If you worked for me you'd have to dye that mop.'

‘I wouldn't work for you,' Julia answered.

Leo said, ‘Why don't you sit down, Julia. Like a glass of wine?'

‘Try some of my special mixture,' King heaved himself up from the chair. ‘Go on, try it. This little creep that's screwing my daughter made it for me. Trying to curry favour, aren't you? He thinks he can fool me … You know I can't be fooled, don't you? Nobody fools me.'

‘I'm sure they don't,' Julia said. ‘I'll have some wine, please, Leo. Thanks.' As she took the glass he saw her hand was shaking. But she was composed, very cool; he had to admire her for the way she was handling the brute.

‘I've always been curious about you, Mr King. I've wanted to interview you. But you don't give interviews to Western journalists, do you?'

‘The only thing I give to anyone working for that little shit is a kick up the backside,' he snarled, suddenly aggressive. His eyes raked her up and down, lingering on her legs. She uncrossed them and pulled down her skirt to cover her knees. He said, ‘Western fired you, didn't he? Why don't you come and work for me? You've got brains, even if you haven't any tits. Why don't you come and work for me, eh? Why don't you? What did that shit pay you? I'll double it!'

He was swaying on his feet. Julia said, ‘Why don't you sit down, Mr King, and we can talk about it.'

He shrugged his big shoulders, his mood changing abruptly. ‘Why not?' He repeated it as he lowered himself back into his chair. ‘Why not.'

‘Would you like to talk to me about yourself?' Julia asked. ‘Now that I'm here, there's such a lot I want to know about you.'

King leaned his head back. ‘Like what? The story of my life and achievements – I'll send you the book … it's very heart-warming.' He broke into laughter, coarse and raucous. ‘But that's not what you're after, is it? You've given me a lot of trouble, snooping … You're good at it, you know that? Better than any of the other hacks. You were getting close, weren't you? But then it all went wrong. You found out about that little shit Western. So he threw you out. You realize that saved your life?'

Leo bit back an exclamation. Julia was very pale. ‘Yes,' she said. ‘I expect it did. I met a Mr Richard Watson in Jersey. I asked him a question. We were talking about the last war. I asked him if he'd ever killed anyone.'

Harold King cleared his throat. For a moment she thought he was going to spit on the carpet. ‘Not him,' he jeered. ‘A real English gentleman, a man of principles … an arsehole in my book.'

Julia waited. It was coming close now, the crucial moment. He was drunk, but was he drunk enough?

‘In your book, then,' she said quietly, ‘people do get killed? If I asked you the same question I asked him, what would you answer?'

‘Oh, very clever, aren't you! I'll ask you a question … what's so special about dying? Everyone dies in the end. What's it matter when …?'

He pulled himself up in the chair; he turned and looked at Leo. ‘You put something in that drink, didn't you?' Leo said nothing. King hunched his shoulders, gathering his body as if he was going to propel himself out of the chair and launch himself on Leo.

Now, Julia decided, before he goes out of control …

Her voice cut across the tension. ‘You called me a bint, Mr King. That's a wartime expression. It's Arabic, isn't it? You learned it in the Western Desert, didn't you? You were with Rommel's Afrika Corps. What did you do out there, Mr King, that you've taken so much time and trouble to hide for all these years? Murder unarmed British prisoners?'

He had started by laughing, then he talked and talked, the truth flooding out in a tide neither Julia nor Leo could have stemmed. The vile and brutal truth about what he had done. Suddenly he stopped. He glared at them. Then he lurched at Leo, both fists upraised like hammers to strike at him. He was yelling. ‘I'm drunk. I'm drunk and you did it … you spiked my drink with something … I'll kill you …' Leo was quick on his feet; he side-stepped easily and impelled by his own weight, King crashed into the wall and almost fell. Leo had retreated to a safe distance, safe enough for him to gloat and shout back in defiance.

‘You bet I did. You've had half a bottle of vodka in that filthy pink muck, and you're pissed out of your skull! And you've opened your big mouth wide …'

Hitting the wall had steadied King. He pulled himself upright and leaned against the door. He had told her everything. He'd talked and he couldn't stop himself. He was out of control, just like the night when he confessed to his wife, Phyllis Lowe, and pursued her upstairs to rape and beat her in a fury of rage and lust because he had betrayed himself.

The same with this woman, standing out of reach behind a sofa, that hideous hair flaming in the light. He had been unable to stop the flow of words, the rush of memories. He'd dragged her back with him into the past, back to the heat and sand-filled dust of the North African desert, as if she were a witness born out of her time.

Leo's voice taunted him. ‘You tried to ruin me, you rotten bastard. You set me up with your paid whore and sold the evidence to Western … But I've been bonking your daughter, and I've got some pretty pictures of my own now!'

‘You'll pay for this,' King shouted him down. ‘I'll make you pay—'

‘You threaten me,' Leo jeered. ‘You try anything and I'll have the hotel throw you out! You're finished, bust … We've got it all on tape!'

As he said it, Julia reached over and slipped the little tape recorder into her purse. King had blundered about like a maddened bear, and she had heard Leo shout at her, ‘Look out, Julia …' and sprang out of his way.

Just as abruptly, his strength seemed exhausted. He was breathing hard, glaring from one to the other of them. He held onto the door.

‘You can't touch me,' he said, and he seemed less than drunk. ‘You can't threaten me, either of you. I made the whole story up. There's nothing you can do to me … I'm too powerful – I'm more powerful than God!' He drew himself upright. Then he wrenched the door open, and stumbled out into the passage.

‘Oh my God,' Julia said. She sank down onto the sofa. ‘My God,' she repeated, ‘I feel completely gutted. I'm shaking all over.'

‘Well I'm not,' Leo exulted. ‘We got him. Between us we got the bastard. Come on, he's finished. I'll take that tape to the right quarters and he'll be arrested as a war criminal. Christ, I'm going to order a bottle of champagne …'

‘Not for me,' Julia said. ‘After that scene I couldn't celebrate anything.'

Leo stared at her. ‘What's wrong with you? You should be dancing on the bloody table. You've got the evidence … a full confession. Everything you could have wanted. Let's switch on and run through it. Here, where's it gone?'

He was searching among the magazines on the table, peering down to see if it had fallen to the floor. ‘Where is it?' He swung round in alarm.

‘I've got it,' Julia said. ‘Leo, I'm sorry. I want to listen to it on my own. Then you can have it. We should get copies made as soon as possible. And make sure the original goes to the right people. We'll have to give affidavits swearing to its authenticity and in witness of what happened here. We haven't won yet. When he sobers up, he'll fight.'

‘Practical lady, aren't you?' he mocked her. ‘Very cool head. What do you have in your veins, anti-freeze? Never mind, you go home and have a listen and I'll come round and pick it up later. Meantime,
I'm
going to celebrate. I've just thought …' He stopped and then he said, ‘I wonder if he had his driver tonight? Those roads up to his chalet are pretty tricky … Now that
is
a thought.' And he laughed.

Julia stood up. ‘I'd rather he stood trial,' she said quietly. ‘It's owed to all those people.' She left without saying good night.

‘I'm drunk,' King said aloud to himself. ‘I'm drunk. I shouldn't be driving.' They'd brought his car to the hotel entrance and he'd managed to steer it out and onto the road. His vision wasn't clear and his reactions were muddled. He pulled in. He could wait, even sleep for a while till the booze wore off. He'd talked about himself. He'd lost control. But his God-like vision of himself insisted that he had nothing to fear. He could crush the pygmies with a gesture. He switched off the engine and wriggled down in the seat to get comfortable. Thoughts, wild and disconnected; danced like goblins in his mind when he closed his eyes so he abandoned the idea of sleeping. He would rest, give his formidable system time to absorb the poison and dispel it. Then he would drive home. He switched on the radio; Swiss popular music assaulted his ears. He pushed the button several times at random till he found the BBC World Service. That was better. Listen to things of importance, events of moment. That was his world, his
métier
, not unimportant crap from an old war that nobody cared about any more. Nothing could touch him; no law could reach him. He could buy immunity from anything. World issues were his concern. He opened the window an inch to let in some fresh air, and settled down to listen and sober up.