Stop Me Page 9

  Leo thought that the day had been perfect. Laura had said it had been and he suddenly felt idiotic for being so oblivious.

  ‘Look, none of this effects how Laura felt about you,’ Ashley said as if she were reading his mind. ‘And Matty’s happily settled now. He obviously had some…issues at the time.’

  Leo felt aggression solidifying. So Matty had attempted to sabotage things like he always did. How he’d expected to do it that way was beyond him though. Perhaps it had made sense in his head, like all those well-timed vanishing acts he’d used to perform. Was he really so disturbed that he’d expected to steal Laura from him?

  Now he felt foolish sitting in front of Ashley, knowing she’d been more aware of Matty’s delusion than he’d ever been. And what he’d thought had been a happy day had been much less so for Laura. ‘Thanks for lunch, Ash.’

  ‘Leo, don’t you dare go.’

  But Leo was already bumping the back of his chair into the diner behind him

  ‘I’ll call you tonight, I promise. I can’t…’

  Leo held his breath until he’d made it to the door. Hektor was standing there chalking a special on the board as Leo scrabbled to find his coat from under the pile on the rack at the door. Hektor turned and began helping Leo put on his coat. Had he recognised him? His mind seemed to be elsewhere and Leo quickly turned his back on him so he could put his arms in the coat.

  ‘Come back soon, sir.’

  Leo didn’t say a word and only breathed out when he was back outside in the fine spray of rain.

  CHAPTER 16

  ‘Leo, it’s Matty. We’re worried about you and want to make sure you’re OK. I don’t know how to reach you bar kicking down your door. I’ve tried pretending that everything’s normal but that obviously isn’t working. Call me as soon as you hear this.’

  The message prompted Leo to draw the curtains in the hallway window. The last thing he wanted was a surprise visit from his brother. Yeah, there certainly had been some pretence to normality. He’d never been convinced by Matty’s sudden immersion in domestic bliss and now he wondered just how unbalanced he’d been when he called on Laura the day of their wedding.

  He walked into the living room and stood in the middle of it, not knowing why he’d come in. The air was cold and he was suddenly aware of the rain mist that had soaked into his scalp trickling into his collar. His relationship with Laura, the only part of his existence that had been worthwhile, was long gone and now even that seemed to be warping into something ugly. He understood why Laura had kept Matty’s proposal secret, but the absolute openness he’d always assumed they’d shared was suddenly in doubt. He looked around at the photos of Laura on the wall and wondered if she’d concealed anything else from him.

  When Leo sat on his bed and opened his laptop he found an email from Bookwalter:

  Howdy doody

  I fancy a new vacation

  tall, freckle faced, chicken pox scar on left eyebrow

  forward this email to ten friends

  each of those friends must forward it to ten friends

  maybe one of those friends of friends of friends will be one of my friends

  if this email ends up in my inbox within a week I wont slit the bitchs throat

  can you afford not to send this on to ten friends?

  vk

  Leo, if you cant make your mind up about taking that vacation Im going to have one of my own. Thought I’d run this email past you before I send it out there.

  Despite the provenance of the email it still, oddly, unsettled Leo and he found himself willing Bookwalter’s page to load up faster so he could log in to the private lounge. Bookwalter was online but Leo resisted the urge to type immediately and sat back, contemplating what to say before eventually opening their dialogue.

  So, how’s the desalination protest?

  Leo remembered Bookwalter was spearheading the local opposition to the proposed plant and decided to ignore the email. If Bookwalter wanted to play mind fuck so could he.

  There was a longer pause than normal before Bookwalter’s reply constructed itself.

  Many apologies. I shouldnt be wasting your time with my local obsessions. Did you get my email?

  Again Leo circumvented the fact that he’d read it.

  Have visited the site address you forwarded and signed the petition.

  He hadn’t.

  An even longer pause than normal.

  Many thanks. It was very kind but I dont think people power has a snowballs chance of halting it.

  How is Laura?

  Bookwalter’s words were instant this time.

  Anxious. Have you spoken to Doctor Mutatkar about your travel arrangements?

  Leo leant back on his pillows and waited for him to press him further about the email but Bookwalter obviously knew he was deliberately evading.

  Leo tapped in his response.

  Was hoping to ask him but he didn’t make it.

  Stuck in traffic?

  Again Bookwalter’s reply was instant – as if he’d been waiting for an opportunity to use it.

  Leo tried to be rational. Bookwalter could very easily have done an internet search for Mutatkar after he’d mentioned him and found the news item about his suicide and, of the comments he’d made in their earlier exchanges, all of them were vague enough to allow Leo to read whatever he wanted in to them.

  Dead.

  Leo had no desire to indulge Bookwalter’s attempts at humour.

  Im so sorry. Was it sudden?

  For his wife and daughter particularly.

  I AM sorry.

  Why? You didn’t murder him and roll his car into traffic.

  You know he was murdered?

  Yes.

  Leo wondered if Bookwalter was genuinely surprised. He waited for his answer and heard himself breathe out four times before it started to appear.

  Like all murder, it must have been committed to serve a purpose. If only to prove that nobody is as secure as they believe they are.

  Leo registered that Bookwalter was trying to cross reference Mutatkar’s death to one of the pseudo-enigmatic observations he’d made when he’d had the dialogue with him from the doctor’s bedsit. It was also an obvious allusion to his recent email. Leo waited for Bookwalter to elaborate.

  Everyone has a shelf life.

  For a moment, he almost had second thoughts about what he was about to type. He’d already made up his mind but he wondered if Bookwalter’s email had sealed it.

  Looks like I’ll be travelling alone then. I’m ready to see Laura now. How soon can you send me an air ticket?

  * * *

  ‘Mr Allan-Carlin, please.’ Cleaves ran his hand over the prickles of his hair and lingered over the sparse patch on his scalp. His palm felt cool against it and he didn’t care for the sensation.

  ‘I’m afraid he’s in a meeting.’

  ‘He’ll speak to me. Tell him it’s Cleaves.’

  He waited while the secretary put him on hold and tried to identify the piece of classical muzak. His workdays were a far cry from his tours in the Special Forces and he often wondered if being left in a shallow grave in Mali for his gun-running activities would have been a better fate.

  ‘This must be one of those rare emergencies when you contact me during business hours.’ Joe Allan-Carlin sounded appropriately surly.

  ‘Just one of those occasions, particularly as I’ve been trying to get hold of you since yesterday.’

  ‘Make it quick.’

  ‘Sharpe was back at Chevalier’s yesterday.’

  There was a brief pause. ‘Doing what specifically?’

  ‘Having lunch with his sister-in-law. Now he’s left the country.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Caught a flight to New Orleans. Maybe he’s going on holiday. What do you want me to do?’ Cleaves pushed through the revolving door of the airport and strode quickly back to his car that he’d left at the drop-off point.

  Eventually, ‘I don’t suppose t
here’s much we can do until he comes back.’

  ‘Could be weeks. I’ll see what I can find out in the meantime.’ Cleaves thought about his expenses. Allan-Carlin was his full-time meal ticket. ‘Maybe I should look in on things while he’s away. Make sure his plants are watered.’

  ‘Do whatever’s necessary but don’t call me until you’ve got something concrete.’

  * * *

  Behind the frosted pane, the dark shape of the intruder moved unnaturally, his arm and shoulder frantically vibrating as the handle of the back door rattled. Leo struggled to keep his eyelids open but they locked shut as wood splintered and the handle clanged to the floor. He willed his hands to move so he could prise his eyes open but, as the door creaked, could feel no sensation in them.

  He heard himself grunt with the exertion of trying to yank his eyes open with the muscles of his face and, for a brief moment, he could see the figure – a glimpse through the shutter of his vision as it briefly opened before snapping to darkness again. An impression of the figure was left on the black backdrop – a figure wearing a uniform. His lids were glued now but he could feel the presence of the intruder, breath and proximity. Footsteps halted at Leo.

  ‘Do you mind stowing your hand luggage under the seat in front of you?’

  Leo found his eyes were open again and absorbing the face above him. The male air steward’s expression was one of impatience. Leo shoved the bag under the seat in front with his foot and kicked it again for good measure.

  ‘Thank you, sir.’ The air steward continued his checks past Leo’s row. He pulled his bag out from under the seat again with the sides of his heels and allowed his feet to stretch out in the vacated gap. It was the third time he’d done it and was sure it wouldn’t be long before the steward interrupted his sleep again.

  After all of Bookwalter’s entreaties he’d at least expected business class. But although his forthcoming host had seemed taken aback by Leo’s request for the next available flight he had been highly efficient. Leo had been emailed his flight details less than half an hour later with promises that everything would be made ready for his arrival.

  Leo didn’t question what he was doing by allowing himself to be enticed by a man who had attempted to get himself imprisoned for a string of brutal murders he hadn’t committed. He’d long since acknowledged Bookwalter as a delusional egocentric and had always managed to hold him at arm’s length, like a snake handler with a glove and a pronged staff. But now he was exposing himself to something more dangerous than a mutual indulgence he was entirely unclear as to what either of their motives were.

  The trip represented movement though – something his life had been devoid of – but was it in a direction he could easily find his way back from? He couldn’t deny that he had an odd rapport with Bookwalter, one born from a shared obsession and self-imposed isolation but he really knew nothing of the man he was about to meet. Leo didn’t know where Laura was, but he knew she wasn’t where he was headed; but how could he not challenge Bookwalter on the claim he’d been making for so many months? How would Bookwalter possibly explain Laura’s non-presence when he got there? He had to be careful and told himself that from the moment he touched down he had to be in complete control of every element of contact. As soon as he found himself in a situation that was otherwise, he would be buying his own ticket home.

  Bookwalter had not only offered to pick Leo up at the airport but to put him up at his home for the duration of his stay. Leo had declined saying that he would book into a hotel first and then telephone Bookwalter so they could arrange a mutually satisfactory meeting place. Bookwalter had made several recommendations for places to stay and again offered to foot the bill but Leo told him he would make his own arrangements.

  Two hours to touchdown. The lights were out and most people were snoozing under their blankets. Leo was too uneasy and skittish to sleep. According to Bookwalter he would be able to see Laura in less than twenty-four hours.

  CHAPTER 17

  The sensation didn’t seize him until he’d cleared customs and had walked through the main concourse of the airport. As soon as he hit the carpeted foyer though it was like a siren had gone off in the back of his head: Bookwalter was watching him. Every passenger had to walk across the area Leo was now dragging his case across and it was populated enough to afford sufficient cover for his arrival to be safely observed.

  He resisted the temptation to look round but still half expected to make out Bookwalter in the host of faces that flashed by him. He felt the beginnings of panic and avoided eye contact. Bookwalter had booked the flight; he could so easily have taken it upon himself to head up a welcoming committee. The ridiculous notion of finding Laura standing with him lurched in his mind and left an acid sickness in his stomach. It couldn’t happen here, not with him tired and vulnerable from the flight; he needed time to psyche himself up beforehand.

  He thought about calling the number that Bookwalter had given him. He could tell him that he’d landed and nothing more. At least that way he would know if he was at the airport or not. He fumbled the paper with the details on from inside his leather jacket pocket and looked at the jumble of numbers. It was probably a cell number anyway.

  He had to focus on getting out of here as quickly as possible. He strode faster and sensed somebody looking at him from the corner of his eye. He couldn’t resist the reflex to turn. It was a short, Hispanic driver holding a card with somebody’s surname on. A row of similar people stretched out to Leo’s left and he dreaded seeing his own name materialise. He headed towards a desk to his right with a cab sign above it. It was occupied by a nicotine-stained woman, her hair permed into tiny coils.

  ‘Welcome to N’awlins, sir. Where would you like to go today?’

  Leo’s mind was unresponsive so he fidgeted out another piece of paper from inside his jacket, all the while anticipating a hand on his shoulder. ‘Hotel L’agneau.’

  ‘Great place to stay,’ she said cheerfully and almost convincingly. ‘Join the line at C.’

  It was sunny outside but a lot colder than he’d anticipated and as he dragged his case through the sliding doors a vaguely unpleasant smell pervaded the air, like something sour was evaporating. C was the only letter he could find. The line moved quickly though and he breathed a sigh of relief as soon as his case was loaded and he was sealed in the back of the cab. The cab driver lobbed some platitudes at him but Leo didn’t hear them because his attention was fixed behind them until he was reassured that they hadn’t been followed from the pick-up point.

  Hotel L’agneau was in Barrack’s Street on the north edge of the French Quarter and the journey there confirmed that the Mardis Gras celebrations of the previous few weeks were well and truly over. The streets were still littered with the debris though; plastic beer cups, beads and streamers were still being swept out of the gutters. Leo identified the aroma as stale booze and urine. Hurricane Katrina or not, New Orleans was still taking care of business and Leo had landed slap bang in the middle of the hangover.

  The hotel had the traditional New Orleans frontage but the recently applied paint couldn’t disguise the malignant rust on its wrought-iron railings. Its white, seventeenth-century frontage looked infected with it as well and as the cab pulled up, Leo waited for the liver-spotted exterior to cough and splutter. It would suffice though because it was at the opposite pole to Bookwalter’s neighbourhood. He was in Crescent City, which was actually just outside New Orleans, eastbound on Route 90 which crossed the stretch of the Mississippi that Leo was glad separated them.

  His room was ‘tucked nicely in back’ as the old boy with worn shiny trousers informed him, as if it was a selling point. But Leo didn’t register the sloping floors and the furniture leaning away from the walls; he just dumped his case on the bed where it remained unopened and looked down on the overgrown courtyard through his small window. It felt like late afternoon and when he looked at his watch that he’d set to New Orleans time as they’d landed, he was surprised t
o find he was right. Four thirty – his intuition for daylight hours seemed to be returning.

  The ball was in his court. He was to decide where and when their meeting would take place.

  * * *

  Laveau’s Chicken Shack was a chicken and biscuits chain and at dinnertime it was full of families gorging on that day’s meal deal. The din was incredible. Leo ordered something at random, took his tray and sat at a table in the middle of the restaurant. He’d wandered around a few bars but wanted the venue to be as populated as possible. The drinking holes in the French Quarter were all dimly lit and Laveau’s Chicken Shack had no walls, only windows.

  Late afternoon sun was still making the diners squint and as he glanced at the contents of his tray he tried to remember the last time he’d eaten. It didn’t feel like it would happen anytime soon either. He’d telephoned Bookwalter from a call box and told him where they were to meet. Bookwalter had sounded dubious but agreed and said he would be there in twenty minutes. Had that been for Leo’s benefit or was he actually watching him?

  Do you feel impregnable?

  With an ocean between them it had been easy for Leo to believe that he was out of his correspondent’s grasp but now he was here, separated only by minutes, Leo felt like Bookwalter already had the advantage. It was his domain. He looked around at the people distracted by their food. He felt susceptible in the presence of more than one person at home let alone sat amongst a society that felt entirely alien to him. Leo felt quite unnerved by how single-minded the process of eating seemed and there seemed to be no chance that his gaze would be returned by anyone else.

  He focused on the grey chicken and the bag of deep fried whatever-the-hell-it-was on his tray while he sucked something ice cold and sugary through a straw. He felt it cold in the middle of his forehead and fixed his attention on the entrance. He’d spent some time in the queue and wondered how many minutes had elapsed since he’d got off the phone to Bookwalter.