Whitewash (31 page)

Leon watched from below the catwalk. Down under the massive pipes and valves the sound was deafening. Stuff clanked and hissed as machinery overhead turned on and off. It sounded like water spraying and shooting through the maze of twisting white pipes, some of them as small as Leon’s arm, others big enough to swallow him whole. All of them snaked in from the walls. Most of them, especially the massive ones, were connected to the huge tank in the middle of the room.

This tank was different from the one outside—no floating chicken heads. That had freaked Leon out. All those bobbing chicken heads with their eyes wide open, witnessing him toss that poor sucker in. Maybe it wouldn’t have bothered him so much, except for that stupid fortune-teller. She had him looking over his shoulder, scrutinizing stuff, examining it like it mattered. The same stuff he wouldn’t ordinarily think twice about.

The place was a sauna. He could feel the steam and heat radiating off the pipes. He had gone through his packet of tissues waiting for her. Now a river of sweat ran down his back and sides. His shirt stuck to his skin. His forehead dripped. But he tried not to rush it this time. Being in a hurry had made him screw up twice. Instead, he stayed put and watched her up on the catwalk. He’d wait for her to settle down.

She looked different somehow, but Leon couldn’t decide what it was. He had scoped out the place before she got here. No one else had been around in this entire area, not even in the hallways that ran along the upper floor, so he didn’t have to worry about her bringing anyone along. As far as he could tell, there were only two doors into this place, the one behind him that led outside to the parking lot and the one she had used on the second level that connected the catwalk into a series of hallways that led to the rest of the plant.

She paced the length of the catwalk, shoving her hands into the lab coat and then taking them out to check her watch. She kept glancing at the door as if expecting someone to come through it.

Leon wiped the sweat from his eyes again. She appeared jumpier today, on edge, impatient, like she wanted to get this over with. Leon smiled, thinking,
You aren’t the only one, lady.

He started up the metal ladder on the back wall. He had already checked it out. An easy four-foot drop got him to a platform that was connected to the back end of the catwalk. She’d never see him coming. Leon reminded himself he didn’t need to waste any energy trying to be quiet. No one could hear a damn thing in this place with all the clanging and hissing.

He’d brought along a two-foot length of galvanized pipe. He’d used it the last time. It felt good in his hand—just the lucky charm he needed.

Not that Leon was superstitious. He wished he could use a fucking .22 and get it over with. This accident crap was bullshit. He was much better with a simple double tap to the back of the skull, letting the bullet ricochet inside the skull. No mistakes with a .22.

He was still sweating like a son of a bitch, but he climbed up the ladder with ease despite that fucking ringing in his head and the throbbing beat of the clanging pipes.

He dropped onto the platform and stayed in a crouched position, hidden behind a square metal box that vibrated. She didn’t turn around, didn’t break her pace. He was safe. That metal box shimmied and rattled the catwalk enough that Leon’s added weight didn’t matter.

Leon caught his breath. Adjusted his grip on the pipe. This was almost too easy. Just like the last time they had brought his prey right to him. He could have saved himself a car trip clear out to that loony bin had he taken care of her here on Saturday. Stupid security guard got in the way. And then he freaked over Casino Rudy. After all, what were the chances of your botched hit being in the same loony bin that your next hit includes on her Sunday-after-noon drive?

He pulled himself up to his full height and began his stalk. He kept his eyes on her back. One slow step then another like an animal stalking its prey. Steady and focused, ready to attack. If she turned, he’d pounce and be there swinging before she had a chance to react.

She pulled her fingers through her hair and he knew she had no idea he was there. He almost wanted to call out to her, at least let her know what was coming. Then he reminded himself that she had survived his first attempt. He had already given her a second chance. He told himself he could be on a plane right now, headed home if it wasn’t for this lady. He deserved a break.

Leon swung the pipe from right to left, smashing it into the side of her skull. Despite the machinery noise he thought he heard a distinctive crack. The blow was enough to send her flipping over the catwalk railing, her white lab coat making her look like a broken-winged bird. She splashed facedown and he waited for movement.

Nothing. Finally a dead hit.

He took in a generous gulp of hot, stagnant air. In seconds he could see blood from her head wound beginning to pool into the clear water. And just as Leon turned to leave, a red light started flashing above him. A screeching siren pierced through the hum and rattle and clanking noises.

Goddamn it! Something had tripped the fucking alarm.

He didn’t remember sliding down the ladder, but his left knee would. He rushed through the same door he came in. Then made himself walk, not run, across the parking lot.

Leon watched from below the catwalk. Down under the massive pipes and valves the sound was deafening. Stuff clanked and hissed as machinery overhead turned on and off. It sounded like water spraying and shooting through the maze of twisting white pipes, some of them as small as Leon’s arm, others big enough to swallow him whole. All of them snaked in from the walls. Most of them, especially the massive ones, were connected to the huge tank in the middle of the room.

This tank was different from the one outside—no floating chicken heads. That had freaked Leon out. All those bobbing chicken heads with their eyes wide open, witnessing him toss that poor sucker in. Maybe it wouldn’t have bothered him so much, except for that stupid fortune-teller. She had him looking over his shoulder, scrutinizing stuff, examining it like it mattered. The same stuff he wouldn’t ordinarily think twice about.

The place was a sauna. He could feel the steam and heat radiating off the pipes. He had gone through his packet of tissues waiting for her. Now a river of sweat ran down his back and sides. His shirt stuck to his skin. His forehead dripped. But he tried not to rush it this time. Being in a hurry had made him screw up twice. Instead, he stayed put and watched her up on the catwalk. He’d wait for her to settle down.

She looked different somehow, but Leon couldn’t decide what it was. He had scoped out the place before she got here. No one else had been around in this entire area, not even in the hallways that ran along the upper floor, so he didn’t have to worry about her bringing anyone along. As far as he could tell, there were only two doors into this place, the one behind him that led outside to the parking lot and the one she had used on the second level that connected the catwalk into a series of hallways that led to the rest of the plant.

She paced the length of the catwalk, shoving her hands into the lab coat and then taking them out to check her watch. She kept glancing at the door as if expecting someone to come through it.

Leon wiped the sweat from his eyes again. She appeared jumpier today, on edge, impatient, like she wanted to get this over with. Leon smiled, thinking,
You aren’t the only one, lady.

He started up the metal ladder on the back wall. He had already checked it out. An easy four-foot drop got him to a platform that was connected to the back end of the catwalk. She’d never see him coming. Leon reminded himself he didn’t need to waste any energy trying to be quiet. No one could hear a damn thing in this place with all the clanging and hissing.

He’d brought along a two-foot length of galvanized pipe. He’d used it the last time. It felt good in his hand—just the lucky charm he needed.

Not that Leon was superstitious. He wished he could use a fucking .22 and get it over with. This accident crap was bullshit. He was much better with a simple double tap to the back of the skull, letting the bullet ricochet inside the skull. No mistakes with a .22.

He was still sweating like a son of a bitch, but he climbed up the ladder with ease despite that fucking ringing in his head and the throbbing beat of the clanging pipes.

He dropped onto the platform and stayed in a crouched position, hidden behind a square metal box that vibrated. She didn’t turn around, didn’t break her pace. He was safe. That metal box shimmied and rattled the catwalk enough that Leon’s added weight didn’t matter.

Leon caught his breath. Adjusted his grip on the pipe. This was almost too easy. Just like the last time they had brought his prey right to him. He could have saved himself a car trip clear out to that loony bin had he taken care of her here on Saturday. Stupid security guard got in the way. And then he freaked over Casino Rudy. After all, what were the chances of your botched hit being in the same loony bin that your next hit includes on her Sunday-after-noon drive?

He pulled himself up to his full height and began his stalk. He kept his eyes on her back. One slow step then another like an animal stalking its prey. Steady and focused, ready to attack. If she turned, he’d pounce and be there swinging before she had a chance to react.

She pulled her fingers through her hair and he knew she had no idea he was there. He almost wanted to call out to her, at least let her know what was coming. Then he reminded himself that she had survived his first attempt. He had already given her a second chance. He told himself he could be on a plane right now, headed home if it wasn’t for this lady. He deserved a break.

Leon swung the pipe from right to left, smashing it into the side of her skull. Despite the machinery noise he thought he heard a distinctive crack. The blow was enough to send her flipping over the catwalk railing, her white lab coat making her look like a broken-winged bird. She splashed facedown and he waited for movement.

Nothing. Finally a dead hit.

He took in a generous gulp of hot, stagnant air. In seconds he could see blood from her head wound beginning to pool into the clear water. And just as Leon turned to leave, a red light started flashing above him. A screeching siren pierced through the hum and rattle and clanking noises.

Goddamn it! Something had tripped the fucking alarm.

He didn’t remember sliding down the ladder, but his left knee would. He rushed through the same door he came in. Then made himself walk, not run, across the parking lot.

Sabrina ran, stumbling every time she looked over her shoulder. Was it possible he hadn’t seen her? She knew she had screamed out loud when Anna Copello’s body plunged into the tank. He had to have heard. Maybe because she was underneath the catwalk the noise of the engines and pumps had drowned out her scream.

She took a sharp left around the corner of the building, slamming her body against the corrugated steel. She stopped to catch her breath. And to listen. The hydraulics of tanker trucks hissed and whined. An air-conditioning unit hummed. The alarm siren could barely be heard outside. It wasn’t necessary since the monitors in every security post would be flashing codes and location. They might not even hurry, Sabrina realized. After all, Reactor #5 wasn’t online. And the code wasn’t a breach of security. Sabrina knew exactly what had tripped the alarm. Lansik had installed alerts on every clean-water flushing tank so that when an oversized object fell in, an alarm would go off. Anna Copello’s body definitely constituted an oversized object and had tripped the alarm.

Sabrina wedged herself between the building and a scrawny line of crepe myrtles. Her heart banged against her rib cage. She couldn’t think. Instead, her mind sounded its own alarm, drumming over and over again. Why the hell was Anna even there? Did she really believe she could gain something by honing in on Sabrina’s meeting with Ernie Walker? One thing was for certain, Anna could not have been the target. And that man, whoever he was, was not Ernie Walker, the plant manager.

Sabrina contemplated what to do, where to go. If the man realized his mistake, if he heard Sabrina’s scream or saw her down below, would he check the lab? Would he find her office? Should she go to one of the security outposts? Would they even believe her? What would she tell them? She wasn’t even sure what had happened.

She made her way along the side of the building until she could cross between the tanker trucks, using them for cover. One of the drivers waved her out of the way. She found relief in the organized chaos despite filling her aching lungs with diesel fumes. She continued to glance over her shoulder, suddenly aware that the noise would camouflage his following her. But he couldn’t attack, not here, not out in the open.

She wanted to run again, but instead quickened her pace and wove her way under catwalks and behind tanks. Two men in hard hats looked up at her while they struggled with a lever on what Sabrina knew to be a shutoff valve. She checked their faces and wondered if she’d even recognize the man. That’s when she realized she must look a mess, her shirt stained and clinging to her, her shoes and pant legs muddy.

She stayed away from the administration buildings, circling to the parking lot. Her fingers grasped and held on to the car keys in her trouser pocket. Her heartbeat throbbed in her head and she stepped to its rhythm, hoping it would keep her from panicking and running. She didn’t need to think beyond getting across this parking lot and finding her rental car.

What the hell color was it? Why couldn’t she remember?

Before the panic dismantled her, she saw the corner space where she always parked. Thank God for routine. Now all that was left was to get inside, start the engine and get the hell away from there.