The Lover's Children novel Chapter 132

JAMES

Klempner watches, arms folded, legs akimbo as the medics lay Mitch on a stretcher, drawing over blankets. As they take her away, Charlotte with them, he turns his back, head bowed, a palm clamped over his mouth, a shiver running over his shoulders.

Stanton strides forward. “Mr Waterman, thank you for your assistance. We need to…” … but he falters as Klempner pivots, fixing on him.

Behind his eyes, the Monster rages, burning like black fire.

Stanton steps back again, palms raised. “Mr Waterman… Lars… Larry… It’s me. Will Stanton. I’m on your side. Remember? And Mitch’s.”

I move between them, laying my hand across Will’s chest. “Don't,” I murmur… “Let him get it back under control.”

Klempner, pallid, shiny-faced, hurls a wild look at me.

“Larry, it’s me. James...” I step forward, but cautiously…“… Larry, do you know me?”

For long moments, the Monster raves and snarls…

… then Klempner inhales…

… his face clears…

And the Monster retreats, fading away into the shadows.

His breathing slows. He blows air.

Then, straightening up, rolling his shoulders as though nothing had happened, “Commissioner,” he drawls. “I would like to speak with your prisoner. Just for a moment.”

*****

MICHAEL

“Commissioner,” drawls Klempner, suddenly all casual self-assurance. “I would like to speak with your prisoner. Just for a moment.”

Stanton raises brows, cocks his chin to Harkness. “Go on, then.”

“A private word.”

Stanton eyes him sceptically. “You expect me to leave you alone with him?”

“No, of course not.” Klempner smiles, quite charmingly… “…But I give you my word, I’ll not lay a finger on him.” As though to make a point, he shoves his hands into pockets.

Stanton hesitates. Klempner continues, “I’m sure you recall, Commissioner, that a number of people you know well, have assured you that my word is good.”

Stanton havers, then raises a hand in a brief get-on-with-it gesture.

The smile flickers out. His expression etched in glass, Klempner strolls across. Harkness, hunched, head drooping, flickers his gaze at the approaching man. Klempner halts, leaning forward, stooping a little to murmur something to the cringing prisoner…

He keeps talking, a low rumble of words that can be just heard, but not discerned…

… and the seconds stretch out…

Harkness screams, his wrist yanking against the clutch of the cuffs and the police officer holding him. “Get him away from me! Get him away. I got rights!”

Klempner clicks his tongue, unperturbed. “Goodbye, Ricky. I doubt we’ll meet again…” He widens his eyes, giving Harkness a jack-o'-lantern grin. “…But I’ll follow your progress with interest.”

“Progress?” barks Stanton. “What progress? Kle… Waterman, if you…”

Klempner makes a show of removing his hands from the pockets, moving slowly and deliberately. “As I promised, Commissioner. I never laid a finger on him. I never will.”

Stanton eyeballs him. “That is my prisoner!”

Klempner sniffs, moves to lounge against a tree, legs crossed at the ankle, “As you say, Commissioner. All yours. Why don’t you take him away and put him… wherever it is you plan to put him…”

Stanton scowls, then, “Get him out of here.”

They haul Harkness away, screaming. “I want protection. I know my rights.”

Stanton drips irony. “I’m sure he does.” Casting a brief toxic glance at Klempner, he turns to follow.

“Erm… s’cuse me…” If a hamster made an apology, it would sound much the same. We all turn.

It’s Walter, some kind of container clutched in his hand.

“Ah,” says Klempner, stepping forward, hand outstretched. “I owe you my thanks. I…”

But the little man’s not listening. “I’ve got them,” he blurts. “I found them.” He casts fearful eyes at Stanton… “I know it’s interfering with evidence but…” He displays the container: a plastic seal-top, several hard somethings swilling around inside.

… “I put them in milk,” he says. “I saw it on the internet. If you put them in milk, sometimes they can fix them right back.”

“The teeth?” I say. “You’ve got Mitch’s teeth in there?”

“That’s right.” Face anxious, he looks between us. “I hope I did the right thing?”

Stanton swings an arm to the nearest uniform. “You. Get in your car and follow the ambulance. Put your foot down. Get those to the hospital and tell them they belong to Mrs Waterman. You… Mr…?”

“Walter Bracegirdle.”

“Mr Bracegirdle… We’re going to need a statement from you…” Awarding Klempner a final glare, tapping into his mobile, he strides after the running officer. “Harkness is under arrest. Get the sweepers out here…”

I sidle across to Klempner. “What the hell did you say to Harkness?”

He slants me a glance. “Just hinted at what he can expect once he’s inside.”

James shoots an alarmed glance. “For Christ’s sake, Klempner, it's still murder, even if someone else is…”

He snorts. “He’s not going to die. Not by my hand at least. If I have my way, that bastard’s going to live a long, long time.”

“So… what did you say?”

His nonchalance is surely faked. “I explained he’d better practice his yoga technique. He’s going to spend a lot of time gripping his ankles.” Klempner’s insouciance fades.

He presses fingers to his forehead. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to the hospital.”

I jingle keys. “I’ll drive.”

*****

JAMES

A cool autumn evening, and the family gather around the fire.

Mitch has reverted to ‘knitting mode’. The worst of previously brutal bruising and swelling has faded and she’s all but lost the slurring in her speech. But still, it will be some while yet before she can look in a mirror and see her own true face.