Stop Me (12 page)

The sidewall was long and only the far segment of it accounted for the oriental garden. The first segment would be the front room and the kitchen but it was the small bit in the middle that Leo was keen to explore.

To his left were the windows of the next row of houses and Leo hoped that its occupants would be at work. Dead grass and cat urine pinched his nostrils and his temples and stomach buzzed from the overdose of caffeine.

When he reached the end of the wall he could hear the water wheel in the koi pond. He put his hands along the edge of the wall and tensed muscles he hadn’t used for some time to pull himself up. Shakily, he rested his knees on the sharp top edge of the wall and looked into the garden and then up to the windows at the back. The 
panes were dark and gave nothing away so he quickly lifted his legs over the wall and dropped down onto the gravel. He waited for the sound of human alarm from behind him but could only hear the faint shouts of the kids playing at the front. Bookwalter didn’t appear to have any sort of security system that Leo had noticed.

Two things had convinced Leo on this course of action. The way Bookwalter’s eyes had slipped sideways when they were having their conversation in the garden about what he had that Leo wanted and the five dinner plates that had been lined up on the breakfast bar when he’d left. Leo, Bookwalter, Perfecta and Toby – who had the fifth dinner plate been for?

He followed the wall that he’d just climbed until he reached the area that Bookwalter had glanced at. There was a room, maybe a utility room, with no windows, behind the kitchen. Only a blue-wash painted, wooden door accounted for its presence and a string of weathered red, paper Chinese lanterns hung across it. The room could obviously be accessed through a door at the back of the kitchen but Leo was hoping that he might be able to unlock it from the garden side.

He squeezed on the latch of the door and disappointingly found it didn’t budge. Then he heard a sound from within. It was a small, barely discernible scrape – metal against concrete – but a reflex made him step away from it and he prepared himself for a 
scrabble over the wall. He stood and waited, his temples inflating as he felt his circulation suddenly pumping solid in his wrists. He put his thumb on the catch again and pressed slowly down. It stuck solid and his breath snagged in his throat as he waited for it to trigger the noise again. There was nothing this time.

He became suddenly conscious of the water burbling behind him and looked up at the black windowpanes. He put his ear gently to the door and listened but the solid wood was only a sounding board for the blood surging in his head.

Perhaps it had been nothing more than the sound of the lock grating as he’d depressed it. He shifted his ear from the door and stood holding his breath until the back of his brain started to pound. He heard it again – a small scrape and this time he was nowhere near the door. He extended his hand to the latch again but it snapped up before he could touch it. Somebody was opening the door from within. He looked around the garden but there was nowhere to hide himself unless he jumped in the pool. There wasn’t even time to cover that distance though so instead he pressed himself against the wall.

The door opened, concealing his hiding place and he heard a step forward. Whoever it was standing at the threshold and Leo could hear them breathing through the open crack. It sounded laboured, like the air was being drawn though something that covered their 
mouth. They were obviously scanning the garden. Leo realised he still hadn’t breathed himself.

Something was about to give but he was afraid even to draw a little air through his nostrils because he knew his lungs would greedily suck in what they needed before he passed out. The other sounds of the garden seemed to recede and the strained breathing of the figure in the doorway slowed. But there was another noise behind it – a low murmuring. Suddenly the door banged shut again and the sound was like a spike in his chest. He gulped some oxygen and felt his heart fluctuate.

He leant forward, put his hands against his knees and felt a warm rush to his head. There was a pile of cigarette butts around his feet and each one was stained with lipstick. His trespass was immaterial – seeing what he suspected he’d find in the room was all that mattered now. He drew some more air in through his nostrils and yanked the door open.

Even though a single light bulb hung down to illuminate the interior, his eyes took a moment to adjust to the contrast between outside and the dinginess within. However, he immediately picked up the glare from the TV screen. It was positioned behind a tiny camera attached to a tripod that pointed in the direction of the back wall. Someone moved there and his eyes quickly adapted in time to register that it was the female in the boiler suit with the shaved head. 

She was tied to the chair and a large piece of black tape covered the bottom half of her face. It started to configure itself in the gloom and he could hear her breathing erratically through the tape. He heard the metal scrape as her chair slid back from him along the concrete floor and his eyes darted from her momentarily as he sought other occupants. She was alone.

The feet of her chair struck the back wall as his eyes darted back to her and a muffled exclamation bubbled up behind her gag. Her eyes expanded in panic and he raised his hand to placate her as he squinted through the gloom. He could smell her occupancy of the room; the stale air heavy with breath, perfume and body odour.

It couldn’t be Laura. How could she possibly be here? But Leo still couldn’t help himself from searching the emaciated features in front of him as he moved further into the room. He realised she probably couldn’t see his face, that he was just a black figure in a doorway of light.

She pumped her arms and suddenly she was free from her bonds and on her feet. Her hand went to her mouth and Leo heard a painful rip as she tore the tape from her face.

‘Who the fuck are you?’ Her voice and her face confirmed what he suspected and splintered the moment he wanted to believe. She wasn’t from Louisiana but her American accent was as unfamiliar as the bottom 
half of her features. Her mouth solidified around the end of her question, lips pursing around bad teeth.

‘John asked me to call in and check on you. See if there was anything you needed.’ He watched her shoulders sag in relief.

‘Are we off line then?’

‘Yeah, just time for a cigarette break.’

‘I thought you was an intruder…Jesus.’ She sat back down on the chair and put her head briefly in her hands. She ran her green varnished fingertips over the faint spikes on her head and stood again, pulling a pack of cigarettes out of the breast pocket of the boiler suit. ‘When am I going to get cable out here?’ She pushed past him and he wondered if she was even in her twenties.

He looked at the ropes on the chair that had been knotted so she could slip out of them when necessary and at the TV positioned behind the camera, beyond the vision of anyone logging on. He followed her out and found her sitting on the edge of the pool with her bare feet dangling in the water.

‘Know I’ve been told to stay out of the house but I’m dying to pee. I hope he’s stocked up the refrigerator.’ She was very young – probably seventeen. ‘Tell him I can’t survive on Sprite and Lunchables. Not when he’s only paying me twenty bucks an hour.’ She dragged her feet out of the water and strode off in the baggy boiler suit to open the back door. She tried the handle and it 
didn’t budge. ‘Hey, how did you get in?’

‘Over the wall. John didn’t give me a key.’

She seemed to accept this and produced a few keys from her pocket. ‘How long have I got?’

Leo looked at his watch. ‘Server’s down. Knock yourself out.’

‘You gonna tell if I use his jacuzzi?’

‘Your secret’s safe with me.’ He watched her disappear inside and considered following her to exact a bit of damage in Toby’s bedroom. The idea of trashing a teenager’s computer seemed pitiable though. Distancing himself from Bookwalter and his reprehensible enterprise seemed to be the best way to make himself feel better about ever having become associated with him in the first place.

Before he pulled himself back over the wall, however, he dumped the webcam and its tripod into the swimming pool.

Leo had booked his own flight for nine that evening so returned to L’agneau and slept properly for a couple of hours for the first time in days. He awoke in plenty of time to make it to the airport, splashed his face with water and headed down to reception to pick up his bag just before seven. The old boy at reception seemed relieved to see him.

‘Mr Sharpe, I didn’t know you were here. Agnes thought you’d walked off with the key but I told her you 
wouldn’t – not while we still had your bag in back.’

‘I’m sorry. There was nobody around when I came back. I wasn’t sure if I had to check out at a certain time or if it was OK for me to use the room til my flight.’

‘Check out’s at midday so I’m gonna have to charge you for an extra day.’

‘O…K.’ Leo pulled out his wallet and extracted his credit card.

‘Been serving at the private bar all afternoon.’

‘That’s probably why I missed you.’

‘Usually it’s just for guests but as he was waiting on you… Wish I’d known you’d gone up to your room. I could have told him.’

‘Sorry. Who?’

‘Gentleman that’s been waiting on you. I’ll go tell him. He’s just called a cab…ah…’

Leo turned in the direction of the old boy’s gaze and found Bookwalter standing in the doorway of the lounge bar.

‘Your friend’s returned,’ the old-timer said jovially to Bookwalter.

‘So I see…’ Bookwalter’s matching khaki shorts and shirt were unkempt, his expression unreadable. ‘We all missed you today, Leo.’

‘How did you know I was staying here? You followed me from the airport, didn’t you?’

Bookwalter’s hurt frown looked genuine. ‘Just hit recall when we got back from the restaurant. Spoke to this gentleman and he said I could come here and wait on you.’

Leo was about to turn in the direction of the old boy but knew his features would confirm this.

‘He tells me you’re leaving?’ Bookwalter wiped the edges of his moustache with his thumb and forefinger. 

Leo did turn to the hotelkeeper this time and his wizened features looked uneasy.

‘If you had second thoughts about signing you should-d talked to me,’ Bookwalter slurred. He was drunk and Leo wondered how long he had been waiting for him in the private bar while he slept upstairs.

Leo didn’t look at Bookwalter but sensed him move a step forwards. ‘Nothing else to discuss. My flight is in a few hours. Could I have my case, please?’

The old boy nodded emphatically, eager to have any unpleasantness over and done with. He disappeared into the small room behind reception and Leo heard Bookwalter taking another faltering shuffle forward. He’d obviously let go of the doorframe.

‘Nothing else to discuss? There is the small matter of you break-er-ing and entering.’

Leo had hoped his trespass wouldn’t be discovered before he left but now it seemed that telling Bookwalter what he’d found would be the perfect way to break off any further dialogue. ‘Twenty dollars an hour and all the TV you can watch – you’ll never be short of Lauras.’

‘You had no right to enter my property.’

‘I just climbed the wall.’

‘No matter. I’m going to have you arrested here and now.’

‘Don’t be ridiculous.’ Leo smelt Bookwalter’s parmesan breath as he slopped forward in his flip-flops and picked up the telephone. 

Bookwalter dialled. ‘Set up a fake business meeting so you could ransack my home.’ It was the first time Leo had heard genuine anger in his voice.

‘I didn’t ransack your home. I didn’t even go inside it.’

‘No. I’ve got a witness who’ll swear to it that you did though. Linnea would do anything for a few extra bucks and I can have the place trashed before the police get there.’

Leo met Bookwalter’s skewed gaze. He didn’t doubt that a venal teenager prepared to be tied to a chair for hours on end wouldn’t object to earning such easy money. ‘Go home and sleep it off.’

‘If they don’t arrest you here they can catch up with you at the airport. Could be a long time before you get home.’ Bookwalter’s squint seemed more pronounced and he narrowed his other eye while he waited for a reply.

‘Why are you doing this? This is over.’

‘Police. Yes, I want to report a break-in.’

Leo cut the call with his finger. ‘Enough. Go home to your family.’

‘Half an hour of your time.’ Bookwalter didn’t meet his eye and started dialling again.

Leo sighed. ‘What for?’

‘Just half an hour and I’ll drop the charges. Refuse and I’ll finish making this call when you leave.’

‘You can’t make any more money from Laura or me. 
What else is there left to discuss?’

‘This isn’t business, this is about me. Half an hour on the way to the airport – I’ll drop the charges and be out of your life.’

The old boy returned with Leo’s case.

‘Cab for Bookwalter,’ a female voice croaked.

The three of them turned in the direction of the entrance where a harassed woman with messy
straw-blonde
hair stood.

The old boy had been relieved that the three of them left together and after their cab driver had insisted on lugging Leo’s case and securing it in the car, Bookwalter climbed into the front.

‘Armstrong International via Claiborne Avenue.’ Bookwalter slammed his door.

Leo hadn’t even closed his before the cab took off and suddenly he had the sensation that he was relinquishing control over events. ‘So, where are we going first?’

‘I’ll spring for the cab fare. If this lady wouldn’t mind waiting while we stop off.’

‘No problem, hon.’ Her meter accelerated faster than she did so she sounded more than happy with the arrangement.

The sky was overcast but it was still close and the aircon blew her stale perfume and Bookwalter’s breath into Leo’s face.

‘What time is the flight?’ Bookwalter tried to turn in 
his seat but only got his head halfway round.

‘We should have time.’ Why the hell had he agreed to this? He hadn’t really taken Bookwalter’s drunken threat seriously. Perhaps he really did need to satisfy his curiosity before he left. Despite his selective psychosis, Leo couldn’t deny that he was perversely fascinated by Bookwalter and morbidly inquisitive as to what his last desperate manoeuvre would be. Was he now dispensing with the notion that Bookwalter could be dangerous though?

Nothing he’d seen had persuaded him that he was capable of anything more than cryptic but meaningless internet dialogue and inflated theatrics. However, as they were now heading for an unknown location, which would have set off alarm bells before his discovery of the self-incarcerated Linnea, he wondered if relaxing his guard was exactly what Bookwalter wanted.

Leo leant forward. ‘What’s in Claiborne Avenue?’

‘We’re going just off of it.’ Bookwalter pointed a pudgy finger at the car radio. ‘Mind if I turn that up?’

The three of them spent the rest of the short journey in the company of some middle-of-the-road rock channel that both Bookwalter and the cab driver seemed to enjoy before the cab slowed down and turned into Claiborne Avenue.

‘Just over there.’ Bookwalter stabbed a finger at the open gates of a cemetery. 

The cab driver turned to look at Bookwalter. ‘You sure, hon?’

‘It’s still early. We should be OK. You all right to wait?’

‘It’s your money. Half hour tops, though.’ She pulled the cab in front of the gates and switched off the engine.

Bookwalter got out of the car and Leo followed. His host flip-flopped unsteadily to the gates without waiting for him. Leo had heard how the cemeteries in New Orleans were rife with muggers and dealers but said nothing as they walked inside.

‘Everybody’s buried above ground here. Katrina caused some minor flooding but the tombs were virtually untouched when the waters soaked away.’

Leo could see a muddy brown waterline at the same height on the rows of mausoleum-type structures that bordered the pathway. Most of them looked dilapidated; their slated roofs crumbling and sprouting tufts of green grass through gaping cracks.

‘Do you like jazz?’ Bookwalter stopped and turned briefly but only, it appeared, to solicit a response so he knew Leo was still with him.

‘No.’

‘Lot of famous musical artists are buried here. Danny Barker, Ernie K Doe…’ Bookwalter wobbled forward again.

‘So…is this a musical pilgrimage?’ 

Leo didn’t like Bookwalter’s lack of response and as they turned the corner into another row he looked back at the cab as it disappeared from sight. They continued in silence for a while, the only sound Bookwalter’s
flip-flops
and the occasional pocket of air getting trapped in his sinuses.

The gated tombs seemed to have been forgotten, dead yellow blooms curling from their pots behind fences bloated with rust. The sky threatened rain and it looked like the hungover city was going to get the cleansing it desperately needed.

He caught sight of somebody moving between the adjacent rows to his right but the figure was gone before he could glimpse it properly. Somebody whistled way off and the echo of two dogs fighting increased his feeling of unease.

‘How much further do we have to go?’

‘I’m not really sure,’ Bookwalter drawled blithely.

He had one more minute and then Leo was turning back in the direction from which they’d come. Bookwalter took a wide arc down another row and headed towards a crossroads of ornate tombs. The largest one had a toppled cross on its roof and in front of them on the path, a stone urn had been smashed. Bookwalter stopped and appeared to be getting his bearings.

‘Look…I don’t want to miss this flight.’

‘I’ll pay for a later one if… It’s OK, I think we’re here.’ Bookwalter slopped purposefully forward, stepping onto 
the sepia grass and weaving his way around the back of the tomb with the toppled cross.

Leo followed tentatively and found Bookwalter breathing hard in a small square patch of dirt formed by the backs of four tombs. The suddenly enclosed space made Bookwalter’s breath bounce from every side. Leo heard his own swallow echo back at him as he waited for an explanation.

Bookwalter appeared to be gathering himself. To focus, gird or just for effect Leo couldn’t say. ‘Ever get sick of inhabiting yourself?’ The short journey had obviously taken it out of Bookwalter and he breathed in close and heavy behind the words.

‘What do you mean?’ But he knew exactly what he meant.

‘They say that a high proportion of serial killers are in their thirties because they’ve reached a common crisis point.’ Bookwalter seemed to be concentrating on getting the words out whole. ‘Their lives haven’t panned out and they need to shake things up – to become more significant than they are through any means. Combine that with the sort of mind-numbing job that allows too much time to think – to obsess – and it’s small wonder serial killing’s not a more common pre-cursor to midlife crisis.’

‘And that’s why you confessed to being the Vacation Killer.’ Leo looked at his watch but didn’t register the time. 

‘No, that’s when I came here. Used to be my
late-night
haunt. Booze and bad company were nev-
very-welcome
with Jean.’

Bookwalter’s first reference to what Leo assumed was his ex-wife seemed to hint at something more than another elaborate con and he waited for the smudgy narration to continue.

Bookwalter breathed in some parched air through his nostrils. ‘I wasted a lot of time here – drunk, stoned, paying for what I never got at home – but I can’t say that I’ve ever really regretted it. I needed-do it before I could get myself straight.’

Was this just going to be an indulgent outpouring? He supposed that Bookwalter’s Christian sensibility had to have an outlet for guilt but was he really trying to justify himself to Leo in the final few minutes before he left?

‘She was face down in that corner when I stabbed her.’