Текст книги "The Gift of Death"
Автор книги: Sam Ripley
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Текущая страница: 13 (всего у книги 21 страниц)
33
Kate thought up the plan in minutes. Gloria was enlisted to reverse her car up to the side entrance to the house, a spot sheltered by an enormous siempre verde tree. Then she was despatched down to the front gate where Naylor sat in his car. Gloria prided herself on the use of her feminine charm – an ex-boyfriend had once called it the lethal combo of her fuck-me eyes and her double-Gs – and she didn’t have any trouble convincing Naylor that she was helping her friends shift some old stuff. She might even have to call upon him to help if she needed to move a couple of heavy boxes of books. ‘No problem, ma’am,’ he replied. ‘Just give me a shout when you’re ready.’
While Naylor was distracted, Kate checked on her mother, who still hadn’t woken up from her after-lunch nap. She blew a kiss in her direction, picked up a couple of cashmere blankets and headed back downstairs to her father’s study. She took down a couple of the larger paintings and carried them to the side door. Then she grabbed her notes and her purse and led Cassie by the hand towards the back seat of the car, where the two women lay down. When Gloria returned from talking to Naylor she simply spread out the blankets over her friends and then lay the paintings on top of them. Then she sashayed back down the drive to Naylor and asked him to help her lift a couple of crates full of books.
‘It’s one of the problems of being a generously proportioned woman,’ said Gloria, pushing her breasts forward towards him, mischief playing in her eyes. ‘Really has fucked my back something bad.’
Naylor laughed as he walked back with her up the driveway, occasionally stealing a glimpse at Gloria’s ass.
‘By the way, where are your friends?’ he asked, lifting up the first of the two boxes of books and carrying them into the trunk.
‘They’re taking a nap right now,’ said Gloria. ‘I guess it’s a hard time for them just at the moment.’
‘Yeah, sure,’ he said.
‘Should I just give them a call?’
‘I wouldn’t. They’re tired as shit. They were both up all night. I came over to try and lighten the mood, so to speak. Kate has been hassling me to help her clear out her spare room for months now. I thought that might help take her mind off her troubles. Clearing out all this junk has sure done her in. Sleeping like a baby now. Best give it a couple of hours.’
‘Okay,’ said Naylor, putting them second crate into the trunk and slamming the back. ‘You have a good day now.’
Gloria got into the car and steered it out of the driveway, maintaining her composure until she turned the corner and was out of sight.
‘Fuck, that was close,’ she said.
Nervous laughter erupted from the back seat.
‘You sound like a couple of hysterical schoolgirls,’ said Gloria.
‘Well, you’re one damned good liar,’ said Kate, peeling the blanket away from her face and taking hold of one of the paintings that had been placed on top of her.
‘Gloria Smith, I’m never going to believe anything you tell me ever again,’ said Cassie, trying to sit up. ‘And to think that you’re a Bible-reading woman.’
‘Well, I’m sure there’s something in the good book that would justify a little white lie like that. Something about committing little sins in the fight against a greater evil. Some shit like that, anyway.’ She switched on the air-con. ‘Jesus, I’m hot. How are you two prison breaks doing back there?’
The two women quickly scrunched up the blankets and stored them by their feet, laying the paintings over their laps.
Kate took a deep breath. She had to remind herself that none of this was a joke. As she stared down at one of her father’s portraits of her as a small girl she felt relieved that he was no longer around. He wouldn’t have been able to bear to see her like this. A broken relationship with a man she had loved. Pregnant with his child. Her life in danger. Hiding in the back of a car in order to escape police protection with the thought of tracking down a deranged – and dangerous – criminal.
But it was the only thing to do, she told herself. She tried to rationalise the situation to herself. She was sure the guy in the motel by LAX was him, she felt it in her gut. Imagine the look on Josh’s face if she turned out to have found the creep. God – why did she always have to seek his approval? Even now, even after everything that had happened she was still trying to win his love. It was pathetic.
But she was not going to put herself in any danger. Well, not much, anyway. There was an element of risk involved in her plan. But she couldn’t bear the thought of this thing – this not knowing, this torture – dragging on any longer. She was pregnant for god’s sake. In addition to alcohol, tobacco, drugs, hot dogs, tap water, fish, soft cheese, and raw eggs, the books said she should avoid unnecessary stress. And what was she doing? Driving out to knock on the door of a psychopath and potential serial killer? Great. Just what the doctor ordered.
After their initial high spirits, the three women fell silent. As Gloria drove south on La Cienega Boulevard, Kate noticed the comparative lack of traffic. This was a classic example of why surface roads were always preferable to freeways, she thought. Josh always believed in taking the 110, the 105, the 10, the 405 and the 101 if he wanted to get anywhere in LA. But, in her opinion, freeways sucked. End of story. No argument. The last time they had argued about this – was it really a year ago now? – they had ended up in bed together. God, would she ever be able to get him out of her system?
As Gloria drove south, Kate was reminded of all the times she had taken the road down to LAX. There had been the trips for work, the conferences in New York, Dallas, Miami, London and Manchester. The occasional break with Josh – the few days in Hawaii, a fun weekend in Austin, Texas. And the times she had driven to the airport to collect friends from out of town. When this was over she would call her girlfriend Lisa, who was now living in Britain.
Kate smiled to herself as they passed a Buggy Whip sandwiched next to a sex shop. The name of the diner had always been a standing joke of her dad’s and she pictured him hooting with laughter at the thought of the clients moving from the fast food outlet to the sleazy ‘erotic showcase’ next door. She imagined him putting on one of his myriad funny voices – he used to do a great Groucho Marx – and imitating a customer walking up to the counter of the sex shop: ‘Give me a buggy whip, straight up, and hold the chocolate.’
They turned into Aviation Boulevard and took the exit that led directly into public parking lot B. Gloria found a space and pulled in.
‘All set?’ Gloria asked.
‘All set.’
‘You nervous?’
‘I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t.’
‘You still want to go through with this?’
Kate thought for a moment, before she nodded her head; a gesture which served to convince herself that she was ready more than anybody else.
‘Sure am. Let’s get this thing over with.’
Cassie reached over the touched her hand.
‘Kate. I know you think you can handle this, but I’m really scared,’ said Cassie.
‘I know. But it’s going to be fine. I promise you.’
‘But what if -?’
‘I told you before. There are no what ifs here. I’m going to walk to the motel, you follow on at a safe distance in the car. I’m going to check at reception and just make a few inquiries about the wannabe Bobby Gleason. If there’s any trouble you know what to do. You’ve got Josh’s cell. You’ve got the number for his investigation team.’
‘Why don’t we just call Josh now? Would that be so bad? Or at least 911.’
‘I told you. I can handle this. And anyway, I feel somehow responsible. I don’t know, like I started it in some way.’
‘If that’s the case then why not let me come in with you?’
‘No way, Cassie. It’s just that –‘
‘You think because I’m blind I stand a greater risk of getting hurt?’
‘Yes, frankly, I do. Sorry, but –‘
‘How come every single girl that Gleason attacked died apart from me?’
‘I don’t know. You were –‘
‘And don’t tell me I was lucky, Kate. What happened had nothing to do with luck.’
‘I’m sorry, Cassie. I didn’t mean to denigrate what you did, but –‘
‘But what?’
‘There is no way I’m going to allow you to come in with me. Thanks for the offer. And I know you mean well, but I couldn’t bear it if anything happened to you. You’ve suffered enough as it is.’
‘And what about you? What about the baby?’
Kate didn’t know what to say.
‘It’s something I’ve got to do,’ she said, opening the door.
She knew Cassie was pissed with her.
‘Okay?’
‘Okay, but take care.’
‘Just give me a few minutes, that’s all I need. And Gloria? Do not let Cassie out of your sight.’
‘Don’t worry,’ she said in a mock-serious fashion, ‘we’re in lockdown mode here.’
Kate took a small compact out of her purse and checked herself in the mirror, forcing herself to make a tough, don’t-fuck-with-me face. Was she ready? She had to be. And there was no way she was going to back out of this now.
She checked the address one more time and quickly got out of the car. She took a deep breath and walked through the parking lot towards the exit. She turned around to check that Gloria and Cassie were following her.
At the end of West 104th situated nearest the airport she passed Sea Dwelling Creatures, at 5515, and then at 5420 there was Drexler’s Marine Fish. Weird. What was it about this neighbourhood that seemed to attract so many fish lovers? She made a note to Google it when she got back home.
If she got back home.
34
If this is what crazy felt like then I’m well and truly loco, thought Josh. Anxiety was clawing at the back of his skull, eating away his mind like an ants’ nest lodged in the brain. His mouth was dry. His skin felt itchy, somehow not his own. And his vision was blurred, foggy. He took another sip of black coffee, hoping that the caffeine would help him concentrate. But it was no use. He couldn’t think about the case. All he could think about was Kate.
He had left twelve messages on her voicemail now and still no reply. He’d called Cassie, but also no pick up. He got the feeling that something else was going on that had nothing to do with “them”. What the fuck was Kate up to?
He dialled the house in Beverly Hills, his fingers shaking as he did so.
‘Can I help you?’
‘Mrs Cramer, it’s Josh.’
No response.
‘Look, I know I’m not exactly your best friend now, but –‘
‘But what Detective Harper?’
The use of his surname stung him.
‘Have you seen Kate? Do you know where she is?’
‘After how you have treated her I don’t think it’s any of your business anymore. And now I’m going to hang up. Good-‘
‘No, listen. I’ve just been on the phone to Naylor, you know the guy stationed outside your house? He told me that Kate and Cassie are having a nap. Could you check for me please?’
‘Well –‘
‘I think Kate may have put herself in danger.’
There was silence again. But he could tell that she was concerned.
‘Just stay on the line. I’ll go and check.’
Josh heard the old lady shuffle her way across the room. He pictured her slowly climbing the wide staircase, passing the framed portraits of herself that lined the walls, images from her movie star days, walking down the grand corridor towards Kate’s room. The first time he had gone in there to make out with her he had felt like some stupid teenager. He’d never forget that sense of anticipation, of excitement.
As he waited he felt his heart beating furiously. Was he going to have a coronary as well as be certified insane?
He heard a muffled sound on the phone. She had picked up an extension upstairs.
‘Josh?’ Her voice was weak. ‘They’re not here. They’ve gone.’
‘When was the last time you saw her?’
‘Well, I’ve just woken up from my nap. It must have been – it was earlier today. A lady came over, a rather larger black lady who Kate said worked down at the public record office.’
‘I didn’t even know she had a friend who worked in public records.’
‘Gloria, that’s right. A friend of Cassie’s. She came over to help them with something, I don’t know what.’ Her voice sounded distant, vague somehow.
‘You’ve got no idea where they’ve gone? I’m sorry to bother you, but I truly believe that Kate may be about to do something really dumb. As in dangerous.’
‘I don’t know. They were messing about with a computer. They kept mentioning names, doing researches or whatever you call it. All beyond me, I’m afraid.’
‘Listen. Can you check to see if Kate’s laptop is still there?’
‘Her laptop?’
‘Yes, you know her computer, the one she carries around with her. If you go downstairs I’ll call you back in two minutes. Okay?’
‘Oh, my. I wouldn’t know –‘
‘This is what we’re going to do. I’m going to ask Naylor – the police officer – to come in and check the computer. And you’ll let him in. Okay?’
‘Very well. You don’t think Kate’s in any danger, do you? I thought that monster – that Gleason – was dead.’
‘He is. And let’s pray she isn’t. But we haven’t much time.’
35
Kate walked into the hotel to find no-one at the reception desk. Not that the dirty, litter-strewn, coffee-stained table really warranted that term. She looked up and down the windowless hallway. No sign of life except for the sound of a TV set blaring away in one of the rooms. She wrinkled her nose as the faint odour of urine inveigled its way into her nostrils.
As she walked behind the desk she noticed a bin full of empty Jack Daniels bottles. I wonder what came first, she thought, the shit job or the drink. Then she remembered how much she used to put back. Easily a couple of vodka tonics and a bottle of wine a night. But her drinking was related to stress relief. Yeah, right, she said to herself, who are you kidding? If she hadn’t had been forced to give up alcohol what state would she have been in now? Maybe her pregnancy was a life saver after all.
Under the rim of the desk was a series of black metallic discs each bearing a number ranging from 1 to 33; some of the spaces were empty, others had keys dangling from hooks that reminded Kate of a row of hanging men. She started to search the desk for a clue. Obviously, the owner of this joint didn’t hold much care for order. His booking and reservation system seemed to consist of scraps of paper covered with spidery handwriting and illegible scribbles. Kate managed to decipher some names – there was a Jon Louther in room 23, who was staying for five days; a Maria Juavez in 10, who was here for two weeks; and a Mr Smith in room six, next to which the manager had drawn a question mark.
She ran her hands over a clutch of unpaid service bills, a couple of court orders, a threatening letter from an angry ex-wife, but nothing that told her the room number for Bobby Gleason. Just then she heard someone flush a toilet down the end of the hallway. She moved away from behind the desk just as the door swung open.
A large, heavy-set man started to walk down the corridor towards her. His eye sockets looked like they were in the process of closing up, lost in the fat of his face, and as he came closer he fixed her with a hard bead of an eye.
‘Can I help you?’
‘I’m looking for a room – just for a night,’ she said.
‘Sorry, we’re full.’
Even if she hadn’t snooped around his desk she would have known that he was lying.
‘Oh, really, that’s a shame,’ she said, trying to adopt a more lazy way of talking. ‘I could sure do with a room for the night.’
He assessed her coolly, as if she were a specimen that he had only ever encountered before at a distance. As he approached, she smelt a mixture of stale sweat and cheap bourbon.
‘Look, lady,’ he said, walking around his desk and dropping his 200-pound frame into the chair. ‘I don’t know what you want, but let’s not talk shit here. You don’t need a room. If you needed a room you’d go and check in at the Marriott, the Hilton or one of those other places on West Century Boulevard. Even if you were on a budget – which from your two hundred dollar jeans I doubt very much – you wouldn’t chose to come to this shithole. Why would you?’
She played with her purse, nervous now.
‘What are you? You’re not a cop, I can see that. Let’s see. A private investigator? No, way too classy for that. I got it – you’re a goddamned reporter. What you after? I might be able to help – for a small exchange of some sort.’
‘You’ve busted me,’ she said, smiling. She thought of Cynthia Ross. ‘Yeah, I’m a journalist – freelance – working on a story for the Times.’
‘So how can I help?’ he said, standing up again, and coming closer.
‘I’m Gruen, by the way, Dave Gruen,’ he said, stretching out his hand. The touch of it – all slimy and wet – made Kate think of an enormous carp her dad had once caught when they’d gone on a fishing trip. She couldn’t bear the thought of it wriggling in her palms and so when he had given it to her to hold she’d tossed it back into the water.
‘Hi, I’m Donna. Donna Davies.’ It was the name of a friend from high school.
If he laid a finger on her she would – what? What could she do? She needed that information.
‘I’m trying to find a Robert – or Bob, Bobby – Gleason. I believe he’s staying here?’
‘That’s right, honey.’
‘Could you tell me which room he’s in?’
‘Could do.’
Kate started to open her purse.
‘Look, I can’t stretch to much – this is my own money here – but I can give you – what? – twenty bucks?’
‘You’re kidding me, right?’
‘Okay – what about thirty?’
‘Fifty.’ It was not so much a request as a statement. ‘I don’t like to do this – it’s against my principles – but if I do give some info to a reporter then it’s got to be worth my while, you understand.’
‘Okay, then. Fifty it is.’ She grappled for the money. ‘Here it is. Two twenties and a ten.’
As she handed over the money she felt his fat fingers stroke the underside of her palm.
‘Which room?’ she said, pulling away from him.
‘No need to start acting up, lady,’ he said. ‘Only trying to be nice and friendly.’
‘Where’s the goddamned room?’
‘Number 27, second floor, right at the end.’ She tried to recall whether the disc with 27 etched into it had a key attached.
‘Is he in?’
‘I think so.’ He went to look behind the desk. ‘Yep, his key’s not here so I guess he is. So go straight up, but don’t tell him anything about our – arrangement, okay? Oh, you’ll have to take the stairs, though. Elevator’s out of order.’
‘Okay, thanks,’ she said, walking away from him.
She took out her cell to check she still had a signal. There was another missed call from Josh.
As she climbed the poorly lit stairway she felt herself growing more anxious. She tried to take a deep breath, but it was useless. Fear began to tighten her throat like a noose around her neck. She could always go back, take Cassie’s advice and call Josh or 911. But that would give Josh the satisfaction of solving the case when, from what she could gather, he’d done fuck all. No way.
Because she was so afraid she deliberately forced herself to walk quickly down the gloomy corridor. She couldn’t quite believe she was standing outside room 27. On the other side of the door was the man who wanted to harm her, possibly even kill her. She raised her hand and knocked. She couldn’t hear anything from inside. Was he out? Could Gruen have been wrong? As she lent forward to put her ear to the wood, the door opened.
She reared back to see a tall, white-haired man, youngish, with white skin and pink eyes. He looked like a ghost. It was a moment before Kate realised he was albino. He didn’t seem surprised to see her standing there at his door. In fact, his eyes didn’t seem to register any emotion whatsoever.
‘I know who you are,’ he said. His voice was gentle, almost like a whisper.
Just as Kate opened her mouth to speak he reached out and pulled her into the darkened room. She tried to resist, but his grip on her arm was too strong. He clamped his hand over her mouth. She felt her lips press into her teeth and tasted blood. He pushed her into a chair and clamped a pad over her mouth, securing it with brown sticky tape. Then he tied her hands behind her back with a piece of rope.
It took her a while before her eyes adjusted to the gloom – the blinds looked like they had never been opened, and the only light in the room came from the soft glow of candles. She wished she had just sat there quietly with her eyes tight shut. What she saw turned her insides to liquid.
The room was some kind of temple devoted to a dead serial killer. Gleason was the god, the albino the ultimate worshipper. Wherever she looked she was confronted by photocopies of the face of Bobby Gleason, some which had been blown up so that his image nearly covered a whole wall. There were headlines from newspapers, tracking the case from the first killing in 1992 to Gleason’s arrest in 1997, the subsequent trial and imprisonment until his suicide in 2000. Arranged around the walls were cut-outs of the faces of young women, women Kate recognised as Elizabeth Ventura, Jane Gardener, Teresa Collins, Frances Silla and Tracey Newton. Gleason’s victims.
On a piece of paper tacked to the ice box in the corner of the room was a list of everyone involved in the case. At the top was her name; next was Cassie’s.
‘You’re even more beautiful in person than in the pictures,’ he said. Again his voice was ethereal, almost insubstantial. ‘Sorry,’ he said, suddenly embarrassed. ‘I haven’t introduced myself. My name is Robert Gleason, but you can call me Bobby.’
Kate grunted.
‘He was a great man. Truly, he was. Cut down in his prime. He would have gone on to do even greater, better things if he’d only been given the chance.’
As he walked towards her Kate felt as if she were shrinking into herself, tensing her body as if to protect herself from some kind of approaching predator.
‘But you had to ruin it, didn’t you?’
She felt a cold finger on the back of her neck. He was stroking her hair now.
‘Why are you grey? How old are you? Late thirties? Very young to go grey. I hope you don’t mind me asking you, but I’ve always been curious about that.’
Kate felt acid bile rise up her oesophagus and eat into the back of her throat. She tried to swallow, but couldn’t.
‘You see, I feel I have some connection with you. You being grey and me not having any skin pigment. You know that, in the wild, albino animals rarely survive because they lack the pigments that provide a kind of camouflage, a disguise, for them? So I guess I’ve been lucky to get this far.’
His hands moved around from the back of Kate’s head to her neck. She watched as his thumb moved down her throat to her clavicle and back to the side of her neck.
‘I can feel your pulse,’ he said. ‘It’s quite fast. I can help you slow it down a little if you like.’
He pressed his thumb into her skin, gently at first, as he began to massage the muscles of her neck.
‘You seem stressed,’ he said. ‘You should try to relax more. Imagine yourself in a stress-free environment. A beach, say. Listen to the waves crash on the shore.’
A vision of the dead baby flashed into her head.
‘Can you hear them? The waves?’
He started to press harder now, with both hands, around her neck.
Kate remembered that Gleason had killed some of his victims by asphyxiation.
‘Do you want to go to that other place?’ he asked gently. You are ready, aren’t you?’
Suddenly Kate couldn’t breath. She heard herself choking. She tried to free her hands, but the more she struggled the more the rope bit into her skin. She tried to open her mouth to scream, but it was no use.
She realised she was going to die.
‘You know, it’s not me doing this. I really can’t take credit for it. It’s him. And, by the way, what you said about him in that interview with the Times, that really wasn’t very nice, was it? Did nobody tell you one shouldn’t speak ill of the dead?’
As he turned his head to look at the images of Gleason on the far wall, the door to the room smashed open. Kate turned her head to see a man framed in the doorway. He had a gun.
The albino threw himself down to the floor, but he wasn’t quick enough. One bullet tore into his right shoulder, another into his right hand, sending a fine spray of blood onto Kate’s face and into her eyes.
More armed men stormed into the room. They clustered around the ghost of a man on the floor, who was now whimpering in pain. One officer stood over the albino with a gun aimed at his head as another checked him for weapons.
‘He’s clean,’ said the cop.
‘Okay, cuff him.’ She recognised the voice. She blinked, but her vision was blurred.
She felt something pull at her hands. Suddenly they were free. She looked up. There was Josh.
‘What the fuck were you thinking?’ he shouted.
She shook her head, tears welling in her eyes, and tried to speak, her words muffled by the tape around her mouth. He couldn’t hear her, but it might have sounded like sorry.
