Stop Me Page 14

  ‘So you know exactly who the Vacation Killer is but you’ve never told anybody.’

  ‘I’m the Vacation Killer.’ Bookwalter’s voice was suddenly level again as if he’d realised he’d said too much and was trying to rein himself in. ‘Coker may have sent the emails and murdered the girls but he was a charlatan with no imagination. I’ve told you, the trick is to refuse amateurs like him oxygen.’

  If there had been any conflict left in Leo about whether Bookwalter’s insanity was selective, it had now evaporated. His admission to playing second fiddle to Coker, but having concealed this fact to spare his own warped ego, dispensed with the idea that he was nothing more than an astute businessman.

  ‘After that conversation I never heard from him again. I tried to re-establish contact when the first victim of the Vacation Killer hit the news and the emails started circulating but he refused to speak to me. I wondered if he’d get in touch when I set up the website but it looks like he’s happy to remain anonymous.’

  Leo tried to process the implications of what he was saying and imagined fingernails other than Laura’s caressing the murdering hands that hung at Bookwalter’s sides. ‘So Coker goes unpunished, you get to earn a few bucks and Bonsignore takes the glory from both of you to the grave.’

  Bookwalter’s frame seemed to tense at the mention of the name and the trapped spark of vitriol suddenly energised his lips. ‘Bonsignore is irrelevant. There were plenty of people who tried to claim responsibility for the Vacation Killings. The police decided to believe Bonsignore because they were desperate and he worked for the same feed company as Coker.’ His mouth snapped shut again as did his left eye; he had said too much again. He closed his other eye for a moment as if summoning a reserve of patience. ‘I’m telling you these things in confidence, Leo. I’m telling you these things because I want you to understand who I am.’ His tone was overly amicable and they both knew he’d revealed more than he wanted to.

  ‘I’m leaving.’ It seemed like the only course of action to Leo. He backed away a couple of paces and was just preparing to turn the corner of the tomb. The quicker he blocked Bookwalter from sight the better.

  ‘Wait. The photo of your wife. Don’t you want to know who gave it to me?’

  Leo paused and glimpsed the desperation in Bookwalter’s squinted features. ‘Who?’

  ‘Sign the disclaimer and I’ll tell you.’

  Leo shook his head. ‘Jesus.’ He turned and walked away from Bookwalter’s killing ground. For a while all he could hear was the sound of his own footsteps on the path then he heard movement behind him. He turned. Bookwalter was still out of sight but the sound of his flip-flops indicated he was coming closer. Leo turned and strode faster.

  ‘Your sister-in-law, Ashley Pritchett, she gave them to me!’

  His voice was far enough behind him to resist the temptation to run. It appeared Bookwalter wanted the last word, to play a surprise hand. He had. But Leo kept walking and didn’t look back even after he’d got into the cab.

  CHAPTER 25

  ?

  It was all the response Leo needed to justify the cancellation of his flight back to the UK. He sat back in his uncomfortable plastic silver chair, his morning coffee suddenly tasting bitter on his tongue.

  Apart from a Japanese couple seated at the computer to his right, the internet café was empty. Even though the aircon cooled his face from the grill above, his nostrils still couldn’t escape the smell of the remains of Mardi Gras rotting.

  Was this just a ploy so he wouldn’t have to return to his non-existence in the UK…to Ashley? No, this was significant enough to legitimise delaying that particular confrontation. Forget the anonymity of cyberspace, nobody, it appeared, was exactly who he’d thought they were – Matty, Ashley, even Laura had concealed things from him. Laura had done it for all the right reasons, and he was hoping that Ashley would have similar grounds, but Leo couldn’t help feeling that things had been deliberately kept from him, things he should have been part of.

  He looked at the question mark and tried to imagine the finger that had typed it, and then the body it was connected to, and the blank face that resided between its shoulders. The email reply had been almost immediate as if it had responded to his internal dialogue.

  If he replies then Laura is alive.

  He’d logged onto the Gristex website without really expecting it to lead him anywhere or knowing what to do to begin his search. But when he’d clicked through to the contact page he’d noticed that the list of names for the myriad agricultural departments consisted of email addresses that simply used surname and number before the company name: palmer56@Gristex.com etc. If it was his real name, how many Cokers were likely to be working for them? He opened his mail and composed an email to: coker@Gristex.com.

  He then sent the same email to Cokers 1, 2, 3 and 4 and stopped at 5 when all but the first Coker email was returned unsent. So, only one Coker working for Gristex.

  Dear Mr Coker,

  howdy doody,

  heard you knew my wife

  tall, freckle faced, chicken pox scar

  reply as soon as you get this

  you probably won’t want to forward it

  Leo had just been about to close down his email when the reply had appeared in his inbox.

  ?

  One Mr Coker working for Gristex.

  * * *

  Gristex Cattle Feed Products had headquarters in most states but its main production, sales and distribution nucleus operated out of Montana. That was where Coker was. It seemed preposterous that a man who had very probably committed the sadistic crimes that Bonsignore had confessed to, continued his daily, nine-to-five existence purely because of Bookwalter’s vanity.

  Leo’s first reflex was to inform the police – let them take Bookwalter into custody and tell them about his internet dialogues with Coker. When they knew that Coker worked for Gristex – probably knew Bonsignore if he shared a similar work itinerary – they would surely have to reopen the investigation. But when Leo considered Bonsignore’s stance for the months he’d been in prison, he knew that it was likely that Coker could remain just as silent about the whereabouts of his victims. Locked away, what good was he to Leo? It could be the start of the same waiting process, even if he was the real Vacation Killer.

  Leo made up his mind about travelling to Petroleum County before he’d even come to this conclusion, however. He’d never suspected that accepting Bookwalter’s invitation could have led to anything more than a final confirmation of his fraudulence but, as he was already in the States, finding Coker could now be his only course of action.

  He didn’t send another email to Coker and figured the one he’d sent would have made him sufficiently uneasy. After closing his email account, he took a cab directly to the airport and booked a flight to Billings Logan International Airport. Gristex’s hometown of Winnett was approximately eighty miles drive from there and he used his waiting time to hire a car and book a room at the only hotel in town.

  Winnett was certainly a different scene to New Orleans. Surrounded by flat farm country, most of which was privately owned by ranchers, the town consisted of about three hundred white people living in half the amount of houses. It had seen its gas and oil boom days in the fifties and sixties, but now the previous population of two thousand had depleted, and many of the buildings were just empty shells.

  The town itself nestled in a valley, the white-painted houses in stark contrast to the towering, square-topped mountains that surrounded them. A wonky white ‘W’ was painted along the bluff but it didn’t feel like the sort of place that really wanted to advertise itself. And after passing several hand-made anti-meth campaign placards Leo began to get an idea of what living in this sort of remoteness could do to a person.

  He pulled up at the Kozy Korner Café and Bar, realised how hungry he wasn’t and gunned the engine of the unwieldy, black Chevy Suburban he’d picked up at the airport. He’d felt invincible sitting within it, protec
ted from the green but dusty terrain, but there really had been very few chances for him to collide with any other vehicles.

  It didn’t take him long to find the only hotel in Winnett. The Montana Rest Stop Hotel looked more like a large garage, and he looked up and sighed at its weathered white frontage before opening the car door and climbing down from the driver’s seat. It was mid-morning but the sun already felt blistering on his scalp.

  He was pleasantly surprised by the smart tiled lobby with a piano in the corner – it felt homely. A shy girl with pink hair in braids, who couldn’t have been more than seventeen, signed him in. She told him it was a communal bathroom and that he’d have no TV, but her enthusiasm made them sound like amenities to be proud of. She appeared to have no local accent, something he’d noticed of everyone he’d been in contact with since he’d touched down. Coming from New Orleans the absence was conspicuous.

  He dumped his bag on the bed and wondered if there was any reason to delay his visit to Gristex. Its headquarters were about five miles out of town near the Musselshell River and he guessed not many people who worked there resided in Winnett. It was such a remote location that Leo wondered what the company had to hide. According to the website it was entirely self-sufficient with a high percentage of its staff living on site. Leo felt alone and utterly disconnected from the UK and saw how people who wanted to hide could deliberately lose themselves in such an otherworldly environment.

  His stomach bayed and his legs wobbled from lack of food, but he knew he wouldn’t be able to swallow anything until he’d found Coker. He made his way down the landing to the communal bathroom and after wetting his lips carried on down the stairs and back out into the car park, exchanging a nervous smile with the pink-haired girl on the way out.

  Gristex’s headquarters weren’t exactly what Leo expected. Anticipating a shard of polished glass staked into the countryside, he was surprised to find it an unshowy brownstone building, crouched low and flat in the dust, its considerable, two-storey width flattened out along the horizon. He took one of the named parking spaces nearest the front of the building but away from the main entrance. The expansive car park was nearly full to capacity but there was nobody to be seen and a warm breeze blew across the silent, eerie spectacle. As Leo got out of the car and looked back at the rows of cars behind him, he wondered if the approach he’d decided on was still feasible.

  CHAPTER 26

  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 GRISTEX VILLAGE.

  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 push
ing 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.