Stop Me (11 page)

Leo was sitting in Bookwalter’s oriental garden, sipping the glass of iced tea that Perfecta had made for him before she’d gone back indoors. Bookwalter was showering and Toby had returned to his workspace.

The garden of stepped lilies and peonies was sheltered from the wind by a high red brick wall and the only sound was the water churning around the bamboo water wheel in the pond at its centre. Leo observed the handful of koi leisurely gliding into each other, then looked across at the swimming pool and jacuzzi on a raised platform at the end of the lawn. Everything looked a little cramped – as if the wealth was rapidly outgrowing its dimensions.

Whatever Bookwalter wanted from Leo he doubted that it was anything beyond using him to legitimise his 
ludicrous claims to infamy. It looked to be a full-time living for Bookwalter – a family business that needed to keep on delivering. He seemed to be the ultimate example of an anti-celebrity – famous and dependent on the patronage of warped sickos and people with too much time on their hands who took great delight in according cult status to unfortunates and lunatics. Multiply those people the world over and it wasn’t inconceivable that serious money could be made from offering to cut in the advertisers on his spurious popularity.

Underneath Leo’s anaemic mortification, however, there was a resounding sense of relief. Bookwalter’s pathetic attempts to perpetuate his claims were laughable and the apprehension that he’d been feeling ever since he got on the plane had rapidly dissolved. The duplicity was as much his as Bookwalter’s – he’d disregarded his own intuition and allowed himself to be hoodwinked, and for that reason he summoned most of the disgust for himself.

Leo wondered if Perfecta and Toby held down jobs or if perpetuating the Vacation Killer actually kept the wolf from the door for the entire family unit. How much of their lifestyle was skimmed off the back of shattered lives and events they had no connection to? He was determined to halt Bookwalter’s set up, pull the plug on his whole offensive little enterprise. Doing that would at least be the beginnings of a justification of his involvement with him – a positive course of 
action that would have an actual repercussion. Maybe that way he could begin to make amends for sullying his and Laura’s lives by even being associated with him.

Bookwalter was undoubtedly right; there was probably nothing the authorities could do. Not even the live image Leo’d been shown could be classed as illegal. It could still all be explained away as an elaborate performance as could everything his host accused himself of. He looked around and speculated as to how the family had lived before the Vacation Killer had murdered his first victim. Was Bookwalter as brain damaged as he’d always suspected or had everything been coldly calculated from the moment he’d walked into the precinct and attempted to confess?

Perfecta returned with the tray of home-baked cookies and set them down on the patio table, tightening her lips into a smile before turning to leave again.

‘You have a lovely home, Mrs Bookwalter.’

She reached the patio door again before she decided to turn and answer his unspoken question. ‘We’re not married.’

Leo thought about his next question but she answered it before he’d asked.

‘I’ve lived under his roof for over three years now but he’s never asked me.’ Her eyeballs rolled briefly upwards and Leo wondered if it was weary affection or a genuine gripe out of earshot. 

Idly, Leo wondered what had happened to Toby’s mother. ‘The three of you seem very happy.’

Perfecta nodded a little too quickly as if pleasantly surprised to be engaged in conversation. ‘There are many things I would like but…’ She cut herself off. ‘We’re very fortunate.’ The words didn’t sound like her own.

‘And you’re quite comfortable with John being…’

She smiled this time, the first genuine one he’d seen. ‘It’s not so different to live with a celebrity.’ She seemed certain of this. Not that Bookwalter had ordinary habits but of the fact that he was most definitely famous. Her smile turned into a smirk. ‘I tell people he is as messy as any other man.’

So Perfecta was star-struck. It certainly explained why she would happily clean up after Bookwalter and Toby.

She seemed to detect his bemusement and the smile left without a trace. ‘He’s always provided well for me.’

‘Does it not bother you how he makes his living?’

‘He’s always provided well for me.’ She shrugged her shoulders and this time her hostility showed she really meant it.

‘So, you know everything he and Toby do?’

She pursed her lips before she answered. ‘I’m his bookkeeper. There’s nothing he does without consulting me. John admits he’s hopeless with money so he leaves everything to me. I pay the bills, I put food in mouths but I know who keeps me alive.’ She made as if to leave 
and then turned and looked him sourly in the eye. ‘And what do you do?’

‘It’s a good question.’

She waited for Leo to finish answering but he already had. He looked into his iced tea and waited for a response but realised she was gone. He was about to take another sip when he was blinded by the flash of a camera.

Turning, he found that Bookwalter and Toby had replaced Perfecta at the open patio doors. Bookwalter beamed. He looked different and Leo realised it was not only because he’d now changed into a darker blue Hawaiian print shirt but because his hair was slicked back from his shower and he now wore spectacles which magnified his eyes comically. Toby stood beside him with the camera.

‘Don’t take pictures of me,’ Leo said definitively. Was this part of Bookwalter’s package deal? Did he want the pair of them shaking hands?

‘Later, Toby.’ Bookwalter said it as if it was a certainty and blinked twice at Leo through his thick lenses. ‘Dinner’s almost ready.’ He clacked into the garden in his flip-flops and pulled back the wooden chair opposite Leo. ‘Sorry we can’t offer you anything stronger but we don’t keep beer or liquor in the house. Perfecta doesn’t want me tempted back to my old ways.’ Leo noticed he had a black leather document wallet in his hand and he laid it on the table as if it were a fait accompli. 

‘Am I to sign something?’

‘Yes.’ Bookwalter adjusted the specs on the bridge of his nose and unzipped the wallet. ‘Once you’ve read it of course. I have a copy for you to take away. Absorb it in your hotel room. That’s, of course, if you haven’t changed your mind about staying with us.’

After what he’d just been shown upstairs, the offer seemed even more ludicrous. ‘I haven’t. I just wanted to make sure you’re covering my imminent flight back.’

‘You know I’m good for those tickets. You can return any time you want but the fact is if you weren’t intrigued by my proposition you wouldn’t still be sitting in my home.’ Bookwalter pulled out a fat document and flipped it open to the first page.

He was right. Could he really dismiss the image he’d been shown? Yes, just, almost – but surely Bookwalter’s bargaining position didn’t rest on the grainy image of somebody who so obviously could have been anybody. Or maybe Bookwalter knew that however insubstantial it was it would still be enough. ‘What exactly do you think you have that I want?’

Bookwalter’s eyes slipped sideways and then he looked openmouthed at Leo as if the question was academic. ‘The truth.’

‘And that’s what you’re supplying.’

‘Whether you believe me or not, what I’m offering is a cross section of what I do here. It’s not everybody 
I invite in like I’ve done you.’ Bookwalter seemed genuinely hurt.

‘Look, maybe you’ve reached the stage where you can’t even admit your own lies to yourself but can’t you see what you and your family do is monstrous?’

‘Have we not given you hope?’

Leo was momentarily dumbstruck. ‘Is that what you’re in this business for?’

‘Partly. I think the site…helps people.’

‘Help? Is that what you were doing when you claimed to hold my wife prisoner?’

Bookwalter licked his lips while he considered his response. ‘We’re a Christian family, Leo. Everyone’s got to earn a living and we help who we can in the process. Don’t tell me our conversations weren’t a comfort to you.’

‘So let me understand what you’re saying. You’re a Christian serial killer who claims responsibility for the mutilation and murder of innocent people to make a few dollars from the internet. And you can square all of that because you’ve been psychoanalysing me.’

‘Not a few dollars, Leo.’ Bookwalter’s eyes sparkled now and he seemed entirely unscathed by what Leo had said. ‘And if you’ll just let me explain what I have in front of me you’ll understand how this can work for everyone.’

‘So when you show me that the person, whoever it is, tied to that chair isn’t the person you’ve been 
claiming it to be, when you take away my only reason for ever being associated with you while you’ve been blackmailing the desperate and weak part of me, you really don’t expect me to do everything in my power to put you where you seem desperate to go.’

‘You could have put a stop to this months ago; why didn’t you?’ Bookwalter licked his thumb and turned another page of the document, raising his eyebrows to study the print. ‘It wasn’t me doing all the talking.’

‘No. Toby did a lot of it.’

Bookwalter looked up and again he looked wounded. ‘Toby only ever filled in when I was indisposed.’

‘So who was it in Chevalier’s – you or your teenage son?’

Bookwalter narrowed his eyes as if Leo’s comment was noxious. ‘Nobody could have written that but me.’

‘Seeing as you’ve never left the state of Louisiana, how could I ever have doubted you?’

‘There are many things you know about me but even more you don’t.’

Now it was like they were at their keyboards again, Bookwalter rattling off his tenebrous lines of evasion.

‘It doesn’t sound as if you’re even considering this. It could be the opportunity to answer all the questions you’ve been putting to me since you first made contact.’

‘I first made contact with you because I wanted the photo of Laura removed.’

‘The photo that you’d never seen before. Not curious 
about how I came by it?’

It sounded to Leo like Bookwalter was trying to use any scant piece of leverage he had. ‘So, just what is in this document that you expect me to sign?’ Leo wondered if it was too thick to tear from top to bottom in front of Bookwalter’s blinking eyes.

‘Take it away, look it over…’

‘Précis it for me.’

‘Very well. This document allows you access to every classified level of
stillonvacation.com.
Not only that but it grants you exclusive admittance to my personal archive and database, as well as a small percentage of gross from the site—’

‘More importantly, I’m sure, what does it grant you?’

‘Complete immunity from prosecution by you or your representatives.’ Bookwalter fixed him with his magnified blue-grey eyes and bit down earnestly on his lip so his red moustache folded into his mouth.

Leo was momentarily speechless. ‘And why would you need that?’

‘One less suit for me to worry about.’

‘So, what exactly are you planning for the future?’

‘Like Toby said, we’re overhauling the whole site.’

Leo visualised the incarcerated figure shifting in the chair. ‘And you didn’t think I’d have a problem with this.’

‘The Vanderplows certainly didn’t.’

The name didn’t register with Leo for a few seconds, but he had to take a sharp intake of breath when he realised who Bookwalter was referring to. Jill Vanderplow was the Vacation Killer’s second victim. She’d disappeared from Windham County, Connecticut on the 13th March 2006 and her jawbone had been 
mailed to the local police four days later.

‘Like most of the victim’s families, they actually still believe that it was Bonsignore that took their daughter, but life goes on and they still need to put food on the table. At least my site keeps Jill’s memory alive.’

‘They signed this?’ Leo hated the incredulity in his own voice. Bookwalter had to be lying.

‘They’re the only ones who have so far. I’ve had flat turndowns from the other families. The Andersons are taking advice though.’

Estelle Anderson was the mother of two from New Hampshire who suffered the same fate. ‘They’ve given you their blessing to claim responsibility for their murders?’

‘I claim it regardless. I’m an inconsequential lunatic to them but why not extract something positive from one of the hundreds of sites that have become intrigued by events that were entirely beyond their control.’

Leo found himself on his feet. ‘Fuck this.’

‘You won’t sign?’ It sounded like Bookwalter had something rehearsed for this eventuality but Leo wasn’t about to give him the opening.

‘This is beyond vile opportunism. I can’t believe I actually allowed you to lure me here.’

Bookwalter didn’t rise though. He sat with his hand on the document wallet and focused on Leo’s midriff. ‘Don’t dismiss me.’ He said it coolly, evenly – as if Leo 
would regret attempting to. Leo rejected it as part of the performance. He left him on the patio and made his way back into the house. The smell of meat cooking was thick in the air and he glanced into the kitchen as he passed down the hallway. Perfecta and Toby were there and looked up from where they were serving green vegetables onto the row of plates on the breakfast counter.

‘You leaving us?’ Toby seemed genuinely mortified and the look on Perfecta’s face said the same.

Leo didn’t reply, just made his way to the front door, opened it and walked out into the street. He’d seen enough. Nobody followed.

‘You trying to get an outside line?’ The wavering voice of the old boy who’d carried Leo’s cases to his room cut in. It appeared he was the receptionist of Hotel L’agneau as well as the bellhop.

‘Yes, it’s a mobile number.’

‘Just press 8 and wait for the dial tone, sir.’

‘Thank you.’ Leo did as instructed and waited for a reply. He’d left the bathroom mid-shower and was still dripping wet with a towel around his waist. He’d already made two similar trips to the telephone but had second thoughts and hung up. Now it was ringing.

‘Hello,’ Bookwalter oozed.

‘It’s Leo.’

‘Hey, Leo…you left in quite a hurry.’ 

‘Apologies for that, I just needed some time to take things in. Mull them over.’ His nostrils picked up the smell of stale beer and urine wafting through the window.

‘Perfectly understandable.’ Bookwalter left the line static between them.

‘I’d like to take another look at the contract.’ Leo felt droplets running cold down his back.

‘Of course.’ Leo imagined Bookwalter biting his moustache ‘Swing by and you can take as long as you want.’

‘No. There are a few conditions before I sign and I want to address them to you and your family.’

There was a pause. ‘Sure.’ It was the last thing he sounded.

‘Let me buy you all lunch tomorrow. What was the name of the place you mentioned today?’

‘King Crawdaddy’s but it’s really not necessary.’

‘I’m going to fly back tomorrow evening so I’d like to experience some authentic cooking before I leave. One o’clock sound OK?’

‘Appreciate that but Perfecta’s more than capable of cooking for us.’

‘I’m sure but I’ve already ruined one of her dinners. It would be my way of apologising.’

Another pause. ‘OK. Can I ask – why the sudden turnaround?’

‘I’ve been thinking about what you said. I’m 
not saying I’m going to sign but I’d at least like the opportunity to look over your figures.’

‘I don’t think you’ll find any fault with those.’ Bookwalter’s voice became animated again but suspicion still lurked behind it.

‘See you all at one then?’

‘Wednesday is Perfecta’s shopping day and Toby had golf plans. Can we not come to an arrangement between ourselves?’

‘That’s the condition.’ It was Leo’s turn to let the line buzz.

‘OK. I don’t know why you would insist on that if there weren’t some ulterior agenda…’

‘They’re all involved in this. They all benefit from Laura’s disappearance. I want them to fully appreciate what it will mean for me to sign this.’

‘OK, they’ll be there,’ Bookwalter chimed in quickly as soon as Leo mentioned his signature.

‘One o’clock tomorrow then. I’ll make the reservation under my name.’

Leo rose the next morning as soon as it was light, did the small amount of packing that was necessary and checked out. The old boy said it was fine by him to leave his suitcase behind reception so Leo helped him put it there and walked into town.

It was a cool, grey day and hangers-on seeing out the last days of their vacation filled up the street cafes 
with their wan expressions. The whole city seemed to need an Alker-Seltzer and Leo’s appetite was as absent as everyone else’s. He’d made the reservation at King Crawdaddy’s the night before when he came across it by chance. He glanced at his watch and realised he still had five whole hours before the Bookwalter family would turn up.

He weaved his way through back streets to the river and, after walking some way along the west bank, he bought a cup of gritty coffee from a snack stand. It looked as if the owner had scooped it out of the Mississippi. The sun came out and tourists on a paddle steamer churned slowly past.

What about Mutatkar? What about the phone call and the room and the laptop? With the Doctor dead, however, Leo suspected he’d probably never find out why he’d contacted him. Dakini Mutatkar knew nothing and Leo had already had his chance to search for any sign of Laura amongst the little the doctor had left behind in Bell Terrace. Maybe it was time to give the laptop and the keys to the police. That prospect seemed even more of a dead end though.

He slung his empty cup into a nearby bin and looked around as if he’d suddenly woken there. How far had he walked? He glanced at his watch again and made his way back to the street to call a cab.

He got it to drop him a couple of streets away from Bookwalter’s home and retreated to a combined mini 
mart and coffee house, nursing several more cups while he waited for lunchtime.

He estimated Bookwalter would leave at about quarter to one to make it to King Crawdaddy’s in time but didn’t venture near the property until just past the hour. Allowing for the time it would take the family to arrive, get seated, slowly realise he wasn’t coming and then drive back home Leo reckoned he had at least three quarters of an hour. A group of kids were playing at the front of the row but didn’t pay attention to him as he walked nonchalantly past them and round to the side alley of Bookwalter’s place.