The Lover's Children novel Chapter 45

KLEMPNER

Haswell tops up Beth’s wineglass, then Mitch’s “So, have you two finished your shopping?”

The pair exchange glances. “There’s just a few bits and bobs I still want,” says Mitch. Her eyes flash wicked. “And I believe Beth wants to buy you a surprise.”

“A surprise?” Haswell’s brows rise. “And what…”

His words are cut off by the rising wail of a siren…

Heads turn. People rise from their seats, brows furrowing. Children squawk protests.

A police car squeals to a halt at the far side of the square. Then another. And another. Squad cars arrow in. An ambulance is close behind. Police tumble out of the cars, some dashing through the park entrance, others pushing back the crowd. Bollards blocking entrance to traffic descend into the sidewalk and the ambulance mee-maws in, pedestrians parting before it.

"What the hell's going on?" mutters Haswell. “To have the police arriving in those sorts of numbers…”

“Bomb scare?” suggests James.

Haswell flashes alarm, spins, gesturing Ross over. “Accompany Elizabeth back to the car immediately, please. Get her home."

The driver cups Beth’s elbow. “Let’s get you out of here, Mrs Haswell.”

She doesn’t look happy. "But..."

Haswell kisses her forehead. "Go. I'll see you later." Meekly, she turns to follow the driver.

Haswell's judgement is good. I agree with him. "Mitch, I'd like you to go too."

She frowns, her lips parting. Haswell lays his hand on hers. "Please, Mitch, go with Elizabeth. You'd be doing me a favour. She’s more nervous than you and I’d like her to have company."

Mitch’s mouth purses. She knows she’s being eased out. “And Jenny?”

James jangles car keys. “I’ll get her back, Mitch.” She nods, turns and joins the departing pair.

Haswell gives me an apologetic look. "Sorry if I shoved in my oar uninvited there. It seemed the fastest way to avoid arguments. Mitch is..." He hesitates.

"Less inclined to take instruction than Beth," I finish.

“Quite.”

“No, you don’t!” It’s James, sprinting half a dozen steps to snag Jenny by the elbow. “Whatever’s happening over there, it’s nothing to do with you.”

She protests, spinning an arm toward the growing activity across the square. “I only wanted to go see what…”

“I don’t care what you wanted. Stay out of it.” He steers her back to us. “It’s time to head home anyway. Michael is due a break.”

“Quite right,” says Haswell. “We should all be heading back. Where are you parked, James?”

“Just around the corner.”

*****

James takes the driver’s seat, Haswell getting in beside him. I open the rear door for Jenny, close it behind her, then tap on the driver’s window. As it winds down, “I’ll see you in a while.”

James frowns. “You’re not coming with us?”

“No, I want to see what’s happening back there.”

Jenny moves to open her door. “I'll come with you.”

I ignore her. “Get Jenny out of here. It might take you and Haswell together to do it.”

He nods, slapping down the child lock, then against Jenny’s enraged protests, pulling away.

*****

Police are everywhere, holding back the crowd, redirecting scowling shoppers. Lights flash blue. Another siren wails in and a squad car muscles through the now-congested traffic and into the park. At the junction, more official vehicles arrive from the opposite direction.

People shift and surge, reacting uneasily, too densely packed for me to see through. Women, previously window-shopping, scurry away. Others are streaming away, small children gripped by the wrist, bawling as they are towed from the scene. “Don’t wanna go home. Wanna play. Wanna go on the swings.”

Some men do the same with the women they accompany, drawing them away from the growing chaos. Other couples stand, slack-jawed, gawping.

I suppose I’m as practised a gawper as any. After watching a couple of green-coated medics dashing past, I settle for finding a vantage point, stone steps topped by a statue of a mounted figure in uniform commemorating something or other. Whoever he was, the extra few feet height gives me a view over the crowd.

Up ahead, police are thick on the ground, setting up a cordon. Technicians are raising a screen with urgent speed, concealing whatever is beyond.

From off-side, a logo'd van swerves in: City News. Dodging taxis, trucks and unwary pedestrians it screeches to a halt. Within seconds, it disgorges crew, cameras, and a woman I recognise as a breakfast tv reporter. Hair and face immaculately groomed, she yells instructions to her crew.

Less than a minute later, another van pulls in, then another: competitor news stations.

Reporters and crowd alike slam up against the cordon, police pushing back.

A familiar face emerges from one of vehicles, his expression grim. The beefy figure of Haswell’s chum Stanton towers over most of those around him as he strides past the cordon and into the tented enclosure.

What the hell’s going on?

Maybe James was right…

The police commissioner doesn't turn up in person because someone's had their pocket picked.

Microphones aim his way. "Commissioner! Can you confirm reports of another victim of the Slasher?"

"Sir, is this serial killer now running free in the City?"