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!

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

put it that way,

take your revenge

the grill. “You got it right the first time. I wanted you as a substitute for

is he saying all

Admitting this?

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

moves to stand behind Klempner, poking a

in the guard's stance; something in

He dislikes Klempner?

Really dislikes him?

Something personal?

And Klempner’s face…

If you go upsetting your visitors, you’ll not be getting any more of

an excuse to

eyes flash sidelong, fury glittering there.

The monster…

to a more normal expression; apparent passivity…

Apparent meekness.

Apparent obedience.

All fake.

What’s going on?

on Charlotte’s. “Calm down,” he

to think about what I just saw, but my thoughts are

After long seconds he says, “So what would you

drains from her. “Will you tell me something about my

seemingly looking into some far

thing? What do

back of her shoulder, just there.” He reaches back,

A painter? A

realistic.” He sucks at his teeth. “Almost eerily so actually. She could have

words. Klempner regards her, then continues, “She

sits back in her chair.

cheeks, looking amused. “What’s so surprising about

a bit. “Didn't have it

like

to his. “Would you tell me

muses. “Perhaps the next time

face sets.

encourage you to visit me

“Oh… What else?”

one too, a butterfly that is.

sits back, her mouth opening and closing. Then she dives for her bag, scrabbling inside. Klempner watches the performance with a raised brow. He glances at me with a questioning eye. I

the purse she pulls something; the photograph, holding it up to the grill. “Is that it? The necklace. That she’s

“Well, what are

on my father.” Her hand is shaking.

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

the photo. Charlotte passes it to him. He gives it

under the grill

Something precious?

sits

the necklace

quiet as he looks up. “Your father gave it to

in

“Yes, that’s Conners.”

you still

But the

seem to notice. “When

slow. “Towards the end, before... before...” He holds up the photo. “Can I keep

“It's the only

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

into mine. She swings to James. “You're sure?” He

yes, if you want it, you can

Klempner sits silently gazing at the image. “I still have that necklace you know.

voice trembles. “Why do you

your mother. Since she's not here, I

wavering, “I thought they didn't let you keep things like that

say I have it here. But I can have it sent to you. Perhaps at those Haswell offices where you

upright, dragging her hand from mine. “Why would

lip. “I

something I had nothing to

the photo. “Quid

really

folds his arms, a sneer flirting over

James stares back.

to out-stare

did I hear

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

for a long pause before speaking. “It ended like that, yes. But... there was something about her well before then. As

“Couldn’t what?”

shrugs. “Mitch

that supposed to mean.

no

gives him a look like a blade. “While you do? You mean she didn't

folding his arms.

my

tilts. “I’m not convinced of

“But she married him?”

not actually necessary to love

want to

But yes, I wanted her. I wanted her to be with

want you.” Her voice drips

not convinced of that either. There was something else. Something stopping her

from that, you deduce that she had no capacity

would she have left you at

air through his

arms resting on the counter. “She knew I had you. She knew where

curling warm fingers around her cold ones.

me what happened. Do you want the truth

“I want the truth to

“And whatever led you to

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