The Lover's Children

Chapter 72 – Solstice – Part 5

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?” RêAd lat𝙚St chapters at Novel(D)ra/ma.Org Only

“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.

I offer my hand to shake. “I’m Pat.”

You take the hand, give it a brief shake. “Marty.”

“Marty? Nice name. You… um… you live around here, do you?”

“Just down the road.” You pause, in that way of strangers who want to be polite but don’t know what to

say. “Anyway, nice to meet you again.”

“Can I… get you a cup of coffee or something?”

“Thanks, but no. I’ve got stuff to do.”

Clutching your bag, you try to slide past me to the door, but I follow your steps. “Hey, no strings. Just a

cup of coffee.”

Your smile withers. “Thanks, but no. Like I said, I’ve got stuff to do.”

You push past me again, and once more I follow.

“Hey, you!” It’s the shopkeeper. “The lady said no.”

What the fuck’s it to do with you?

But I stand back, let you pass, then watch your retreating back as you hoof it down the street.

The shop-keeper growls from behind the counter. “You buying?”

“I don’t think so, no.”

“Then move your ass and make room for paying customers.”

*****

KLEMPNER

How to do this?

Interviews first? Or files first?

Slicing open the first of Stanton’s boxes, inside I find printouts, reports, photos…

A cursory examination reveals the kind of obscene detail one would expect to find in such files.

Confidentiality aside, it’s not something I want Mitch seeing. She stumbled on photos of the most

recent victim. I’ll not have that happening again.

Need to find myself a workspace…

Not Mitch’s place…

Not the main house either. Even if I ‘borrowed’ the use of James’ office there, any of the women might

chance upon the files. And thinking on it, if Jenny spotted the boxes, no one would keep her out of

them, confidential police files or not.

Figure something out later…

Meanwhile… Stanton’s interview list…

Individuals not suspected of the crimes… these particular crimes at least… but perhaps in a position to

hear of anything.

Schauder…

Renberger…

Gordonton…

Who to start with?

?

Who’s least likely to make trouble?

Renberger’s a bad case. He’ll take some handling. I’ll need to tread lightly.

And although I don’t know him, from what I hear, Gordonton isn’t much better.

Start with the low-hanging fruit…

Emilio Schauder…

Although, technically speaking, Schauder and I brushed by each other for some years, in fact, I barely

know him. In my trafficking days, I spent most of my time travelling, making the most of whatever

opportunities arose from the latest war, famine, earthquake or regime upheaval. Change, in any

country or society, means opportunity for those willing to take it. My motto was always to seize it with

both hands.

Carpe diem…

My role was location and supply of the ‘Goods of Sale’. Customer Relations was handled by Bech. He

found the clients, contacted them, convinced them that we were genuine and hopefully, closed the

deal.

But of course, Bech is way beyond being asked his opinion, of Schauder or anyone else.

No great loss to the world…

Always was a charmless bastard…

I’ve no real idea even, how much business I did with Schauder, Bech’s records never having surfaced

after the shoot-out that took him down.

Perhaps I should follow up on that some time?

?

Focus…

Emilio Schauder…

I run a quick mental recap: The last time I met Schauder was some years ago, Bech arranged it: a

meal during which I was supposed to socialise and exert my charm on the clientele…

“Isn’t that your job, Bech?”

“Of course, sir. But sometimes, potential clients are more easily impressed if they meet the man at the

top.”

“Oh, very well. If you insist. But don’t make a habit of this. I’ve better things to do with my time.”

“Of course, sir. But this Schauder runs a successful business. I’m keen to develop a working

relationship with him.”

While I remember having a very good meal… Bech spared no expense… None of my expense

anyhow… on a Chinese banquet for fuck-knows-how-many... … all I recall of Schauder himself is the

glassy-eyed stare of the near-terminally stoned.