The Lover's Children novel Chapter 61

JAMES

Stanton pauses, breathes… “At the time it was assumed to be an isolated incident…”

Klempner listens in silence, the whiskey glass cupped in his hands, ignored.

“…The second murder occurred in August. The circumstances were similar. The girl was found in a hotel room. Again, she'd been restrained. The injuries were similar to the first case, but more elaborate.”

Klempner breaks in. “Has this elaboration continued?”

"Yes. With each killing, the violence has escalated: with the third case, just before Christmas, and with the fourth victim in February. Again too, with this latest victim.”

Klempner nods slowly, staring into space. "So, our killer is developing his… art… with practice? His appetite for what he does is increasing."

Our killer?

Stanton’s gaze passes over mine and Richard’s. He picked up Klempner’s phrasing too. "That’s right. It's a common enough pattern with serial killers. They're often living out some fantasy, honing their technique over time as their skills and confidence grow."

Klempner muses, apparently remembers his drink, takes a swallow. "Sex?"

"Yes. All the women had sexual relations shortly before their deaths. Hardly surprising given that they were all prostitutes. But the level of bruising and trauma to thighs and genital area is well beyond what would be expected. Facial and anal areas also. Each was violently sexually assaulted while still alive.”

Klempner sips again. "Commissioner, you look tired. Tell me why having a psychopath loose in the City brings you to talk to me.”

Stanton steeples fingers, pressing the tips to his lips, eyes aimed emptily down. When they rise again, they fix on Klempner. “In your past life, you were a trafficker. You sold to the sex trade."

Klempner stiffens. “Yes. As you were keen to point out when I was your guest at the police station. However, I don't think I need to explain that it is integral to the trafficking business that the… goods of sale… are whole and healthy at the point of purchase. There’s no market for corpses. And whatever you may think of me, my personal preferences are for a woman who’s very much alive, kicking and actively participating..."

Behind Stanton’s dark skin, a flush rises. "Klempner, I know I’m repeating myself, but once more, no one believes or suspects that you had any involvement with these murders. The reason I bring the subject up is that you had… have… access to information and lines of communication that I don’t. You can talk to people that the police can’t. Or to be precise, you can talk to them and get an answer.”

Klempner ponders, gives a small nod of agreement. “Probably. So?”

“So… Our killer is targeting sex workers, girls working the streets…” Stanton’s expression turns intense… “Any woman fitting his profile is in grave and immediate danger. There are lines of enquiry we want to follow. Questions we have to ask if we're going to track down this maniac before any more women fall victim to him. But the people we need to talk to, won't talk to us. At least not voluntarily."

"You can arrest them. Bring them in for interview."

"Perhaps. If we have good cause. But not casually and without reason. And even if we did, we're then dealing with hostile witnesses. What we want are answers, not innocent bystanders. We have a list. Some of them were known associates of Finchby..." His eyes narrow on Klempner, whose expression remains bland.

Klempner rubs at his nose. "Who's on this list?"

"Damien Renberger. Emilio Schauder. Jake Gordonton... You know any of them?"

"Renberger and Schauder, I've met them. I can't say I know them well. It was Bech who used to handle that end of the business..." Stanton’s face sets... "... but I think describing them as innocent bystanders to anything is a stretch of the imagination."

"Innocent regarding these murders. That’s all I care about for this. I'm not on a fact-finding mission on how they run their vice empires. I want to catch a serial killer. What about Gordonton?"

Klempner plucks at a lip. "Doesn’t ring a bell. Who is he?"

“I know him,” I say.

“You know him, James?” Stanton blinks. “How?”

“Well, in fairness. I know of him. But he was at Charlotte’s auction.”

Klempner arches a brow. Stanton takes a moment digesting the information, then, “We need to interview the women too, the street girls. But they simply walk away. You’d think the police were their enemy rather than the killer.”

“Yes...” Charlotte speaks from the doorway, holding a glass of lemonade. “…More so, probably.”

Heads swivel. Klempner’s eyes narrow. War flashes over Stanton’s face.

I try to defuse Charlotte’s words, keep my tone casual. “Why would that be?”

She shrugs…

It’s obvious to her?

“… Because the chances of any particular girl being targeted by the killer are small. And they’re always alert for trouble. It’s a hazard of the work. Right now, I bet they’re all working in pairs and groups in the City centre, watching out for each other. But, when they’ve been working the streets for more than a few weeks, then every one of them has been picked up or moved along a dozen times. More. They’re just trying to earn a living. For them, the police are the enemy.”

Stanton flinches. Sounding disgruntled, “If we stop them, it’s because they’re breaking the law. As for earning a living, a lot of the women are funding either a drugs habit or whichever pimp’s running them.”

Charlotte huffs. “Some, yes. But not all. And often they’re picked up because one of the City’s upright citizens has complained. Or because some john has decided he doesn’t want to pay up and he’s made a complaint.”

Klempner regards his daughter, his expression thoughtful. “You seem very well informed.”

She glares at him. “For a while, my roomie was a girl who worked the streets. I heard it from her all the time.”

Enough…

I allow myself a growl. “Charlotte, your mother’s been babysitting long enough. She’ll need to get Vicky to sleep. Why don’t you go collect Cara. Take her to play in the garden.”

Charlotte’s not fooled, knows she’s being evicted. Eyes cat-green, she looks daggers as she stalks out of the room.

Stanton follows her out with his eyes. “I’m glad you sent her away, James. I wouldn’t have chosen to have her here for this.”

He fishes into his jacket, an inside pocket. “Klempner, I’d like to show you some photographs. I want you to understand what is being done to these women. This is the most recent victim, the woman from the day you made your little foray into my crime scene and encountered Borje. I hope you have a strong stomach. I saw what was left of her on the slab. It doesn’t improve by capturing the detail on paper.”

He hands the photos across. Klempner looks, then hisses air between his teeth, mouth twisting as he peers closer.

And that’s a man who's seen a corpse or two in his time…