The Lover's Children

Chapter 60 – April’s Tears #11

JAMES

At length, Borje says “James, my thanks for telling me this.”

“I’d prefer that you don’t tell Georgie I told you.”

“No, of course not.” His voice is still unsteady… “… If she’d wanted me to know, she’d tell me herself.”

“She may not want to tell you at all. Women often don’t with something like that. But for what it’s worth,

it has not seemed to me that she came out of the experience traumatised.”

“No?” He sips. Breathes. Straightens up. “Would you know? Please, tell me what happened.”

“This remains between us.”

“Of course. You think I don't know how to be discreet? Was it a random attack? Or was it personal?”

“It was personal, yes, but not against Georgie. She was a means to an end.”

His brows rise. “A grudge against you? Revenge?”

“Only indirectly against me. It doesn’t matter. The point is, Georgie was rescued before any real

damage was done. She wasn’t hurt. Only badly scared. Once she was safe again, I… believe she was

okay.”

“How badly scared? What did they do to her?”

“Tied her to the bed by her wrists. Made it clear what was coming. But we arrived in time.”

“We?”

“Me. Michael. Larry.”

“Larry? Larry Waterman?”

“Yes, him. I stayed with Georgie. He and Michael went after her captors.”

He gulps at his drink, digesting my words. His throat ripples. “So, who was the target for this attack

then? If it wasn’t Georgie or you? And where are the assailants now?”

“Larry was the target…” Borje goes very still. “…Someone… from his past… was targeting him through

his friends. But the criminals involved are all dead or imprisoned.”

“So, the actual threat is over?” Content rights by NôvelDr//ama.Org.

“That’s right.”

“Larry…” he muses. “Who’s all but accused me of being a serial killer… And he has a Past?”

“That’s not for me to comment on. And don’t read anything into his behaviour with you. He’s taken a

liking to Georgie. He is perhaps over-protective of her.”

Borje sniffs. “At least now, I understand why. They have a few things in common.”

“Such as?”

“Such as being generally socially inept.”

In the confines of my skull, I beat down indignation with a big stick.

Borje keeps talking, but a smile lurks… “Women need to be socially ept. Men can cover it with

gruffness. Or as in your case, by being a Dom and general grouchy bastard…” His smile cracks out,

but then fades again… “Women have it harder. They're supposed to be socially talented. James, has

Georgie seen anyone else since this happened? Other relationships before me?”

“I believe she’s had a few dates, but I’m not aware they led to anything.”

He draws in air, knocks back his drink. “Okay, I think I know what I need to. Thanks for your time,

James. Now…” He checks his wrist… “…if you’ll excuse me…” He raises a palm. “Don’t get up for me.

I can see myself out.”

*****

The days pass and although it’s still early in Charlotte’s pregnancy, it’s looking good. She’s said nothing

about any morning sickness and the only face looking happier than hers right now is Michael’s. Some

things never change though.

Charlotte enters the lounge carrying a tray with coffee pot and a teetering plate of rolls. “I felt like a

snack. Then, I thought everyone else might be peckish, so I made some sandwiches.”

Richard’s newspaper drops. He surveys the tray over his spectacles, huffs a laugh, and the paper rises

again.

I eye the humongous offering. “What’s in them? You could knock out a rhino at fifty paces with any one

of those.”

She sets the tray down. “Erm… Cheese. Ham. Pickled onions. A bit of roast beef I found in the fridge.

There were a couple of tomatoes and half a cucumber. A hard-boiled egg too. And there were a few

gherkins left in a jar. And…”

A rat-tat at the front door. Richard shifts in his armchair, but Charlotte revolves. “I’ll go.” A minute later,

she reappears. “A visitor for you, Richard.” Will Stanton follows her in.

“Will…" Richard folds his paper away, starts to rise. "… Was I supposed to be expecting you?"

“No, you weren’t. Please, sit down. In fact…” Stanton’s face is bland… “… it’s not you I came to see. I’d

like to talk with Mr Waterman. I hope this isn’t an inconvenient time?”

“Not for me, it isn’t. We’ll track him down for you.” Richard hovers…

Considering Mitch’s likely reaction?

“… For the avoidance of doubt, is there anything…?”

Stanton’s voice is crisp. “He’s not in any trouble if that’s what you’re asking. But after his…um…

intervention… earlier this month, I’d like to pass something by him. I think, Richard, you might want to

sit in on the conversation. You too, James, Charlotte.”

While I might have thoughts on what the police commissioner wants to discuss, it’s hardly for me to

interfere. I tap through to his phone… “Larry, are you free? Will Stanton’s here and he’d like a word with

you…”

A pause, then Mitch’s voice. “Who is it?” In the background, Cara squeals and Vicky wails in response.

Klempner’s tone remains casual. “It’s just James wanting a word about something.” A note of caution

enters his tone. “Is that right?”

“Yes, there’s nothing for Mitch to worry about. There’s no trouble. He just wants to talk.”

“I’ll be right across.”

I snap the phone closed. “He’s on his way. I think Mitch might be with him. Will, if she is, take it easy.

She didn’t cope well with his arrest.”

Richard interrupts. “She was in pieces.”

“He was never actually under arrest.” Stanton sounds testy.

“Nonetheless,” I say…

Charlotte nods gloomily, perching herself on the footstool beside my armchair, ignoring the sandwiches.

It’s not more than a couple of minutes before the front door clicks. Footsteps clip across the hall tiles, a

single set of footsteps. Klempner enters, alone. Outwardly calm, he positions himself with his back to

the hearth in a sort of ‘at-ease’ position, but the pulsing vein at his neck gives lie to his apparent

composure.

Poised…

“Commissioner, my wife is not with me. I left her with my daughter and granddaughter. She was badly

upset the last time we met. I’ve not told her you’re here. I’d like to hear what you have to say before I

do tell her. So… What can I do for you? Is there a problem? Have you changed your opinion about my

having some involvement with those murders of yours?" He glances to Charlotte, whose lips flatten and

pale.

Stanton spreads his hands. "Yes, there's a problem. But the problem isn't yours. And while I would

hardly call them my murders, for the avoidance of doubt, no one believes you were involved. That's not

my reason for being here. The fact is, I have a favour to ask you.”

Klempner blinks, his head canting. "You have my attention." Behind flat, grey eyes, sharks lurk in the

currents. His expression remains clamped down, but the tension in his body dissipates. "I think we can

agree, Commissioner, that I owe you a favour.” He slides a palm to the back of his neck, rubbing slowly.

“I've been wondering what the payback would be."

“Payback?”

“Everyone in this room knows you could have locked me up last year and buried the key.”

Stanton sucks at his teeth. “Don’t think of it that way. Not payback. It’s simply that… that you have

certain skills and resources I would like to draw on. As for what I’m going to ask, it’s entirely your

choice if you decide to do it. In any case, I think you should discuss it with your wife first.”

Klempner gazes at him, then, "I'm having a drink. Anyone else?"

"Malt for me," says Richard. I hold out my glass for a top-up. Charlotte makes for the door. “Gonna grab

a lemonade.”

Klempner splashes an inch into the three glasses, then offers up the bottle. "Commissioner? Or are you

going to tell me you're on duty?"

Stanton growls. "To hell with that. I'm still trying to get past visiting the morgue where I had to look over

what's left of a young woman and listen to Borje telling me what some maniac did to her. Yes, I'll have

one too."

Klempner pours then, passing across the tumbler, he takes a spot on the settee, draping an arm over

the back. "So, what is this favour?" His tone is polite, if noncommittal, but intrigue darts between his

words.

Stanton sips, then gulps. "Klempner…”

Not Waterman...

“… whatever is said in the room, has to remain in this room."

Klempner gives a small smile. "I assure you, Commissioner, you don't live the life I have by shooting off

your mouth unnecessarily."

Stanton leans forward on his elbows, expression intense. "I need your guarantee on that."

Klempner’s chin juts. Just a little, but noticeably. "For what it’s worth to you, Stanton, you have my

word. I'll not repeat anything you tell me here."

I sip at my malt, inhale the fumes and a sense of unreality. It’s weird. Bizarre. Will Stanton. The Police

Commissioner. Asking Lawrence Klempner for help. It’s downright surreal.

"Thank you." Stanton takes more of his drink, swishing it around his mouth, then, "During your

unauthorised um… explorations… at the crime scene down in the City, you said you had followed a

suspicious individual. Can I assume from that, you have an interest in the case? That you know

something of it?”

Richard produces his newspaper again, lays it out, rich in lurid headlines.

Klempner glances at the paper. Glances back. "My interest in the prowler I spotted came from another

direction. I’ve read something of the case of course, but let's assume I haven't. Start at the beginning.

In any case, I imagine that much of what the police have learned hasn't been released to the press."

Stanton nods. “You imagine correctly. Very well… The case… The first murder we know of was last

January. The victim was found in a hotel room. She was very young, more a girl than a woman. She

was tied, spreadeagled to the bed. Murdered. Mutilated." He pauses, breathes… “At the time it was

assumed to be an isolated incident…”