Masters & Lovers Box Set Three

Chapter 23

Michael

“Think he’ll be talkative?”

James shrugs. “Who can guess with that bastard?” He casts down. “Charlotte?”

She’s tight, controlled, hands shoved in the pockets of her jeans. “It’s okay. I’m alright.”

Mmmm…

The guard at the counter goes through the usual rigmarole…

Got to have their procedures I suppose…

… sliding the daybook across the counter. He taps a cracked fingernail on the bottom row. “Name and signature there, sir. And some ID, please.”

I hand over my driving license. “I’ll just be a moment.” The guard scans the license, stapling the copy to the rest of his paperwork, passes it back then turns to James. “Now you, sir.”

He repeats the performance with James and Charlotte, then “And your car keys, please.” I hand them over and he hangs them on a keyboard at the back of the reception area. “Thank you, sir. You can go through now.”

The interview room is as dismal as ever…

Can’t they ever give these places some fresh paint?

And a couple of extra light-bulbs…

Footsteps have trailed a path over worn linoleum and the reek of cigarette smoke competes with stale cabbage.

Klempner’s waiting, sitting behind the barrier. His gaze flicks between me and James then settles on Charlotte as she takes her seat facing him. “Thank you for coming.” His expression is schooled flat but polite, his tone just as much so.

She flushes. “You’re welcome.”

The prison-issue clothes are shabby, but well pressed, immaculate, his hair well cut, fingernails trimmed and clean.

He sits with his hands on the counter, fingers interwoven, thumbs circling each other as though this were no more than a job interview or perhaps a niece visiting a favourite uncle.

Ignoring me and James, “And what would you like to talk about today?”

I push the paper up to the barrier. “Does that mean anything to you?”

His gaze flicks to mine then to the paper. He leans in, looking more closely. “An address? Should it?” He radiates boredom.

Faked?

“I found it in the police files. Supposedly it was the last known address for Charlotte’s mother.”

Klempner’s cheek twitches...

… Yes, faked…

“I’m guessing you visited?” he says. “What did you find?”

“We tried to visit, but the address no longer exists and hasn’t for a long time. There’s a supermarket and a car park on the site now.”

Klempner sucks his teeth. “It may have been a dead end to begin with. Bech was fairly creative about muddying the records. It was a good part of what he did; keeping the dogs sniffing in the wrong direction...”

A shudder runs through Charlotte, seated next to me. Klempner’s gaze flickers to her, his face a blank. Under the counter, I lay a hand on her thigh and she settles.

“So the address was bogus in the first place?”

“I don’t know.” Klempner inhales. “It probably was. I lost track of her. And Bech…” He pauses.

“What?”

“Nothing, just thinking.”

“About what?”

His head tilts back. He regards Charlotte under lowered lids. “Bech wasn’t happy about Mitch,” he says eventually. “It’s possible he tried to misdirect me too.”

“I thought he was your reliable henchman?”

“And who told you that?”

Assumptions…?

Charlotte breaks in. “Bech… Corby as I knew him… He knew my mother? He didn’t like her?”

“No, he didn’t. But then, Bech didn’t really like anyone but Bech. He had his own agenda.”

“Which was?”

“Making himself very wealthy.”

“So why did you work with him?”

“He was efficient… most of the time anyway. He generally had good ideas and could put them into practice. It was his suggestion that I send you to that farm up north.”

She inhales sharply.

She okay?

I try to take her hand in mine, but she tugs it away.

“But why? I thought I was going to be punished for murder, but I woke up there.”

“Murder?” Klempner frowns. “Why would you think that?”

“Supervisor Jenkins…” she suddenly swallows her words.

“Jenkins was hit by a truck. Why…?”

Better stop this…

I interrupt. “So why did you send her to that farm?”

He ignores me, addressing Charlotte. “Jenkins was dead. I had to get you out of the way. Left to his own devices, Bech would almost certainly have killed you. Or arranged that you died. I wanted you alive.”

“So you sent me to the farm and set a spy on me? Why there?”

He taps a forefinger, the nail click-clicking on tired formica.

“I wanted you to grow up like your mother.”

Christ!

recoils. Shock ricochets over her face. “You wanted me as a substitute for her? Is

could put it that way,

take your revenge on me?

his face almost touching the grill. “You got it right the

he saying

Admitting this?

meeting his save for the barrier. “You imagine I would have wanted you?” she hisses. “Fallen in love with you? Is that what you mean? After the way you treated me when I was little? It’s been over twenty years. You’re

Klempner, poking a baton between his

something in the guard's stance; something in

He dislikes Klempner?

Really dislikes him?

Something personal?

And Klempner’s face…

visitors, you’ll not be getting any more of

for an excuse to

eyes flash sidelong, fury glittering there.

The monster…

his features to a more

Apparent meekness.

Apparent obedience.

All fake.

What’s going on?

down,” he murmurs. “It’s past.” It’s the first thing he’s

just

and Klempner eye-ball each other. After long seconds he says, “So what would you like to talk

something about my mother?” There’s

into some far distance. “She had a thing for

thing? What do you

butterflies. She had a small tattoo on the back of her shoulder, just there.” He reaches back,

A painter?

He sucks at his teeth. “Almost eerily so actually. She could have made a living as an artist had she chosen that

seems to run out of words. Klempner regards her, then continues, “She always seemed to be wearing butterflies on herself

sits back in

in his cheeks, looking amused.

a bit. “Didn't have it

tone like a desert, “Long

eyes lift to his. “Would you tell me about

next time

face sets.

you

“Oh… What else?”

that distant look again. “She wore a necklace with one too, a butterfly that is. A little silver thing. Just a trinket, but

her bag, scrabbling inside. Klempner watches the performance with a raised brow. He glances at

the purse she pulls something; the photograph, holding it up to the grill. “Is

looking more closely. “Well, what are the

in some old records… The missing persons file on my father.” Her hand is shaking.

narrowing, then he turns his attention back to the photo. “I'd like a

who snaps fingers at the photo. Charlotte passes it to him. He gives it a cursory

it under the grill and

Something precious?

then sits

the necklace you were

is quiet as he

in

“Yes, that’s Conners.”

still friends

But the monosyllable lacks

notice. “When was it?

slow. “Towards the end, before... before...” He

then swallows. “It's the only

slip a hand over hers. Her flesh is icy. “It's a copy of the original. James can make

fingers tighten into mine. She swings to James.

yes, if you want it,

you.” Klempner sits silently gazing at the image. “I still have that necklace you know. If you like, you can have

have it?” Charlotte's voice trembles. “Why do

your mother. Since she's not

they didn't let you keep things like that in

I have it here. But I can have it sent to you. Perhaps at those

mine. “Why would you take that kind of trouble? You hate

chews at a lip. “I used to hate

I had

photo. “Quid pro

really

arms, a sneer flirting over his mouth, staring him

James stares back.

to

did I hear

the two of them then, “Why did it fail? Between you and my mother? Because she was afraid of

like that, yes.

“Couldn’t what?”

“Mitch was damaged

supposed to mean.

had no capacity to

like a blade. “While you

folding his arms. “No,

my father

“I’m not convinced of

“But she married him?”

to love someone to marry

you want to

But yes, I wanted her.

want you.” Her

something else. Something stopping her

that, you deduce that she had no capacity

have left

sucks air through

leans forward again, folded arms resting on the counter. “She knew I had you. She knew

in stone. I take her hand again, curling warm fingers around her cold ones. “You don't believe in softening the

ask me what happened. Do you want the truth or do you want

whispers. “I want the truth to be a fairy

to drain from him. “And whatever led you to think

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