The Lover's Children novel Chapter 93

KLEMPNER

The drive to the City Hospital gives me time to consider my options. Pulling into the rear parking lot, some smart-ass tries to tell me I can’t park there, but waving my police pass at him gets me a scribbled visitor permit.

In the morgue, Borje’s mood hasn’t improved. As he sees me, he straightens up from where he’s delving into the body cavity of the murdered woman, at least, what’s left of it. “C.o.D. confirmed as asphyxiation…” he says. “…as per the earlier cases. I can give you all the details if you want it…?”

“Does the detail change any of what you said at the crime scene?”

“No. I’ve sent the strands from inside her throat to the lab, but I’ll be surprised if they don’t confirm that they’re taken from the wig.” He shoves hands in pockets, stares down at the butchered corpse. “Although the killer broke pattern with that, in other ways, she was much like the previous victims. Young. Fit and healthy. No damage from, or evidence of, smoking, or of drug or alcohol abuse.”

“Do you have photos of the wig as it comes from the manufacturer? Or another of the same model? For comparison.”

He raises a finger. “In fact, I do. Just came in five minutes ago.” Rummaging through a stack of in-trays, he passes me a plastic-wrapped object, complete with manufacturer’s label. “Feel free to open and handle it. I have another one.”

As I extract the hairpiece, something rattles behind us. “Doc?”

I glance up to see an orderly in the ubiquitous green overalls, pushing a trolley. “They sent me down for a pick-up. Name of Carter. Which one is it?”

Borje pauses, forehead creasing. “Carter? Oh, yes. The coroner cleared that one last week. The family can have him back.” He aims a forefinger at a bank of cold-storage cabinets. “Number fourteen. Give me a second, Ricky. I’ll just get the release papers for you.”

He shuffles through another of the in-trays. “Excuse me a moment, Larry. I’ll just deal with this.” He points me to a computer screen. “Take a look. You can see my findings so far.”

Spreading my fingers into the wig, I dangle it mid-air, trying for a feel of how it might look when worn; long, chestnut hair, glinting red under the lights, swishes. It’s quite attractive, and right on target for the Surgeon’s taste in victims. Barring the detail that it’s not the girl’s own hair.

Borje signs off some papers and sends the orderly on his way, this time with a green-draped hump loaded onto the trolley. He returns his attention to me.

“Do we have a name for her yet?” I ask.

“Hanna Novak. They tell me her flatmate reported her missing.”

“And she’s come in? To ID the body?”

“No.” Borje traces an outline in the air over what remains of the face. “With the remains in that condition, all apart from the distress caused to a friend, it wouldn’t have been reliable. But dental records confirm it’s her.”

“How about DNA evidence from the killer?”

“Not so far.” He arches brows, blows air. “As with the others, he’s used the obvious precautions: condom, gloves and so on. With modern analysis techniques, it’s difficult not to leave something of yourself behind, but he’s been very careful.”

“Careful in a way that suggests he understands what’s involved? Specialist knowledge?”

“Could be.” Borje face is bleak. “Why do something like this? I see all kinds in here, but this…” His words fail.

And there’s the crux of course, our killer’s motive.

Borje is still speaking. “Find this bastard, Larry. He’s not going to stop. And if I can do anything to help, call me. Any time, just call me.”

“I’ll do that.”

He surveys the cadaver, his breathing shallow.

“Borje?”

He doesn’t look up. “Hmmm?”

“You okay?”

He blinks up at me. “What do you think?

“Perhaps when you’ve done your work here, you should take some time for yourself?”

“Couldn’t agree more.” The corpse of a smile tugs at his mouth. “Just what I was planning, in fact. I’m seeing Georgie later… Um…” He hesitates, clears his throat.

“Um? Is there something else?”

“Yes… There is… Listen, I had a conversation with James. He told me about Georgie's abduction last year. I understand you were the reason she was taken…”

His eyes narrow… “…Although he wasn’t clear about the reason for that. Nonetheless, my thanks for your part in her rescue. And my apologies. I understand now why you would feel protective towards her. Why you treated me with suspicion at first.”

“You do?”

“I do.” He rocks his hand back and forth. “It’s not always easy to sort out our emotions, but sometimes in life, you pick up the baton, and then you run with it.”

*****

GEORGIE

My arm hooked through his, Borje and I stroll through the City centre. He’s strangely quiet.

People are out and about: window-shoppers, loafers and strollers, but the weather is sizzling, and the heat is slowing everyone down, turning the buzz of walker, runner and talker alike to a slow, easy rhythm.

At first, I put Borje’s silence down to the heat.

“You seem tired?”

“No, I’m fine.”

Fine?

Empathy’s not my strong suit, but…

“Don’t know about you, but I could use a drink.”

“Absolutely.” He puffs out his cheeks, blowing air. He flashes brows, looking more his usual self. “Something cold where I have to blow the froth from the top.” He aims a finger to half a dozen tables outside a kiosk. “How about there? We’ll be under the shade of trees.”

*****

A bell on one of those curly metal springs jangles, bobbing up and down as we enter. Borje strolls in. I scuttle behind him. From behind the counter, a girl smiles across, her eyes flicking between me and Borje together. “Can I help with anything?”

Borje tone is airy. “Just looking for now.”

“No problem,” she says. “Just call if you need any help.”

Help?

I mutter without thinking, meaning to keep my words to myself. “What on earth would anyone want to ask help for in a place like this?”

Borje glances at me askance, the airiness gone from his tone. “She’s being paid to do a job. There’s no need for you to be rude about it. As for what… Asking where to find a particular item? Trying on some of the outfits… Help and advice with what some of the equipment does. In fact, most of what you might request assistance for in any store.”

A brief scan around and I discover that the contents of the window display are minor compared with the store itself. Shelves are stacked with books on jokes about sex, the history of sex, suggested games for sex, advice about sex.

I pluck one out at random, open it at random then quickly slot it back onto its shelf. “Who needs sex advice? I mean, we’re all adults. We all know what to do, don’t we?”

Borje slow-blinks, head canting. “You think?”

A side room is stacked floor to ceiling with DVDs. Another with magazines. A rack is stacked with gift cards for ‘Experience’ weekends and holidays in ‘romantic’ spots. I flick open a brochure then shove it back on the rack.

“What is it?” asks Borje.

“They call it romance, but it’s all…”

“All what?”

“There’s… equipment.”

He plucks the leaflet back off the display, then chuckles as he opens it. “Looks like fun.”

“Fun? I mean… What is that?”

He traces a finger over a photo of a strappy contraption dangling from a ceiling hook. “Sex-swing. A lot of fun…” He draws out the word… “…for most adults. A couple can try different positions without the strain that goes with some of them. Especially so for the elderly or disabled. Often those who simply can’t manage sex because of back injuries or arthritis say, can enjoy their love life again using one of these.”

“That’s right…” A voice chips in from the counter: the assistant. “We sell a lot of them to people who aren’t what they once were physically. And more to the young ‘uns too…” She grins, jerking a thumb at the bridal party… “Like you say, it is just a bit of fun for them. But for some, it makes all the difference to having a sex life at all.”

My cheeks flame, but curiosity wins. “What do you mean? If someone’s disabled…”

Borje’s words are dry. “Just because your body lets you down, doesn’t mean your libido’s vanished.”

The girl smiles brightly. “That’s right.” She takes a card off a pinboard behind the counter, waving it at me. “One guy sent us a message only yesterday, saying thank you. He was in an industrial accident some years ago. Damaged his spine. He said he’d thought he’d never have sex again. It was killing his marriage. But he booked one of our romance breaks. He says it had made all the difference. He and his wife have almost a normal love life again.”

“Because of a dirty weekend in some hotel?” The words are barely out of my mouth before I wish I could have swallowed them, but they’re out.