The Lover's Children novel Chapter 91

KLEMPNER

Incoming on my mobile…

I check the screen.

Will Stanton…

Looking for a progress report perhaps?

Got good news for him, then…

I tap in. “Yes, Commissioner. What can I…?”

“Klempner, there’s been another murder.”

Crap…

“Send me the location. I’ll be there ASAP.”

“Sending now.”

I glance toward James, who raises questioning brows, then around the group. “My apologies everyone,” I say. “I have to leave. But I’d like to come back later if I may, to talk.”

The hooker in the glitter-dress inhales from her cigarette, then blowing smoke, shrugs. “We’re not goin’ nowhere.” She cants her head, expression tightening. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

“I’m told there’s been another murder by the killer they’re calling the Surgeon. I need to go find out what’s happening.”

“Yeah?” She draws again, looks away, looks back. “Well, go do what you have to do now, but then, you come back here to ask your questions.”

“I will.”

Michael, thumbs hooked in pockets, doesn’t speak, but his expression is sombre.

“You want company?” says James.

“No, I want you to stay with Jenny and make sure that…” My daughter’s eyes flash... I nod James toward her. “… Just stay here.”

He glances toward her, lifts his chin, lowers his lids. “I take your point. Stay in touch.”

*****

I’m not far from the site. This time, it’s a parking lot. Police cars are squealing in as I arrive, joining the massed vehicles already here. Their combined light casts a bizarre blue flicker over the scene.

It’s easy enough to locate the crime scene. The area’s being cordoned off as I approach: yellow tape stringing across. Police Line - Do Not Cross.

As I try to pass, “Can’t you read?” snaps a uniformed officer.

“I’m expected. Commissioner Stanton called me.”

He cocks a disbelieving eyebrow. “Name?”

“Lars Waterman.”

A voice booms out. “Let him through.”

The officer twists. “Sir?”

It’s Stanton, grim-faced, waving me in. “I called him. Let him pass.” The officer scowls, but steps aside.

*****

The parking lot is divided: the closer area for general use, but beyond that, a zone designated for commercial vehicles. Stanton leads me between a pair of parked trucks, large multi-wheeled affairs. Scrubby undergrowth further obscures the view of the area from the main entrance.

“Same as before?” I ask.

He spreads fingers. Rocks the hand to and fro. “Yes and no. You’d better see for yourself. You understand you mustn’t contaminate the scene? Don’t touch anything. Follow only the designated route.” He offers me vinyl gloves and a pair of overshoes. “Put these on.”

A screen is already in place, being extended and roofed over as we approach. At the entrance, an officer draws a curtain to one side, stepping courteously aside for his commissioner. “Sir.”

Stanton thumbs toward me. “Arrange a visitor’s pass. Lars Waterman.”

“Yes, sir.”

Inside, the area is floodlit, the lighting harsh and clear. A white-overalled figure steps over…

I stop mid-stride.

Christ…

The previous scene I only saw from a distance, and indirectly, beyond a doorway when I made my unauthorised excursion into the crime scene area. Stanton showed me photographs, and I saw the ruined body of the victim only after she’d lain in the mortuary for some time.

This time, it’s different. I’m seeing the scene as left by the killer.

He’s staked her out. Spreadeagled her. Cable ties at wrist and ankle roped to ground pegs. Perhaps, given opportunity, she could have worked the pegs loose.

She had no opportunity.

As with the previous victim, he’s disembowelled her, scattered her guts over the surrounding ground in a bloody riot of red and purple. Long strands of something are wrapped around her neck. Her face…

I’ve seen corpses a-plenty. Been responsible for many of them. Sometimes I’ve used a pistol or a rifle. If it’s up close, a slit throat does the job. It’s bloody, but sure.