Stop Me (14 page)

The aggressive aircon in the reception area gave him goosebumps as he stepped in through the immense glass doors. A middle-aged receptionist smiled at him and he walked towards her through the white-washed seating area.

‘How can I help you today?’ She seemed to expect him to answer the question long before he’d arrived at her leather-fronted station.

Leo smiled as he leant casually on the reception desk. ‘I’ve an appointment with Mr Coker.’ Was that a curly blonde wig she was wearing? He tried to focus on her pink-glossed mouth.

‘Alrighty.’ She nodded and tapped the keyboard to her computer, then frowned. ‘And your name is?’

‘Geoffrey Chase.’ It was the name on the back of a 
removals lorry he’d followed out of Winnett.

‘There’s nothing here.’ There was mortification in her voice. ‘When did you make the appointment?’

‘Only yesterday. Very informally. He said he didn’t think it would be a problem.’

‘I’ll just call him. What’s his first name?’

‘I have his card here somewhere.’ Leo searched through his leather jacket for her benefit and could feel her eyes appraising him.

‘Is this work-related?’ She didn’t sound as if she would believe him if he said it was.

‘Kind of. He said he was the only Coker who worked here. Would you have his details there?’

‘Let me check.’ She tapped at her keyboard again. ‘Wesley Coker?’

‘That’s him,’ he said a little too quickly.

‘Take a seat and I’ll try and search him out.’

Leo sat in the row of matching brown leather seats nearest the reception.

‘Hi Jane, it’s Margot. I’ve got a Mr Chase here. Australian I think. Has an appointment with Mr Coker but I’ve got nothing on my spreadsheet…OK. Thanks, Jane. Are you going to the factory cook-out tonight? Yeah, coleslaw duty for me as well. No, the band’s cancelled so you know what that means. We’ll be leaving long before the line-dancing though. OK. See you there.’ The receptionist replaced the phone. ‘Mr Coker’s just coming out of a meeting so he’ll be down right now.’ 

‘Thanks.’ Leo half stood to receive the news, sat again, waited for a few moments and then stood and walked back to reception. ‘Just remembered I’ve left something in my car. Be two minutes.’

‘OK, Mr Chase.’ She seemed eager to show him she’d remembered his name.

Leo strode through the sliding doors again and the heat draped itself back over him. He turned right and walked back to his car, climbing back up into it and sitting back in the driver’s seat until his circulation slowed. Then he started the engine and reversed out of the space, manoeuvring it to a parking space behind the front row so he could watch reception.

Margot was talking on the telephone to someone else but Leo kept his focus on the swing doors either side of her. From somewhere in the building, Wesley Coker was on his way to meet him.

A couple of minutes later a tall man appeared through the doors to the left. Leo was expecting another Bookwalter so Coker’s androgynous appearance took him by surprise. He wasn’t very old, mid to late thirties, with a neatly kept mane of pale blonde hair that came down to his shoulders. His sharp, handsome features were a raw colour, as if he’d been exposed to the cold and his gait was very effete, his loose-fitting white shirt and tan chinos flapping about his slender body.

Leo watched him wait for Margot to finish and then 
their brief exchange. Margot gestured towards where Leo had sat and then out of the doors. They both looked outwards and, it seemed, directly at where he was now parked. He studied the acute features of Wesley Coker as his eyes narrowed at the car park. Coker studied his watch before sitting heavily on a seat in the waiting area as if his slight frame were already exhausted with the action of standing up.

Watching Coker, Leo started the engine and quickly reversed out of the space. Margot was back on the telephone and as he spun the wheel and headed down the row the wrong way the movement made Coker turn in his direction. But Leo had already disappeared from sight. So now he’d put a name to a face, what next?

He only had to wait a few moments before the question had been answered. An arrow on a sign at the end of the row pointed right to G
RISTEX
V
ILLAGE
.

He found a smaller, gravelled car park at the back of a building that served as a forecourt for a similar two-storey conglomeration. The housing complex was squeezed tighter together, brighter coloured curtained windows contrasting with the grey blinds of the main building. There was no human movement, and even though it was likely most of the occupants would be at their desks or working in the factory, it was still eerily quiet. As he crunched over the gravel and then the soft Astroturf verge that led to the homes, however, he 
began to pick up sounds – a TV or radio somewhere, a baby crying and the low motor hum of some domestic appliance.

His eyes soon adjusted from the glare of the sun to the cool shade of the labyrinth of slim, flagstoned walkways. These narrowly divided the uniform,
navy-blue
front doors. The whole setting reminded him of the time he and Laura had visited Venice – this was a uniquely detached community that preferred its privacy and isolation.

He stopped at the mailbox of the third residence, set into the wall beside the front door. The name of the occupants was written in a small Perspex window. Thomas Frescabaldi was the occupant of number five. Leo wondered how long it would take him to find Coker. He backtracked and checked that neither of the previous doors belonged to him and then continued down the alleyway.

Turning the corner he ran into a heavily pregnant red-headed woman pushing a pram. She smiled at him through her freckles and they awkwardly negotiated around each other. Leo stepped over the wheels of the pram so she could get by and flattened himself against the wall until she’d passed. He looked back and so did she and he wasn’t sure if it was because he was a stranger or because she thought her jagged denim hot pants had done the trick. She was good looking and probably in her late twenties. Had to be a tedious life 
out here. She half smiled and continued on her way as Leo focused on the next door.

Like Venice he suddenly found himself in a small square with passageways leading off from each corner. Instead of a church or pizzeria however he found himself outside what looked like a community hall. Some sun-faded stars and stripes flags hung along its metal-shuttered facade and a hand-written sign pinned on the door advertised the ‘BBQ’ that Margot had been discussing. He decided to take the corner immediately in front of him with a payphone beside it.

Minutes later he was lost and couldn’t even find his way back to the square. He passed Matthew and Jolie Romero’s mailbox for the third time and looked at his watch. It felt like he’d been walking around in there for hours but it had been scarcely thirty minutes. He still had a lot of ground to cover and his circuits of one section were starting to make him anxious. He really should have eaten and he could feel his knees starting to liquefy.

He arrived at a familiar crossroads and turned left this time; positive that he hadn’t encountered the names on the mailboxes he passed on the long passageway that led to the next crossroads. Before he turned, however, he found Wesley Coker’s name underneath the mailbox of the last house in the row. He stared at it for a moment and then up and down the passage. Nobody was around. Even if anyone did see him Leo wondered 
if they’d recognise him as an outsider or if the various departments of Gristex were as exclusive to each other as any other organisation.

He peered through the nets of the window over the mailbox and made out daylight through an open doorway at the back of the kitchen. He walked to the end of the crossroads and turned right, finding himself in an open area of compact back gardens. The gated squares of grass in each allotted area looked like Astroturf as well and identical terracotta troughs of cacti were positioned on every back windowsill.

It was to be his second domestic trespass but he doubted that Coker or any of the other residents would have need for heavy security measures in such a remote location. He tried the handle of the frosted glass back door. It didn’t budge. Then he noticed the tiny gap between the back downstairs window and the ledge. He could just see the edge of the net curtain undulating in the crack.

‘Help you with something?’

Leo turned to find a balding man with a large liver spot at his right temple. He looked to be in his sixties but wore a faded black Dropkick Murphys T-shirt and tracksuit bottoms. He had a bag of shopping in each hand.

Leo thought quickly. ‘I’m visiting Wes but he’s not home yet.’

The man’s pinched leather brown features relaxed a little. ‘You related?’ 

‘Sort of.’

‘Can’t remember the last time he had any visitors. Works too hard. Hope you’re going to lead him into mischief – God knows, I’ve tried. I’m Sam Harlow, my wife died five months ago.’

Sam extended his hand and Leo didn’t know how to react. ‘Sorry to hear that.’ His fingers were being crushed.

‘Got a key if you’re interested. He left it with me for emergencies and for watering his bonsai when he’s on vacation.’

Leo couldn’t believe his luck. The crime in this community was probably nil. ‘That would be great.’

‘One condition. Whatever you plan to do together – count me in.’

Leo imagined the average Gristex home would be uniformly soulless but was still taken aback when he entered Coker’s home. How long had he worked for the company? Perhaps he’d only just moved in to this particular unit – this seemed to be the only explanation for the scant furnishings within. He guessed that the framed pictures of bloody sunsets that adorned the place were probably hanging in every other house on the block, but the powder terracotta furniture that matched the walls didn’t even look as if it had been sat on. The only small area of inhabitation was the ‘office’ which consisted of a slightly paper-cluttered computer desk in the space under the slatted wooden stairs. He glanced through the small pile of utility bills there and wondered if it was worth turning on the computer. 

An electric air freshener hissed peridodically from the corner, leaving a distinct smell of coconut oil in the air. Walking into the small champagne-tiled kitchen, Leo found no dirty dishes or cutlery in the sink and only some meagre staples in the fridge. Coker was clearly a man who took advantage of the staff canteen.

He climbed the stairs to the small landing above and found the main bedroom. A pair of sandals was the only immediate sign of occupation until he slid open the wall-to-ceiling wardrobe door. Crisp pastel shirts, ties and chinos hung on the rack and a small selection of brown leather shoes were neatly arranged below. He opened Coker’s bedside drawer and was suddenly assailed with the same feeling he’d had prior to meeting Bookwalter. Was he rummaging through the belongings of an entirely innocent individual? Then he remembered Bookwalter’s graveside confession and Leo considered how outwardly harmless appearances could so easily conceal deeds of the past. And why
would
there be any traces of a person’s psychosis, particularly in a homogenous place like this?

There were a few canisters of pills and a folded travel alarm clock. Nothing else. He walked past the small bathroom and looked into the box room. It was just big enough for the bench and weights but nothing else hung on the walls. In fact, nothing of Coker’s personality was in evidence except for the three aforementioned bonsai trees sitting on the landing windowsill. Perhaps they 
came with the house as well though, like the cacti outside. He hadn’t seen a book or music collection and as he walked back towards the stairs he wondered how a person could occupy such a small space without some of his self rubbing off. Perhaps he only lived here at weekends? Perhaps he had a wife and kids he returned to? There were no photos though, no pictures of anyone anywhere. He appeared to be an entirely blank person.

Leo walked out of the box room and closed the door gingerly behind him – but to his horror a louder sound accompanied it. It was the downstairs front door banging open. Leo felt the air lock in his chest. He heard footsteps and the sound of rustling paper bags. Coker obviously shared the same shopping day as his neighbour. He heard the impact of the bags on the kitchen counter and then keys being thrown into something china.

Whatever movement he made at whatever point, it was going to alarm Coker as soon as he made his presence known. After a moment’s hesitation, he decided to tiptoe down the stairs hoping Coker’s movements in the kitchen would mask the sound of his descent. They didn’t.

Coker immediately appeared at the kitchen doorway clutching a serrated bread knife at ear height. ‘What the fuck are you doing in my home?’ There didn’t appear to be any fear in his face or voice; in fact, his expression 
told Leo that if he was a burglar, he’d definitely chosen the wrong house.

Leo was still only a third of the way down the stairs and stopped, his palms outstretched. ‘Mr Coker?’

Coker’s eyes slitted but he took another step forward; his hand rigidly gripping the handle of the knife while his body seemed to dangle about it. ‘So you can read my mailbox. Stay where you are while I dial 911 or I’ll use this…it’s your choice.’

Either adrenaline had taken over or Wesley Coker could completely disguise his fear because Leo couldn’t detect a trace of it. But there was something about the threat, the way that it tripped off his tongue and the look of conviction that accompanied it that made Leo immediately regret this method of approach. He had nothing with which to defend himself – except his words. ‘I wasn’t satisfied with your response to my email so I thought I’d come and meet you in person.’

Something flickered in Coker’s eyes and he at least halted his advance. Not that it made any difference. With Coker’s gangling height Leo was sure that one bound would enable him to stab Leo in the leg before he could turn.

‘I know everything there is to know about you Mr Coker and if you think I came here alone without making provision for this…’ The words surprised Leo more than they did Coker but inverting the truth of 
the situation made his would-be attacker pause for thought.

‘You’re an intruder in my home. I have every right to defend myself.’

‘You read my email…you know who I am.’

‘Remind me,’ he said eventually, the knife still raised. Leo considered the benign and vacant way Coker had looked in reception.

‘Put the knife down, your arm must be aching.’ Leo felt his right eyebrow raise as his throat tightened and closed behind the last word.

‘I’m good, thanks.’ Coker made no move. ‘Why don’t you tell me what this is all about?’ For the first time Leo registered how nasally monotonous Coker’s voice was. In contrast to the sharp and red-raw features it was almost as if his voice was being dubbed, the cruel intent on his face completely lost in translation. Only a slight American twang was discernible. ‘I’m guessing you’re my no-show appointment and you’re name isn’t Chase.’

‘You’re still making me uncomfortable.’ Leo’s eyes darted between the knife blade and Coker’s unblinking features.

‘I’m making
you
uncomfortable?’ Real incredulity registered now and a half smile tugged at the corner of his thin mouth.

‘I’m not here to harm you,’ Leo continued.

‘I know why you’re here, Leo. But you’re barking 
up the wrong tree. I can’t tell you where Laura’s buried.’

The area between Leo and Coker seemed to shift, like a magnifying glass moving forwards and back. Coker’s acknowledgement of his trespass felt like a screw being tightened in his chest bone. For endless months the woman he loved had almost become a fictional character. Now hearing her name uttered by this stranger in this strange place was even more arresting than any of Bookwalter’s fabrications.

‘You a bunk buddy of Bookwalter’s now? Thought it might have been him that sent the email. Whoever did, I knew Bookwalter wouldn’t be able to keep his mouth shut forever.’ The knife remained stock still in its fitting of balled fingers.

‘So you’re not about to deny what he told me?’ If Coker chose to lunge at him he knew his body wouldn’t respond quickly enough.

‘We both know about Bookwalter’s delusions of grandeur but I’m guessing he’s finally convinced you. You’re either here for closure or blackmail.’

‘Put the knife down.’

‘No.’

‘Why?’

‘Because if you believe what Bookwalter has told you then from my point of view – the Vacation Killer’s point of view – killing you would certainly be my only option.’ Coker rolled his eyes upwards and blinked a 
few times, thinking out loud. ‘If you’ve informed third parties about me being the Vacation Killer it’s inevitable I’ll be going to jail. So, if I’m to be locked up for those murders I may as well be locked up for yours as well. The other alternative is that you’re lying to me and operating completely on your own. You’re a bereaved husband doing your own investigation in which case it would definitely do me no harm to kill you now. Missed anything?’

Leo knew that even if Coker wasn’t the Vacation Killer, he was capable of using the knife he was holding for the purposes he’d threatened. It was the speed of his response and his confident reflex to finding a stranger in his home that convinced him. Anyone else would have panicked before trying to defend himself; Coker seemed to be treating his discovery of Leo as an agreeable bonus.

‘Yes, you’re missing the fact that it’s me here in person and not the police. Perhaps exposing you isn’t my intention.’

‘Only because you’re not a hundred percent sure – Bookwalter’s probably told you so many lies you don’t know what to believe.’

Leo considered his escape route. He wasn’t sure if there was a lock on the box room door or even if he could reach it and close the door in time. That was if Coker didn’t slash the tendons on the back of his legs as he turned to run. He tried to remember the layout 
in Coker’s bedroom but couldn’t even remember where the window was.

Coker’s expression changed to one of mock concern. ‘What’s the matter? Isn’t that what you came for? Track the Vacation Killer to his blue-collar lair and get him to talk about Laura and how he played with her entrails before he took her jawbone off like he did the others. Dissolving the sinew, stripping it, polishing it. Or is it that you think he spared Laura? Or maybe if he didn’t that he can still tell you exactly where you can find what’s left of her?’

Gratification registered on Coker’s features as he saw the anger mushrooming inside Leo. If Leo attacked him then he knew that it would give him perfect justification to do what he wanted with the blade. Coker waited and Leo’s anger pounded at the core of his brain. His only option was to turn and run because down the stairs lay only a pool of his blood and a convenient explanation for Coker. He felt the back of his legs tense but had no doubt that Coker would be quick to read his body language.

He was surprised then, when as soon as Coker seemed satisfied that an attack wasn’t imminent, his blade hand dropped to his side. ‘Like I said though, I can’t give you the information that’s most vital to you, Leo.’ He used his free hand to scratch his temple. ‘Fact is, I didn’t kill Laura. Fact is, I’ve never been to the UK. You don’t have to believe me but you’d only have to take a peek at my 
passport upstairs to verify it.’ He raised his eyebrows at Leo.

‘Bullshit.’ But Coker was in complete control of the situation. It looked like he could easily silence Leo so why try to plead innocence from a position of power?

‘This is something I couldn’t claim responsibility for. Wouldn’t make any odds to Bookwalter or Bonsignore – they wouldn’t let facts get in the way of them taking the responsibility for somebody else’s deeds. I have standards though. I didn’t kill your wife, Leo…or Louis Allan-Carlin.’

‘Because, of course, you’d tell me if you did.’

Coker sniffed through one nostril. ‘I didn’t kill any boys in Montenegro either. That was part of Bonsignore’s testimony. Maybe he did but the bodies have never been found. Bonsignore’s only proven murder was a crime of passion against his boyfriend…I don’t think he knew the first thing about selecting a victim. Jill, Estelle, Gillian, Heather, Cody, Dinora…’ Coker paused as if the sixth name echoed a romance. ‘…and Saphira. I was also in Germany the same time as Bonsignore. I met him briefly at the Gristex conference in Freiburg but he was too busy screwing the bellhop to have murdered anyone. I actually shook hands with Bonsignore. I don’t think that entitles him to any credit though, do you?’

Leo couldn’t process the information that was spilling so freely from Coker. The names, the casual 
exposure of information about events that he’d spent months analysing and re-analysing.

‘I’m not a homophobe, Leo, but Bonsignore did nothing but implicate me in his own messy love life. If it
was
him, then carrying on the work of the Vacation Killer in the UK was commendable, but having done half a job with your wife I’ll never understand why he had to obscure the design further by killing Louis Allan-Carlin. That’s if he ever did murder him. It’s the only question I really would have liked answered but we’ll never know now. Bonsignore was certainly more enigmatic in jail than he ever was outside of it. He kept his mouth shut all that time but, of course, he had no option. He didn’t know where any of the women he claimed to have murdered were buried. It’s his legacy now though.’

Leo doubted that the man standing before him was talking with such candour because it had been locked inside him for so long; rather it was because he was confident that that none of it would be repeated.

‘When I heard about the girls in England and the Allan-Carlin’s son I knew it was an out. It had got too messy anyway. After Germany I was on Gristex business in Holland and I’d abducted a girl I’d met in Eindhoven. I’d stunned her with a sledge hammer like the others but she still managed to escape from the trunk of my car. So, when I came back to the US and heard about what was going on in the UK I took it as a 
sign. Then Bookwalter removed me even further. He’d been clogging up my inbox accusing me of plagiarism. He wanted details and I wouldn’t give them to him. He threatened blackmail so I stonewalled him. Next thing I know he’s punished me by confessing to the murders he thought he should have committed. I always suspected Bookwalter had all the brains but no application.’

Leo suddenly visualised the patch of dirt where Bookwalter murdered the girl with the black chipped nails.

‘Then I realised he had no brains at all.’

Leo wiped his right hand down the wall beside the stairs, his fingertips connecting with the edge of the picture frame of the blood-red sunsets. He intended to send it spinning at Coker’s face buying himself enough time to make his escape. But it was hanging by a string and as he tried to pull it from the wall, it caught on the nail and bounced back noisily.

Coker didn’t flinch. Didn’t blink. Leo waited for a reaction but there was none. The only sound was nasal breathing he wasn’t sure was his or not. Coker rolled his eyes and walked back into the kitchen. Leo remained where he was, a clear path to the front door before him. Then he heard the TV being switched on. It sounded like the news channel but this quickly changed to saxophone music. The sound changed again and this time it was some sort of sports coverage. The sound of a crowd swelled as Coker turned up the volume. Leo 
turned and decided to take his chances in the bathroom although he didn’t know if there was a window in there either or if it had a lock. But as he turned, fingers curled around his ankle before he’d lifted his foot up the step.