The Lover's Children novel Chapter 72

KLEMPNER

Borje stares into space for a moment… “They do… did… all have one thing in common. Long, straight hair. Different colours, but all long and straight.”

“Is there anything they did have in common, from the medical point of view?”

He pauses, apparently considering his words. “Our killer is choosy. The women were all unusually healthy, especially given that they were low-end sex workers. I regularly see their… co-workers… come through here overdosed on one drug or another. Typically, they’re old before their time. Used up. They’ve spent years running on uppers, downers, heroin or crack. A lot have run out of veins. Some would be on a bottle of vodka a day. There’s often a trail of abortions and miscarriages. Not to mention beatings and abuse by the handlers.”

“These women, as a group, were clean by anyone’s measure. Not one was a smoker. There was no liver damage. No sign of drug or alcohol abuse. I took samples from all of them for testing. They were all clean. Above-average I’d say.”

“So, he likes attractive, healthy women. Is that such a surprise? Most men do.”

“I suppose not.” He sucks air through his teeth. “But if you take a random sample of street hookers, what are the chances?”

“Alright, granted. And you would say the violence committed is escalating?”

“Absolutely. In the first case, Olivia, there was slashing of the breast and genital area. But there was none of the… elaboration… of the assault you see here.” Borje stumbles his words. “You know, someone has to do this, but there’re times I hate my job.”

I swallow. The combo of formaldehyde, disinfectant, semi-decayed corpse and the butchered Susumu is getting to me in a way I wouldn’t have credited. “Borje, do you have time to talk? Outside of here, I mean?”

He huffs. “Are you kidding? Sure. Want some air?”

“S’there someplace round here we can get coffee?”

“There’s the staff canteen, but the stuff they serve there is crap. I’ll take you round the corner. There’s a little cafe there where they know how coffee’s supposed to be brewed.”

*****

“Two coffees. Strong. And two…” Borje speaks over his shoulder to where I sit by the window, drawing long breaths of clean air… “Ready to eat yet? They do a good all-day breakfast. Decent food and they don’t mess with the portions.”

“Why not?” In truth, my stomach roiling, I don’t much want it, but…

Bridges to build…

“Two coffees and two A.D.Bs.”

The breakfast is everything Borje promised. The staff clearly know him, and the plate of food is generous. By the time I’ve downed one cup of bitterly strong black coffee and I’m working on another, I find the meal appeals after all.

Borje works at ham, eggs and toast until nothing remains but crumbs, then swipes his mouth with a napkin. “Lars, that's a Nordic name.”

His enquiry sounds friendly enough. “My family has Norwegian roots.”

“Not Norway itself?”

“British Columbia.”

“You see them often? Get over there much?”

“No.”

Time for a change of subject…

I finish my meal then drop the fork to the plate with a clatter. Borje seems to take the cue. “So… that day you and I met down in the park… What happened?”

“It’s a public park. I was out in the square with James and the rest having lunch. We saw the alarm go up and the police arriving. It looked like all hell was breaking loose. We packed the women off home, but I wanted to see what was happening.”

A thought rears up. “That can’t have been earlier than one o’clock. I know you said the murder itself happened elsewhere, but even so, the killer couldn’t have done what he did during daylight. How did the body remain undiscovered until that time?”

Borje flags down a waitress for a coffee top-up, waiting until she’s out of earshot to reply. “You saw the position. The path from the park gate leads straight down the hill toward the river. The area where the body was dumped is cordoned off as a matter of course. It’s designated as a wildflower meadow. The remains were partially concealed by plant growth. It wasn’t much of a cover, but it was just enough to conceal the body given that those using the path, pedestrians, cyclists etc, had their attention elsewhere. The alarm was raised by a jogger who went to investigate when his dog wouldn’t recall.” He sips at the coffee and grimaces, setting the cup down. “Poor bastard’s probably still having nightmares.”

Borje spoons sugar into his cup. Stirs. “You were suspicious of me. Why?

“I followed someone I considered suspicious. I found you at the end of the trail. I had no idea at that point that you have a role with the police.”

“Do you still believe it was me you followed?”

“No. It’s clear enough that you’d been on the scene for some time. It couldn’t have been you.”

He clicks his tongue. “Good.” Then, a touch of challenge enters his voice. “What's your interest in Georgie?”

I keep my words dry. “Georgie’s young enough to be my daughter. My interest is that she's, as you know, actually the daughter of a friend of mine. James. So you can get that rod from out of your ass.”

Borje stiffens, eyes narrowing, then relaxes, looking rueful. “I am… very fond… of Georgie. I want to do right by her, and that means that I’m taking things slowly, and very carefully, with her.”

He pauses, seeming to choose his words. “You might like to know that James told me of your part in Georgie’s rescue last year, when she was taken and attacked. For what it is worth to you, you have my thanks for that.”

I’m lost for words. Borje also, grinds to a halt. We share an awkward pause.

“So…” he says. “What’s your next move?”

*****

PAT

“Hello again.”

Lily…

“Oh!” You blink, with that moment of hesitation that says you know you know me but can’t think from where. “Hello.”

I smile. “We met a few days ago. At the market. You dropped your bag.”

My Lily…

Your face clears. “Oh, yes. You helped me pick up my stuff.”

“That’s right.”

I’m about to continue, but the shopkeeper interrupts me. “That’ll be three-sixty, please.” He bags up some chick-mag you’ve picked out, along with bread and eggs while you rummage for change in your purse. As you turn to hand him the money and take your goods, your hair swings, long and glossy and black, and the scent of you carries with the slight movement of the air.

I paint on a half-assed grin. “Don’t drop them this time, will you.”

You flash a smile at my joke. “I won’t.” It’s a beautiful smile: your teeth straight and white and clean. A touch of colour at your lips. A trace of pencil and mascara at your eyes. All very subtle. Very subdued.

But it’s all you need.