The Lover's Children novel Chapter 69

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 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?”

“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.”