The Lover's Children novel Chapter 96

RICHARD

Klempner sucks at his teeth. “It could be argued that it’s not so much a break in pattern as another escalation in the violence.”

“Or,” I suggest, “that she was being punished. He’s so far always targeted long-haired women. He might not have been pleased that this woman didn’t fit the mould.”

James says, “Klempner, when we were talking with Michael, you mentioned a ticking clock. The killer was running late to his schedule. Perhaps you were right? He couldn’t find what he was looking for and so settled for less?”

Klempner gazes at the sixth board. “But when the girl didn’t meet his standards, it was reflected in his attack on her?”

“It’s a working theory.”

“It is, yes. I’ll give you that one.” Klempner Hmmms, resting a fingertip on a close-up image of the strands tight around the woman’s neck. “I’ll think on it.”

He turns to James. “Do you think that he…?” But his words are cut short by knocking… His head swivels toward the door. “Who the hell…?” Then he strides through to the lounge following the noise.

James shoves hands in his pockets, frowning. “Who else knows about this place?”

“No idea. I didn’t think he’d told anyone…” Then I too, am cut short.

“Haswell!” Klempner’s voice, bristling with irritation. “You got a minute?” James arches brows and together we follow him through.

Klempner stands by the door, held open, but blocking the view of some figure beyond, and clearly not allowing entry to whoever’s on the other side. Rolling eyes toward me, his expression is martyred. “I think you need to deal with this.”

As he stands aside, I see…

“Lydia!” I snap the word without intending so much heat, then moderate my tone. “This is a private area. What are you doing here?”

The hang-dog teenager, her eyes swimming with guilt, darting to me, stands outside, a round tin held in both hands. She almost whispers the words. “I made you a cake.” Lifting off the lid, she offers the tin to Klempner.

He doesn’t move to take it. Lydia blinks, ducking her head. “I only wanted to say thank you...” She risks another look at me… “… for helping me. I… I didn’t mean anything by it.”

“I’m pleased to hear it,” says Klempner, his voice crisp.

I step in. “Lydia, aside from the detail that this is a private area and you…” I level a finger at her chest, and she retreats a step… “… should not be here, Mr Waterman is, as you know, a married man.” I follow her backwards, deliberately looming… “What do you think Mrs Waterman would have to say if she knew a young woman was calling on her husband?”

She droops further. “I’m sorry, Mr Haswell. I didn’t mean to…”

I back off, letting my tone soften a little. “You’re here now, so you can give your cake to Mr Waterman here. After that, you go straight back where you belong…” She nods vigorously… “…and I’ll be checking up that you do.”

Cringing, she thrusts the tin at Klempner, who takes it seemingly by reflex. Then turning tail, she bolts back out and the sound of her fleeing footsteps is all that remains.

“Haswell, I know the girl means no harm…” Klempner picks his way through the words with the care of one testing for mines, and at the end of a long pole… “… but I can’t…”

“And you won’t,” I say. “I’ll see Francis keeps a closer eye on her. As for meaning no harm, she might not think so, but a teenage girl’s infatuation can get out of hand. We certainly don’t want Mitch thinking you’ve developed a taste for young girls.”

“I’m glad you see it that way. As for Mitch…” Klempner blows air… “… She knows perfectly well which way my tastes run. But I’m keen not to develop any misunderstandings with your pal Stanton.” He palms the back of his neck. “Speaking of Mitch, could you let her know I’ll not be back this evening.”

“You’re not coming back with us?”

“No, I want to work through the files in privacy. I’d like you…” He levels a finger at James… “…to ensure that Jenny stays at home…”

“… and doesn’t decide to go-adventuring?”

“Exactly.” James leans, peering into the tin. “Smells rather good, actually. What kind of cake is it?”

Klempner looks in at Thank You Mr Waterman piped across the top in trickly pink icing and pain flits across his features. “I trust I can rely on the pair of you not to mention this to Mitch?”

James’ mouth quirks. “My lips are sealed.”

*****

KLEMPNER

After James and Haswell leave, I set myself up to work. Despite the nature of the task in hand, it feels good. This the first time I’ve been able to devote myself to a project in…

How long?

It feels like years.

Something solid to do.

Work that’s mine…

Comfortable in my armchair, I sling my feet up, ankles crossed, using a small coffee table as a footstool.

Cutting into the cake, already missing two slices, I bite in…

Hmmm…

… chew, swallow, then bite again…

Some sort of candied peel dots vanilla-scented sponge. It’s soft and moist, and ever so slightly crusted at the edges and base. In fact…

Not bad at all…

Topped with marzipan and finished with a hint of lemon in the icing, the cake wouldn’t win any prizes for subtlety of flavour, but

Girl meant no harm…

Went to some trouble over it…

Another bite slips down well with my coffee.

Wouldn’t hurt me to thank her next time I’m down there…

I polish off the slice, sucking fingers and thumb clean of sugar and almond paste, then return my attention to my murder boards.

Borje of course, asked the important question: why do something like this?

Why do men murder women?

More to the point, why does this man murder women?

Misogyny? Simple hatred?

Inadequacy? Can't pull a woman without paying or forcing her?

Sheer sexual thrill?

Revenge?

Revenge… The sheer fury of this last attack… Coupled with the change in the method…

Broken his pattern...

Why?

Six women.

All healthy.

Good looking. Even athletic. Different physical types. Different ethnicities.

All hookers.

All with long straight hair. Except the last. Short haired, but wearing a wig…

Working theory - it’s about the hair…

Why the fixation?

A fetish?

Maybe some religious statement?

Women should wear their hair long?

Something niggles at me. Some half-remembered quote. Something religious…

Not that religion has been any part of my life, but in fact, I’ve found that I’ve read more of the ‘Holy Books’ than most. All that time in airports and hotels needed filling…

Tapping into my phone, it only takes a minute or so to locate the nagging reference…

But if a woman have long hair, it is a glory to her: for her hair is given her for a covering. 1 Corinthians 11:15, KJV: