Dominance (Fox Meridian Book 8) Page 6

  ~~~

  ‘The little worm tried to get a comment out of me earlier,’ Marie said as she sat with Fox and Sam, in Sam’s lounge, watching the stream from IB-269.

  ‘Naomi and I decided he was a maggot,’ Fox replied.

  ‘That seems fair. I blew him off.’

  ‘Seems fair.’

  ‘He seems to have managed to get a reasonable amount of information from somewhere,’ Sam commented.

  Fox gave a shrug. ‘Nothing I didn’t already know, as I said, and a lot less than there was to get. It might be interesting to find out where he got it from, but I somehow doubt it. If this comes to trial, all this would come out anyway.’

  ‘There could be some blowback to the Sisters.’

  ‘I’m going to say no… He knows Naomi’s involved, but he’s not willing to go up against her memetics people without confirmation. All he’s come out with is that Winsford used a professional dominatrix. That’s enough scandal to make the story juicy so he doesn’t need to risk pissing her off. He hasn’t used the recording he made of me for the same reason. He’s got a nice, juicy story about a vote broker who privately did everything he denounced in public. The only thing he’s got wrong is the inference that Winsford was murdered because of his hypocrisy.’

  ‘You’re sure he wasn’t?’ Sam asked.

  ‘Not absolutely sure, but that’s not how this reads to me. This was personal. Very personal.’ Fox glanced at Marie. ‘What were you doing out anyway? Shooting’s finished for M.J., right?’

  ‘Uh-huh,’ Marie replied. ‘Unless we need to do any reshoots anyway. I’m doing a lingerie commercial. Recording today and tomorrow. I was a little dubious, but it’s kind of stylish. Lots of soft focus and mood lighting.’

  ‘Lingering boob shots?’

  ‘Now you mention it…’

  ‘You realise this means we may have to watch a commercial?’

  Marie gave a shrug. ‘Maybe you’ll like the product. I think the stuff they’re selling is pretty sexy. Oh! Oh, yeah, Lucy Graves wants me to do some more modelling for her. She’s getting her summer collection ready.’

  ‘Summer?’ Fox frowned. ‘It’s not even spring yet.’

  ‘This kind of thing gets done well in advance. She wants to shoot the first week of February.’

  ‘You’re going to be wearing summer clothes that Lucy designed, in February, in Chicago…’

  ‘Well, that’s why it’s useful to have an actress doing it. I can act like it’s hot while I’m freezing my tits off.’

  ~~~

  ‘The mainstream news channels have picked up the story and are reporting it,’ Kit said. She popped up IB-62’s news programme, muted, but the background still the presenter was talking over told Fox all she needed to know.

  ‘I assume they’re just reporting the same details as IB-two-sixty-nine?’

  ‘Yes, Fox, nothing new. Apparently, they have failed to notice that there has been a marked increase in vote movement since IB-two-six-nine began streaming their story and… Yes, that rate has increased again since the evening news streams began.’

  Fox shook her head, adding a half-smile of amusement. ‘The rats have noticed the ship’s sinking. Any indication of where the votes are going?’

  ‘I’ll do a more thorough analysis tonight while you run your sleep cycle, but there seem to be two main benefactors. Mister Winsford had a disproportionate number of male delegates and they are primarily moving to one of his associates, Mister Barrymore Ashburton. One might describe him as a younger version of Mister Winsford, except with regards to his personal preferences. He has a reputation as a womaniser, which may explain why most of Mister Winsford’s female delegates are transitioning to Mrs Malina Totterham. Mrs Totterham is strongly opposed to legalised prostitution and is on record as saying that, despite his espoused values, Mister Winsford was weak on the subject.’

  ‘Yeah, well, if Winsford had got prostitution criminalised again, he’d have lost his ability to hire Naomi. So, Totterham is probably right.’ Fox examined the two ID images Kit had provided. Ashburton was a man who tried too hard: blonde and blue-eyed, both probably enhanced, and a face that had been sculpted into whatever he considered handsome. Totterham looked as though she had had cosmetic work done too, but the reddish-brown hair and green eyes were probably natural. They were both political animals, just from the slightly predatory gleam in their eyes and the impression of confidence about them. ‘If the vote transfers continue along the same lines, get me appointments to interview both of them tomorrow. I should probably talk to Ashburton anyway if he was an associate of Winsford’s.’

  ‘They are both members of the Blackburn Club,’ Kit supplied.

  ‘I am starting to get a really bad vibe about that place.’

  11th January.

  ‘Of course, Winsford never had women’s issues as a priority, but he managed to hold on to some female voters due to his general values. He was always strong on law and order.’

  Fox nodded vaguely and kept her opinions on that matter to herself. Malina Totterham was the kind of woman who rarely, if ever, kept her opinions anywhere but in public. In person, Totterham was a mid-height woman with a fit body. She was slim, but her hips and bust were not. The latter was, by Fox’s estimates, enhanced by at least two cup sizes, and her face had been modified more than Fox had got from the publicity still. She was thirty-five and looked a decade younger. On her own ground, in the house she shared with her husband on Madison Avenue, Totterham considered herself queen of all she surveyed, and that appeared to include Fox at the moment.

  ‘Also quite obviously,’ Totterham went on, ‘those women delegates would be inclined to move to me following Winsford’s death. Certainly, they would not go to Barry Ashburton. The man is slime.’

  ‘I’ll be interviewing Mister Ashburton this afternoon,’ Fox said.

  ‘I’d recommend a chastity belt.’

  ‘I’ll take that under advisement. What was your relationship with Mister Winsford?’

  ‘That, Miss Meridian, is a matter of public record.’

  Fox smiled. ‘It’s captain. Mister Winsford had a public record of strong morality, conservative behaviour and politics, and a general stance against prostitution even if he was not as active in that respect as you. Turns out that his personal position was somewhat different, wouldn’t you say? He was, in fact, more of a secretive man than a private one.’

  Totterham’s expression turned cooler. ‘He was certainly more of a hypocrite than I gave him credit for. I believe in everything I stand by in public. I don’t like having a public servant suggesting some form of duplicity on my part.’

  ‘You voted for private policing, Mrs Totterham. When the metro contracted to Palladium for policing services, as you wanted, you got me and I’m not your servant. Besides,’ Fox went on before Totterham could say anything, ‘it’s not uncommon for people to have disparate views on politics while maintaining a good personal relationship. You were both quite powerful vote brokers on the same side of the fence. You moved in similar circles and attended many of the same functions.’

  ‘Well, Winsford and I did not have a “good personal relationship.” We made personal attacks on each other. He started that when he saw my delegations rising.’

  ‘He considered you a threat?’

  ‘I assume so. However, while I attacked his stance on women and suggested one or two things about his morals which, I might add, appear to be true, his assault on me was more personal. He implied I married for money. On several occasions, he started rumours that I was involved with other men and even that I utilised the services of a prostitute. A female prostitute.’

  ‘Rumours. I assume you have no actual proof that he started them?’ Totterham glowered, which suggested that was a negative. ‘So, to summarise, you strongly disliked Thomas Winsford, he made personal attacks of a sexual nature on you designed to harm your voting delegations, and now that he’s dead and discredited, your delegations have risen significantl
y.’

  ‘Once again, I do not like your implication, Miss Meridian,’ Totterham said coldly.

  ‘For someone with strong views on women’s rights, you appear to have a problem with women in authority, Mrs Totterham. It’s still Captain Meridian, and I wasn’t implying anything. I summarised what you have told me about your relationship with Mister Winsford. You inferred that I considered you a suspect, but since you’ve made the inference, where were you between nine p.m. and midnight on January seventh?’

  ‘At a dinner party, with my husband and about eighteen friends. It began at eight and we left just after one. That was in East Hampton. I don’t have a problem with women in positions of power, Captain. I do have an issue with your support of the Sisters of Corruption. I don’t believe a member of our contracted police force should be seen in a position of support for such an organisation.’

  Fox got to her feet. ‘Luckily, I’m required to uphold the law, not your opinion of how it should be. I’ll need the names of your hosts on Saturday night, but I’ll get them from your PA.’ She turned for the door of the lounge she had been taken to for the meeting. The place had no v-tagged decoration. Everything was pale wood and old furniture. It looked like a drawing room in some European palace from about two centuries earlier. There was even gold paint on the mouldings around the windows. ‘Nice place you have here. Not to my taste, but it really says “Malina Totterham.”’

  ‘Uh, thank you. I assume you prefer something more modern.’ There was a hint of a sneer in Totterham’s voice.

  ‘Well, I went with an Art Deco look. Not especially modern. It’s nice that your husband let you have your way with the decoration.’

  ‘I beg your pardon?’

  ‘Well, this was his family home, right? You were in that apartment block in Brooklyn before here and, was it Odessa down in Virginia and West before that?’ Fox started walking. ‘Big rise for the girl from Odessa. I’ll see myself out.’

  There was the sound of sputtering from behind her, and Fox ignored it to keep on walking. ‘Well done on the research, Kit,’ Fox said silently.

  ‘We aim to please,’ Kit replied. ‘From my research on Mister Ashburton, however, it appears that Mrs Totterham’s suggestion might be a good one.’

  ‘Which suggestion was that?’

  ‘The one about the chastity belt…’

  ~~~

  Barrymore Ashburton had a large, ranch-style house set in a couple of acres of grounds near Sagg Swamp Nature Reserve and not far from the northern end of Sagaponack Pond. It was less than a mile and a half north of Reginald Grant’s old home, though Fox doubted Ashburton had ever known the madman she had left to die on the Moon. Aside from anything else, Grant had been a sociopath with little opinion of other humans, except where he could make use of them or hurt them, and Ashburton appeared to have both a very high and very low opinion of women.

  ‘It’s a real pleasure to make your acquaintance, Captain Meridian,’ Ashburton said, his smile and the fact that his eyes were not looking into hers suggesting that pleasure was his main focus.

  At a little over five-foot-ten, Ashburton was almost Fox’s height and he had the body to go with his face: sculpted. He was dressed in a lightweight shirt which clung to his chest and upper arms, and slacks which were tight around his thighs, but there was a look about him that suggested none of the muscle came from exercise. He looked, to Fox’s enhanced vision, overstuffed. His features were rugged, and probably enhanced from a reasonable base, but definitely enhanced. His hair had been lightened from a darker blonde and there were very few blue eyes that managed to be quite as blue as his without help. His teeth shone as though bleached and polished by a jeweller, but the smile which showed them off was all lasciviousness.

  At least he had remembered her title. ‘Thank you, Mister Ashburton. You–’

  ‘Please, call me Barry.’

  Fox smiled. ‘You were a friend of Thomas Winsford. Is that right?’

  ‘We met through the Blackburn Club. He’s, uh, he was a little outside the crowd I normally run with, you understand. Older generation, but we shared a lot of the same views. We got on pretty well. Me, him, Sherm, Walker, and Davy.’

  ‘Sherm? Sherman Wayden?’

  ‘Yeah. Walker Burrage. Walker’s the New York rep for RAW. Davy Neiman. He… makes adult entertainment.’

  ‘That would be Rossouw Arms Works,’ Kit supplied, ‘a company based in the South African Federation. They are Wayden Executive Services’ primary small arms supplier.’

  ‘Interesting,’ Fox replied to Kit. Aloud she asked, ‘Were you aware that Mister Winsford had a standing arrangement to hire a dominatrix when he was inclined to?’

  Ashburton’s brow furrowed. ‘Hell no! I still don’t believe that and I don’t like the police trying to blacken–’

  ‘I can assure you that the evidence is quite clear. I can also tell you that neither Palladium nor the dominatrix in question leaked the information to IB-two-six-nine. Have you ever been to or heard of a club called Sheela Na Gig?’

  ‘No. Wait… Yes. Davy mentioned it once. Uh… Some sort of fetish club? It’s more Davy’s kind of thing than mine. I’ve got my kinks, but that’s not one of them. Wasn’t Thom’s either. He was a straight-shooter as far as sex went. Used to like some of the stuff Davy produces, but–’

  Listening to Ashburton’s delusions regarding his friend were not getting Fox anywhere. ‘Now that Mister Winsford is dead, a lot of his delegations are moving your way.’

  ‘Well, they probably would have come my way soon enough anyway. Thom was going to retire, or go into government which amounts to the same thing. He’s got… I mean he had an in with the next president. Spend a term in one of the executive positions and then he’d have a shot at the top job.’

  Fox gave Ashburton an indulgent smile. ‘I’m pretty sure it doesn’t work that way, Mister Ashburton, but now you get those delegations a good two years early. Could you tell me where you were on Saturday night, say between nine and midnight?’

  ‘I was here. At home.’

  ‘Alone?’

  ‘On a Saturday night? Hell, no. Twins. Identical.’ Ashburton’s smile became a leer. ‘I’d be happy to demonstrate a few of the things we were doing.’

  Fox got to her feet and smiled back. ‘And I’d be happy to book you for assault if you tried. I’ll just take the names of your twins and that will be all, Mister Ashburton.’

  ~~~

  David Harold Neiman had what might have been described as a small estate on a promontory jutting out into Shinnecock Bay and bordered on one side by Tiana Bay. When you rolled up at the gates of the walled enclosure, you found out why the house was as large as it was: the sign outside indicated that this was the studios of Neiman Video Productions as well as the personal home of the company’s chairman.

  ‘He is actually the chairman, CEO, and financial director,’ Kit said as Fox walked up from the waterproof gates to the house. ‘He also produces and directs, and has written scripts for his videos.’

  ‘A real renaissance man.’

  The house was new and looked somehow out of place sitting on the shores of what had been one of the wealthiest areas of Long Island. A lot of the properties on this part of the coast had done badly with the changes in weather. The land was low-lying and strong storm surges had destroyed buildings simply not designed for that level of violence. Neiman had obviously managed to buy up a respectable plot of land, probably because the value of it had dropped alarmingly. The wall around his property was there to hold back the ocean as much as it was for security. The house had gone up in an ultramodern style. There was glass everywhere, but there were also storm shutters mounted to seal off the entire building if required. The central section was two storeys and, from what could be seen of the furniture, it was set up as one big bachelor pad. Leather, chrome, and modern art everywhere. To either side were single-storey extensions. On Fox’s right there was a swimming pool, fully enclosed and with a few people lou
nging beside it. The other side was blocked out into rooms and Fox was not entirely sure what their purpose was until she spotted a couple in one of the sections engaged in sex, with a cameraman standing over them. That area was the studios. On closer inspection, the people out by the pool were mostly nude.

  ‘This case is going to put me off sex entirely,’ Fox commented silently.

  ‘Your sex life is nothing to speak of at the moment anyway,’ Kit replied.

  ‘Well, yes… This isn’t making me want to get back on the horse.’

  The door, or one of the panes of glass, slid aside as Fox approached. She had already determined that Neiman himself was not meeting her at the door, because the person doing so was a beaming, five-foot blonde with truly amazing, rounded breasts barely contained in a cropped top. The girl’s shorts had probably come from a children’s collection, or maybe a doll’s, and looked tight enough to cut off circulation.

  ‘Hi there,’ the blonde sing-songed. ‘Are you here for the auditions? You’d be pearlescent in the pool scene. Totally terry body, girl. Who did your boobs?’

  Fox blinked while Kit giggled silently. ‘I used to say “God,” but now it’s a MarTech cybernetics engineer called Sonya.’

  ‘Uh…’ The blank look was priceless.

  ‘I’m not here for the auditions, I’m a cop. My assistant called ahead to ask whether Mister Neiman was available.’

  ‘We’re up to date on all our permits. Davy said so just last week. Or was that last month?’

  ‘It’s not about the permits. They don’t send me out on that kind of thing. No one’s in any trouble.’

  The blank expression switched into the beaming smile so fast Fox wondered how the girl’s muscles could possibly manage it. ‘Okay! Come in and we’ll go find Davy.’

  It was a little like hunting through a surrealist maze. There were structural walls, formed of polymerised concrete as best Fox could tell, but a lot of the space was delineated by glass or transparent plastic which was kept very clean. It made it easy to walk into a wall you had not noticed and Fox shifted her visual spectrum a little to give her a better chance of avoiding that occurrence.