A Trifle Dead: Cafe La Femme, Book 1 (22 page)

Yes, I was still thinking about ordinary, everyday things. It was the only way to keep from screaming.

Gary left the cellar. He came back a while later with a doorstop dark rye sandwich on a plate, looking pleased with himself. ‘I know you like pesto, and smoked salmon, and semi-dried tomatoes, not sun-dried. There’s some baby spinach in there, too.’

Hipster food. My stomach gurgled anyway. Talking about murder raises an appetite.

The sandwich was so big that I had to turn it on its side to get it through the bars. I managed to eat some of it, my brain spinning away at top speed. Lunchtime. That meant I’d been in Gary’s custody for about ten or eleven hours. Holy hell. Where was my rescue team?

I had never suspected Gary. Had anyone else? Would Stewart and the others go to Bishop when they found me missing?

Dad always joked that he should use a tracking system, so he could locate me when I was running around giving him grey hairs during my teen years. I suppose it was too much to hope that Bishop’s paranoia had led him to secretly microchip me?

Yeah, that probably was too much to hope.

I was on my own. I was going to have to use all my skills to get out of this cage, out of this cellar and out of this house, to safety.

Most of my skills involved cooking and accessorising, and it was hard to see how that would be helpful, unless Gary suddenly got an insatiable craving for cannelloni, or needed to choose the perfect pair of earrings.

So, cross off all of Tabitha’s skills that require a kitchen or her handbag collection, and what are we left with?

Feminine wiles. Fuck.

‘Wonderful sandwich,’ I said, swallowing hard. ‘Best I’ve had in ages. Really hit the spot. How did you know just what I would like?’ Best not mention that I hate the combination of smoked salmon and semi-dried tomato. Could have been worse. Could have been capers.

‘I know you, Tabby,’ said Gary. ‘I watch you all the time. Haven’t you figured that out yet?’

I sighed, and leaned my head against the bars. ‘I think I’m starting to. Any chance of a cup of tea?’

‘Wouldn’t fit through the bars,’ he said.

I looked down, as if surprised that I was still in the cage. ‘Oh. Do we still need this? It’s not like I’m going anywhere.’

‘I’ll put the kettle on,’ Gary agreed, and sidled away. Moonshine gave me a dirty look and stalked after her new master.

Out of the cage. That would be a damn good start. A cuppa wouldn’t hurt, either. And then—freedom.

All I had to do was figure out how to get from A to B.

W
hen Gary returned
with the cup of tea, he unlocked the cage. I unwound myself from the confined space, carefully not thinking things like ‘I could hit him over the head right now and run away.’

For a start, I had nothing to hit him over the head with except for a warm (but not hot) cup of tea. Also, despite his casual clothes, I could see his police issue handgun holstered under his jacket.

I sat on a wobbly stool and drank my tea. He had put sugar in it, which annoyed me. I only take sugar in coffee. For a stalker, he sure hadn’t been paying much attention to my actual likes and dislikes.

‘Right,’ I said finally. ‘You’ve got my attention. What do you want now?’

‘I want you to respect me,’ said Gary. He hadn’t brought a cup of tea for himself, probably because he wanted to keep his Glock within easy reach.

‘Okay,’ I said. ‘Respect. Well, I’m pleased to hear you haven’t been running around killing dealers and dumping them in my building, net or no net. But how exactly are you going to make up for all this? Because I’ve got to tell you, most successful romances do not start out with one of the participants locking the other in a cage.’

‘I know,’ said Gary. ‘I’m sorry about that. But I needed to talk to you. Properly. Without any of those—people around you.’

‘You mean my friends?’

‘They’re no good for you. I mean, who have you been hanging around with lately? That Xanthippe—she has trouble written all over her. An internet hack. That cross dressing freak you live with.’

Now was not the time to give him a lecture about respecting the gender identity of individuals, and that men should be able to wear the occasional frock without being labelled by close-minded arseholes. I was really good at that speech, and it was painful to swallow it down. ‘You brought me here and locked me in a cage—making me miss half a day of work, by the way—to tell me you don’t like my friends?’

‘That café,’ said Gary. ‘It’s no good for you, either. It’s made you forget about us—the ones who look after you. You changed your menu to try to get rid of us all, but we’ll never walk away. It’s time to clean up your life, Tabby. I can help you.’

Now he was speaking for the whole police force? As if. Dad would smack him silly for that arrogance. I almost forgot about the gun. ‘What the hell am I supposed to do? Go back to working in the police canteen like a good little girl? You want me to waft around in a
Mad Men
frock with a tray of pies, playing the perfect housewife? That’s not me, Gary.’ Okay, the frock part does sound like me, but I was on a roll. ‘I don’t think you know me at all. The café is my dream—my true love. And thanks to you, I’ve been screwing my staff and customers over for nearly a week. Well, that’s it. I’m done. I want my Prada boots right now, and I’m going home.’

I slammed down the cup, marched across the room and searched a beaten-up chest of drawers, opening and closing each drawer with a bang. Then I went under the work bench, scrabbling through boxes of crap.

Gary sat there, and let me do it. He let me walk to the wardrobe as well, and sat unmoving when I flung open the doors.

There was something in there. Not my boots. A large, bulky shape, wrapped in garbage bags. I backed up a few steps. ‘Gary, that had better be another mannequin.’

‘I told you it was time to start cleaning up your life, Tabby,’ he said bitterly. ‘I’ve made a start for you. You’re bloody welcome.’

I hyperventilated, and my vision went black around the edges. ‘I’ve already seen one dead body this week, and I’m still a little bit freaked out by it. Please
tell me
that there isn’t another one right there in that wardrobe.’

‘See,’ said Gary, walking towards me slowly and steadily. ‘You have to understand the lengths I’m prepared to go to, to save you from yourself. You’re too nice to everyone. You allow the wrong people to stay in your life, even when they’ve used up all their chances. It’s important that you see how much I care about you.’

I backed up so far that I hit the cage, and hung on to the metal bars to keep myself upright. My brain ran through a list of horrors, as I considered who might be dead in that wardrobe.

Gary dragged the bags out of the way, and for a moment I just saw a mess of a dead person. And then I knew who it was. Numbness set in. Crying would have been nice, but I couldn’t get there yet.

‘I bet you gave him lasagne too,’ said Gary, with something like triumph in his voice.

‘Coffee,’ I said quietly. ‘Too much sugar.’

It was Locks. And sure, I’d known for a long time that he wasn’t going to live to a ripe old age. Too damn thin, too much sampling his own dodgy merchandise. But that was different to seeing him slumped in a wardrobe, cold and stiff in that stupid old coat of his.

My legs went from under me. I found a grubby wall to press against, and closed my eyes for a minute. ‘What are you going to do now?’ I asked when I could breathe well enough to speak.

‘I’ve got a couple of weeks personal leave,’ said Gary. ‘They were pushing me to take it after the siege and everything, and I finally agreed. Thought we could go away for a while, just the two of us. Somewhere nice, away from all the —’

‘Bad influences in my life?’ I was so damned tired.

‘That’s right,’ he said, as if it was obvious. ‘I’ve got your phone. I can send texts to your Mum, and Nin, and Bishop. Anyone who might come looking for you.’

‘You’ve still got Bishop’s mobile,’ I said.

Gary shook his head. ‘Dropped it off at his place this morning. After I erased your message.’

‘Okay.’

‘What do you mean?’

I lifted my eyes and stared at him from under my eyelashes. ‘Okay. I’ll go away with you. Might be nice.’

His face lit up in a genuine grin. ‘That’s great. I knew I could convince you.’

My stomach felt like there was something hard and spiky living in it. ‘Sure. I’m going to need my boots, though.’

‘Of course. I’ll go get them.’ Gary was already on the stairs when the doorbell rang, pealing loudly through the house.

I stared at my feet, determined not to let anything like hope show on my face.

‘Be quiet,’ Gary warned me, and went upstairs. I heard him lock the cellar door behind him.

I stood up as soon as he was gone, and padded over to Locks. I didn’t even know how Gary had killed him. ‘I’m sorry,’ I whispered. God, of all the dumb things Locks did in his life—I wouldn’t have thought accepting the occasional cup of coffee from me would be the riskiest.

Doorbell. That meant there was someone here. Time to make some noise. I grabbed the stool I had been sitting on earlier, and made for one of the tiny yellow windows. I wasn’t even sure if I could fit through one of them—not unless I lost a couple of inches off my hips. Probably shouldn’t have eaten that sandwich.

Then again, I didn’t have to fit through. I could smash them.

The first swing of the stool thudded pain through my shoulders as it connected with the glass, and didn’t make a dent. Sometimes it sucks to be a girl. Okay, a girl who doesn’t go to the gym. I swung again, and managed to break one of the windows. ‘Help!’ I yelled through the hole.

‘HEY,’ roared Gary, returning much faster than I’d expected.

I swung around, the stool held up like a weapon. Cool as you like, he drew his Glock and pointed it at me.

Don’t point a firearm at someone unless you intend to shoot them.
A memory of my dad’s placid voice filled my mind. I couldn’t move. My hands were shaking as I held the stool, but I didn’t dare lower it. I just stared into Gary’s bright blue eyes and his freckled face. ‘Okay,’ I said finally, hardly above a whisper. ‘I’m going to put this down now.’

‘Good idea,’ he said.

I placed the stool carefully on the ground. ‘Someone will have heard me. You may as well…’

‘No one heard you,’ he said, sounding almost sympathetic. ‘The front door’s at the other end of the house. It was Bishop and Constable Heather. But I didn’t answer the door.’ He cocked his head slightly, and I heard the distant sound of car doors slamming, and an engine starting up. ‘And now they’re leaving.’

‘How did they find me?’ I asked.

‘They didn’t find you, Tabby.’

‘How did they even know to look here?’ I didn’t know where here was, but it was a good sign that Bishop had been so close, even if he had totally failed on the white knight front.

Gary smiled. ‘I heard them talking together, on the doorstep. Turns out your friends have raised the alarm about you missing. They told Bishop you left him a voice message last night. He knows I had his phone, so I guess he wants to ask me about why the message isn’t there. That’s all, Tabby. He can’t have been very suspicious, or he would have looked around the place, even without a warrant.’

‘And he didn’t find me,’ I said, trying not to give away how gutted I was. What was the point of having a police officer as a not-quite-boyfriend if he couldn’t be appropriately obsessive about searching for my kidnapped self?

‘He might be back,’ Gary admitted. ‘And those friends of yours don’t necessarily care about search warrants. It’s time to go.’ In one quick, professional move, he holstered the Glock.

I breathed a bit more comfortably than when it had been pointing at me. Guns, they suck all the air out of a room. ‘Boots?’

‘Here.’ Gary grabbed my Prada wedge-heels from where he had dropped them, and passed them to me. I pulled them on. It felt good to have them back. Not to have a matching ensemble, though. This was survival.
Footwear means I can walk. Maybe run, if I have to.

Mind you, if physical fitness was going to be an essential element in surviving this situation, I was stuffed. I had plenty of stamina from long days on my feet, but I wasn’t exactly a jogger.

‘So,’ said Gary. ‘Let’s get out of here.’ He sounded excited, like we were going on a date. For all I knew, this was the best time he’d had in ages. He stepped close to me, and I tried not to flinch as he took my arm.

He moved his hand to my neck, and something clicked against the pale blue leather collar that I still wore around my throat. ‘What the hell?’ It was a leash. A freaking leash. ‘You have to be kidding me. Why do you even have a dog leash? You don’t have a dog!’

‘Cat leash,’ he corrected. ‘I can keep you close this way. Take your jacket off.’

Glaring at him, I shrugged the powder blue jacket off. Gary threaded the leash down one sleeve and then gave it back for me to awkwardly put back on. I wondered if this was one of Kev Darrow’s little innovations, and hoped not. The boy was too young to be displaying S&M tendencies.

When the jacket was back in place, Gary looped the end of the leash around his wrist, and then jammed his hand, my hand and the end of the leash into his own jacket pocket.

‘If you really want to put some distance between yourself and Bishop, you’d be better off leaving me here,’ I said. ‘I’m going to be useless in these heels. And I’m very slow. Also chatty and annoying. You’ll make your getaway much more efficiently without me hanging around your neck.’

Gary smiled like he was still trying to impress me, or flirt with me, leaving aside the fact that he had recently stuck a gun in my face. ‘I like you close.’ He tugged on the leash, and I felt a hard pressure on the collar at my throat.

‘Great,’ I muttered. ‘This is what I get for trying to revamp a tired fashion trend.’

I was never going to look at collars the same way again.

W
e walked through the house
, Gary holding my hand and the end of the damned leash in his right hand. The holstered firearm would be easy enough for him to reach with his left. From a distance, we might look like a smoochy couple, the girl holding her boyfriend’s hand in his pocket.

The thought of us being a smoochy couple made me see black and white spots in front of my eyes, but I could cope with this, I could, I could.

When we stepped out the side door of Gary’s ordinary weatherboard house, I finally got my bearings. I could see the Tasman Bridge below us, and the River Derwent. We were on the east-facing side of the hill, with the Domain above and behind us, and the Botanical Gardens below. Nice spot. Moonshine sat in a patch of sun, and gave me the same haughty look she had before. Obviously she didn’t approve of Gary’s taste in kidnap victims. Couldn’t say that I did, either.

I couldn’t quite see Mt Wellington, as we had the peak of the hill between us and it, but I knew roughly what direction it was in. That was some comfort, at least.

Gary pulled me around the side of his house and down to the street by way of his sloping lawn, and not the actual driveway. We stopped behind some large native bushes, and he squeezed my hand very tight in warning.

I peered around the shrubbery, and saw why he was taking such precautions. Bishop and Constable Heather had only made it a couple of houses up the road. They were parked a little way along, fenced in by a large yellow taxi and my blue Renault. Bishop and Heather stood in the middle of the street, arguing loudly with a group I mentally dubbed Tabitha’s Cavalry.

I could see Xanthippe, the loudest of all, waving her arms as she shouted at her brother. She was wearing a long leather coat that I had last seen hanging in my wardrobe (sure, it was hers originally, but she’d abandoned it for five years and I had squatter’s rights). I felt an overall sensation of warmth. Zee wouldn’t stop looking for me. That was the kind of friend she was. No matter what. Bishop might let his ego and his sense of reality get in the way, but not my girl.

Stewart and Ceege and Claudina were there, too. Darrow hung back, looking amused as hell by the whole proceedings. Xanthippe kept gesturing back towards Gary’s house, and I guessed she was trying to bully Bishop into returning to snoop around the place more effectively.

To scream or not to scream?

Gary’s fingernails grazed my palm. ‘If you attract their attention,’ he said casually. ‘I’ll start shooting. Not great at this range, but they’re all grouped together like that. I’d almost have to hit someone.’

‘Okay,’ I said. ‘We’ll do it your way.’ As I spoke, I dropped the contents of my right jacket pocket on the grass behind us. A lip gloss, one of Xanthippe’s nail polish bottles, and a couple of crumpled tissues. Here was hoping that one of my cavalry stopped arguing with the forces of law and order long enough to notice a fabulous clue when they saw one. If they saw it at all.

‘Good girl,’ Gary said, failing to notice my stealthy move. He led me back around the bushes, and across his neighbour’s front yard. Their property curved around, down the hill, and it was only a few seconds before we were out of sight of my deeply ineffective rescue party.

‘So,’ I said, a few minutes later, as we continued down the road away from Gary’s place. ‘Not escaping in a car or anything? That’s so environmentally sound of you. Got to think about your carbon footprint.’

Gary laughed. ‘I’ve got something better than a car. I told you, we’re going on a real holiday.’

‘What’s your long term plan?’
Don’t ask these things, Tabitha, do you really want the answer?
‘The longer we’re both missing at the same time, the more suspicious you’ll look. And, you know. There is a dead body under your house.’

‘Won’t be a problem,’ said Gary.

‘Uh-huh.’ Who was I to challenge his delusion? ‘What about me? What’s your long term plan for me?’

‘Once we’re a good long way away, you’ll text all your friends and family to say we’ve gone on a holiday together. Spur of the moment thing. I’m afraid they’ll think you’re very irresponsible, but given your behaviour lately, it won’t be unbelievable.’

Nin would flay me with an egg beater if she thought for one minute I’d skipped town on her without warning. Except she wouldn’t. None of them would believe that. Possibly it wasn’t the best idea to point out this fatal flaw in his plan. ‘What happens in two weeks time?’

‘That depends on how things go with us.’

I couldn’t stop myself shuddering at that one. Ew.

We turned down towards the Botanical Gardens car park, still walking in that odd joined-at-the-hip lope together. Gary’s jacket smelled like liquorice chews, and that reminded me of Locks, which made me want to cry. ‘Are we going to the Gardens?’

‘Passing through,’ said Gary. ‘It’s a good place not to be noticed.’

Okay, I thought to myself as we passed through the big iron gates of the Botanical Gardens.
Time to get serious about this, Tabitha. How exactly are you planning to escape?
I had to assume that there was some kind of vehicle waiting for us on the far side of the Gardens. So this was my best chance to break away from him, while there were still people around.

How unhinged was he? Would he start shooting people at random?

The leash was the problem. Maybe I could wrench it away from his fingers, but that would slow me down long enough for him to get the damned gun pointed at my head again, and I was willing to do pretty much anything to prevent that.

‘Hey, Tabby,’ called out a familiar face as we passed the snacks kiosk.

‘Hey,’ I called back in a weak voice.

Gary tugged sharply on my leash. ‘Who was that?’ he demanded.

‘I don’t know. Melinda something, I think. I know her brother.’ Melinda something had a baby jogger with her, and I willed her not to come over to chat. ‘If you wanted to walk through a major tourist attraction without being noticed, you should probably have kidnapped someone who doesn’t know everyone in Hobart.’ I wiggled my right fingers in a half-hearted wave to one of my old college teachers, who had an arm around some goth girl half his age.

By the time we reached the floral clock, I’d also been greeted by two regular café customers, my favourite bank clerk, and a couple of Ceege’s gamer friends. Also, I didn’t get any of them shot. Go me.

Leaving aside my evident popularity, Gary hadn’t chosen a good day for this. It was March, and sunny. The last almost-guaranteed good weather before Hobart turned into its usual frosty-rain-and-wind five month winter. Not only were the Gardens full of picnics, primary school excursions and general merrymakers, they were also packed to the gills with bridal parties and photographers.

Chances were, if Bishop failed to rescue me today, he’d be able to spot me in the background of several wedding snaps in tomorrow’s paper.

Gary was getting nervous. He twitched every time someone said hello to us. Instead of heading straight down to the exit at the foot of the hill, he dragged me into the Japanese Garden by my leash and jacket sleeve.

There was a wedding here too, the bridal party gathered for photographs with the miniature Mt. Fuji in the background of their shots.

Gary hissed between his teeth, and moved me sideways into a little pool area with a bridge and some elaborate bamboo sculptures. The spot was sheltered by high bushes, and reasonably private. ‘We’ll wait here a while,’ he said, trying to conceal his panic. ‘Until there aren’t so many people around. Then we can cross the highway, and get to the boat.’

‘Okay,’ I agreed, and we both sat down on the little wooden bridge. It was a relief—my boots were pretty, but not designed for endless hill walking. Boat. We were going by boat. Was now the time to mention that I get seasick on fairground rides, or should I wait to throw up on him at the most opportune moment?

Gary checked his watch. A minute later, he did it again.

‘Are we really waiting for the crowds to thin?’ I asked.

‘Not just that,’ he admitted, and gave me one of those happy freckled smiles. No longer charming at all.

‘They’re going to find Locks, you know,’ I said. And, hey. I managed to say his name without blubbing. ‘Bishop might have to wait for a warrant, but Xanthippe’s not backward when it comes to break and enter.’

‘All the better if she is there. With all those perverted friends of yours.’ Gary looked pleased. ‘That would be excellent.’

‘You’ve lost me.’ In so many ways.

‘It’s simple enough,’ said Gary. ‘The story will be that Lockwood was working with Morris. They were both the Trapper. Lockwood was brought into the station once, for questioning about Morris’s death, and the traps, and that will support the new theory. Bishop even had him on the suspect list as your stalker. Today, Bishop’s going to find evidence that Lockwood tried to plant a trap at my house. But tragically, the dealer stuffed up and got himself killed. Boo hoo, case closed again.’

‘Because, what?’ I asked flatly. ‘He hit himself over the head and wrapped his own body up in garbage bags?’

‘Nah,’ said Gary, giving the leash what he probably thought was an affectionate tug. ‘He tried to set a bomb. But he wasn’t very good at it, so it blew up in his face.’

I don’t care how sunny the afternoon was, it was cold where I was sitting. ‘When will it happen?’
How long, in other words, do I have to get the hell away from you, and warn Bishop and Xanthippe and the others not to go anywhere near that house of yours?

There was a deep sound in the distance, a rumble high on the hill above the Botanical Gardens. I looked up, and fixed upon a slow-moving billow of black smoke beyond the trees. Oh.

‘With any luck, that got your rescue party,’ said Gary. The smugness in his voice was unbearable. For a few precious seconds, I was angry enough to not be scared of guns. I grabbed the leash in my left hand and wrenched hard on it, shoving him aside with my hip.

He came up on his feet after me, but I slammed him again with my hip. I wouldn’t have gotten away with it if the bridge wasn’t so slippery, but he lost his balance and fell, half into the pond, almost dragging me with him.

I snapped the press-stud at my throat, and released the collar. It and the leash whooshed down my sleeve as I ran for it.

The Japanese garden was like a maze, so I was out of his sight in an instant, tearing my way around corners, along pebbled paths, and past the startled bridal party.

Somewhere behind me, I heard the cracking sound of a single gunshot.

I exploded out of the Japanese Garden, running hard across the soft lawn in my deeply impractical wedge-heels. It was exposed out here, not enough hiding places. I ducked and weaved around the English trees and hedges. There had to be a good place to hide. With walls. Walls would be really good right now.

The path loomed up before me, hard and unwelcoming to my poor tortured feet (next time I get kidnapped, I want my sneakers!) but mercifully equipped with direction signs. I veered to the left, running up the hill. I didn’t dare turn around, to see how near he was, or even if he was in sight. Maybe he wouldn’t shoot me. He wanted me alive, right?

Then again, without the illusion of the lovely, romantic brainwashing holiday Gary had planned, I was just some chick on the loose with information that could destroy him. I couldn’t bet my life on him being sentimental.

I hate running. My lungs felt like they were about to collapse. My head hurt, and my hair was a mess. I’d lost my hair tie in the struggle, and my ponytail was a thing of the past.

I almost cried as the cactus house came into view. More of a cottage really; a small shed with opaque white glass walls. I scrambled towards it. Walls. I am so not an outdoors person.

Where were all the people? The park, which had been so full of picnics, lovey-dovey couples and weddings only a little while earlier, was now deserted. Possibly the explosion had drawn them all off to see what the commotion was? In any case, the crowds had most definitely thinned. I reached the cactus house and looked around wildly to check Gary was nowhere in sight before I hurled myself through the doors.

The warm, greenhousey atmosphere overwhelmed me and my sore lungs as I made my way inside. It was mercifully quiet in here. I circled the rows of tall, spiky desert succulents, and made my way to the back. Once I was tucked away behind by a display of cacti, I allowed myself to drop to the grubby stone floor and have a proper panic attack.

Gary was the Trapper. Gary was a murderer. Gary had blown up his own house, and could well have taken several people I loved with it.

Gary had a big fat police issue firearm.

I concentrated on breathing in the steamy air, and the panic gradually bled away. Everything was going to be all right. We used to come to the Gardens on school trips a lot, when I was little. This place was my favourite. There was something about it—the heat, the silence. The sharp, pointy plants.

What it didn’t have, of course, was a back door.

Of all the stupid things I’d ever done, this was the stupidest. Okay, running uphill across open grassland hadn’t been a great survival technique, but trapping myself in a hothouse shed with only one door took a special brand of moronitude.

I had to get out of here.

Even as I began to unkink my legs, I heard the door swing open. I huddled down behind the cacti, trying to keep as quiet as possible. Maybe it wasn’t him. Maybe it was him, but he didn’t actually know I was here…

A gunshot cracked through the air, blasting the top off a large
Echinocactus platyacanthus
right by my shoulder. I squeaked, and kept my head down.

‘Tabby,’ Gary said in a friendly voice, his feet treading quietly across the floor.

Caught.

The fallen top of the
Echinocactus
caught my eye. I reached out to it, pushing my fingers through the squidgy vegetable matter inside the cactus’s core. I thought about medieval movies from the 1950s. I thought about spiked gloves. I drew the fallen piece of cactus into my lap, letting my hair fall forward to hide it.

Gary’s steps slowed, and halted right behind me. I didn’t look up. He wouldn’t shoot me in the back, would he?