Detective Santos confirmed this with a nod. "Very effective blackmail, it appears. And, by the way, he is, indeed, 'the big man.' His methods were very simple. Once he identified a potential investor, he did his damndest to land the poor sucker in a compromising position. With some of his targets, particularly the married ones, his cooperative girlfriend and her highly acrobatic friends were enough. I will leave out the details of some of the adventures described to me by Miss St. Claire, as you would find them difficult to believe, anyway. Other marks were not so easy, but quite a few usually succumbed to the lure of the unknown and exotic. Specifically, a transvestite here and there. Or a young boy."
Lilah sputtered on her coffee and T.S. patted her gallantly on the back. "I wonder what he had in mind for me?" she asked.
"No telling," Santos answered drily. "But I can guarantee you that you'll never get the chance to find out." He shuffled his notes and continued. "People being as stupid as they are, his victims would apparently oblige him in his schemes by drinking so much that they could hardly see and were begging to be compromised. With their judgment drowned in booze and party drugs, it was an easy matter to gain evidence of some sort of sexual misconduct against them. Photographs were taken or, in the case of the apartment on West Forty-Sixth, videotapes. Which he has probably turned around and copied for sale to voyeurs, if he's the kind of guy I think he is." The detective looked up. "He had the remarkable ability to sniff out investors with a penchant for these kinds of things. You, Mr. Hubbert, eluded his radar. According to Miss St. Claire, he couldn't quite figure out what you wanted."
"Thank God for that," T.S. interjected. The other stared at him curiously. Well, that didn't quite come out right, he thought.
"Once he had blackmail material," Santos explained, "he tightened the screws. Potential investors were told to put up a certain amount or risk exposure. The amount was carefully chosen to hurt, but not hurt too much. It was the perfect scam. Anxious to protect their reputations, investors would hand over tens of thousands of dollars. In return, Worthington kept quiet and, in some cases, kept feeding their nasty habits. Plus, the schmucks could always hold out the hope, however rare, that they might actually make some profits or, at least, get a few tax deductions. It wasn't a far-fetched scheme at all. In fact, Miss St. Claire maintains that he's financed three flops so far in this manner."
"Three?" T.S. asked incredulously.
"Yes." Santos consulted his notes. "A musical version of the McCarthy hearings, a drama based on Fatty Arbuckle's life and something entitled Mr. Bojangles Goes to Washington. Would you like to hear the details?"
"No!" they all chorused.
"At any rate, all three efforts bombed. But the financing was always there to try something new."
"Albert," Lilah said suddenly. She looked at T.S. and he shrugged. He didn't even want to speculate on what Lance Worthington might have on the illustrious Albert. As the victor, he could afford to be gracious.
"Can't help you there," Santos told her. "Though Mr. Hubbert here told me the story about Albert and it sounds like he is a victim. But I doubt your Albert or any of the other blackmail victims will be very forthcoming. To continue—Worthington does own the building on Forty-Sixth Street. He bought it about three years ago. Some of his tenants were uninvolved in his activities, but about a year ago he started driving out as many of them as he could and replacing them with struggling actresses and actors who, in exchange for free or low-cost rent, performed small favors for him." He raised his eyebrows. "Details anyone?" They shook their heads vigorously. "Good. You don't want to know. One of the tenants, who calls himself Gregory Rogers, was involved in your kidnapping last night, Miss Hubbert. He has no prior record and your story matches his. He appears to be no more successful as a villain than he was as an actor."
"Please go easy on him. He didn't want to harm me," Auntie Lil pointed out again.
"He didn't particularly want to help you, either," the detective countered.
"What about Emily? Where does she come into it?" T.S. asked.
Santos sighed. "Here it gets sketchy, because Worthington isn't talking, but it seems that she first