The Lover's Children

Chapter 69 – Solstice – Part 2

KLEMPNER

James looks blank for a moment, then blinks. Lips twitching, he shrugs, setting his knife to one of the

quarters.

“What are we eating?”

He shrugs again. “No idea.”

“You’ve diced…” I eye the bowl… “… enough for an army, and the enemy camp besides. And you don’t

know what you’re making?”

Yet another shrug. “Half the cookbook starts with ‘Chop a medium onion’…”

“Well, you have half a cookbook’s worth of medium onions there.”

James sucks at his teeth and raises brows, looking around the kitchen. “Onion soup it is then.” Looking

blue, “It’s a good choice for Charlotte right now. Comfort food.”

Who’s it comforting?

Was James really so invested in another man’s child?

“Anything I can do?”

I’m going to have to stop asking that…

He turns back to his chopping board... “What could you possibly do?” … slicing the quarters into fine

shavings.

He falls silent and again, after a few moments, I realise I am dismissed. Hands in pockets, I dither…

Now what?

The walk was probably the best idea…

Fresh air…

From beyond the kitchen door, something thumps: the thwack of axe on timber.

I know what I’m hearing. Pausing by the refrigerator, I rummage for what I’m sure will be there, then

head outside, following the pounding from the woodshed. Much as I expected, I find Michael, his back NôvelDrama.Org exclusive content.

to me, stripped to the waist, splitting wood.

A slice of pine sits on his tree-stump ‘anvil’, the cross-section of a trunk. Axe in hand, he swings with

the practised ease of the expert. The blade curves through a long arc to impact squarely on the centre

of the pine block, cleaving it into two smaller logs that clunk to the ground, one side and the other.

The whole action is uncannily reminiscent of James back in the kitchen.

Michael’s mongrel lies in one corner, ears drooped, head dropped onto front paws. I move to stand by

him, well out of the range of the swinging axe. The stub that passes for its tail gives a perfunctory wag

as Bear joins me.

Grunting, Michael reclaims one of the logs, centres it back onto the stump and swings again.

And again.

And again.

Over the next five minutes, the timber slice is reduced to kindling, fingers of pine lying in a scattered

heap around his stump.

Sweat trickling down his spine, he rests the axe, head down, onto the stump, his hands clasped over

the heel of the handle. Breathing heavily, he stoops over it, resting his forehead on the back of his

wrists.

I shouldn’t be here…

Silently, I edge for the door, when abruptly, Michael straightens up, axe in hand, and with a scream,

turns and throws, spinning the axe through the air…

Fuck!

I jerk back just in time, the air rippling my hair as the blade whirls past, slams into the door frame, bites

then, vibrating, hangs there.

“Christ!” Michael strides forward. “Klempner, I didn't know you were there. I didn’t mean…”

Resisting the pounding at pulse and temples, and from under my ribs, I snarl, “First rule of handling a

deadly weapon. Fucking look where you’re aiming it.”

He rubs at his scalp. “Klempn… Larry… My apologies. I came out here to…” He grinds to a halt. Looks

away.

“To burn off some frustration?”

“You could put it that way.” He gives a lop-sided smile. Offers up palms. “I had a deep urge to hit

something. Seemed best to target it usefully.”

“You almost did hit something.” I keep my tone dry. “And almost succeeded where for over forty years,

half the globe’s criminal underworld has failed.”

He grimaces. “Really. I’m sorry.”

I hold up my offering from the fridge, a six-pack. “I come bearing gifts.”

He huffs a laugh, droops his head for a moment, then straightens up. “Thanks. Yeah, I could use one.”

Peeling off two cans, I offer one, take the other myself. He sits on the tree stump. Sucks at the beer.

Breathes in. Cups the can in his hands. “Funny how life turns out sometimes. All good intentions.

Everyone pulling in the same direction. And it still goes wrong.”

“It wasn’t actually your fault,” I say. “I’d not announced myself. I didn't want to startle you.” I aim a finger

up at where the axe juts out from the door frame. “I didn't intend to be on the receiving end of that.”

He rolls eyes at me. “That’s not what I was talking about.”

“Oh… Jenny?”

“Yeah…” He droops. “It’s strange. I know intellectually that it's just ‘one of those things’. But it never

occurred to me it could happen like this. I never thought it would sting like this.” He takes another gulp

of beer… “And that's before I even have children.”

“You already have one child in Cara. She’s calling you ‘Daddy’. And you… in a sense… have two

more.”

His throat bobs. “Two more?”

“You are… what… godfather… to the Haswell’s boy. And I wouldn't hesitate to consider you a guardian

to Vicky.” His eyes widen… “And…” I continue… “Vicky is your sister-in-law.”

He stares, then chuckles. “So she is. I'd not thought of that. Ye gods…” He gazes into the distance…

“We’re a weird mixed-up family, aren’t we. Women with two husbands. Men with two wives. Sisters a

generation apart in age. Mitch with a ‘son-in-law’ older than herself. And you…”

“Me?” I keep my tone innocent. “What about me?”

He swings his head. “Nothing.” He tilts back, finishing his can. “There another of those?”

“Sure.” I peel off another beer, pass it across.

He pops the seal. Drinks. Sighs. Sits in silence.

I finish my own can.

“Klempner.”

“What?”

“Thanks for the beer. You know…” He tips his can to me... “You're turning into one of the good ‘uns.”

What the fuck do I make of that?

*****

I don’t enjoy feeling useless. Back in the lounge, the fire heating my back, I churn through the

possibilities.

Mitch fusses over Vicky in her carry cot, tucking in blankets with what looks to me like unnecessary

force. Our daughter sleeps peacefully through it while Cara whines with the Haswell kid on the settee.

Mitch wags a finger at her, Tutting her quiet again. Cara pushes out her bottom lip. Beside her, Adam’s

face is reddening. Mitch hooks a finger into the elasticated top of his pants, peering down and in, sniffs,

then rummages through Beth’s supply of paraphernalia, producing a packet of nappies.

I’m tempted to comment, but that might result in me being pulled into what the women call ‘pee duty’.

I’ve gotten through life so far never having had to change a diaper. I’m happy to keep it that way.

A diversionary change of subject…

“D’you think there’s anything I can contribute to what’s happening with Jenny?”

Mitch tugs Adam into position on a towel. “I don’t think so.” She doesn’t look up, but I can see her

throat working. “It’s something they have to work through themselves.”

“In that case, I’ll make myself useful elsewhere…” She glances up, brow cocked… “You’re sure you’re

happy with me giving Stanton the help he asked for? With this killer they’re hunting?”

The glance morphs to a direct stare. Mitch’s chest rises. Falls. “You have the skills and the contacts. I’d

say you have a moral duty to help.” There’s a touch of grit in her words. “Are you going to contact him?”

I lift her chin with my fingers. “If you’re sure, I’ll do it now.”

“I’m sure.”

*****

Haswell gave me Stanton’s phone number. Few other people have it. The direct line to an old personal

friend. I tap in.

Three rings, and it answers. “Commissioner?”

“Who…? Klemp… Mr Waterman? Um… What can I do for you?”

“It’s more what I can do for you, Commissioner. After our last conversation, in consideration of my

wife’s sensibilities, I declined your request for assistance in the matter of your serial killer. However,

since then, I’ve discussed it with her. Mitch has asked me to render you any support you require.”

A short silence then, “Is that so?” Stanton’s voice booms satisfaction. “Excellent! When can you start?”

“As soon as you like. Can you arrange for me to receive a copy of the relevant files?”

“I’ll have a set put together for you right away. It’s not the kind of material that can be emailed, you

understand. I’ll have them couriered to you.”

“Thank you. And remind me, the names of the three you wanted me to interview with regard to your

investigation.”

“That would be…” Paper rustles in the background… “… Emilio Schauder, Damien Renberger and

Jake Gordonton.”

“You have no cause to believe they may be connected with the murders?”

“Not connected in the sense that they may be implicated. But between them, they control the largest

part of the prostitution trade in the City. Given that the killer is targeting prostitutes, we want to know if

they, or any of their workers, have seen anything that might give us a lead.”

“I’ll pay them a visit. I would also like to see the remains of the last victim.”

A pause… “I’ll get you Doctor Anderssen’s contact number but, given that you and he haven’t gotten off

to the best of starts, it’s probably best if I arrange an appointment myself for you to visit the morgue.”

*****

Michael’s phone buzzes. He glances at the screen and taps in. “Hi, Kylie? Yes?” His eyes flick my

way… “Fine, bring it across to the house… Oh? Just him?” His brows rise. “Okay, we’ll be there in five.”

Shoving the mobile back in a pocket, he eye-points Mitch, then surreptitiously head-points me to the

door.

Out in the hallway, he raises a finger to his lips, jerking his head toward the front door. Outside, and out

of earshot, “Sorry about that. You’ve had a delivery. You have to sign for it personally. The courier says

he has instructions to take it away if he can’t deliver it to you, and only you. From the sound of it, it’s

those files Will Stanton said he’d send you. I’m guessing the contents aren’t very pleasant.” He plucks

at a lip… “Um… I’d prefer Charlotte doesn’t fall over them in her current state of mind.”

Autopsy reports…

Personal details of the woman murdered…

“Couldn’t agree more. And I don’t want Mitch seeing them either.”

In the hotel reception area, two large cardboard crates await me, well taped up. I sign… Lars

Waterman… and the courier relinquishes them to me.

Michael hefts one box. “Where d’you want them?”

“In the trunk of my car for now. I’ll read them when I’m in private.”

*****

I tap in the number Stanton gave me. It answers within seconds. “Anderssen.”

“Is that Borje? Larry Waterman here. I was told to call you to…”

He snaps in, his voice cool. “Yes, Commissioner Stanton contacted me directly, requesting that I

cooperate with you and supply any information you request.”

He hardly sounds welcoming, but then, our relations thus far have been less than congenial.

Ignore it…

“I’d like to see the latest victim of your so-called ‘Surgeon’. This morning if possible.”

“What’s left of her,” he huffs. Then, sounding more conciliatory. “And he’s certainly not my Surgeon. I’d

string the bastard up if I could. So, if you’re helping with the effort… I’ll tell them at Reception to expect

you…” A pause… “Don’t eat before you arrive.”