Chapter 3: Her Master's Wedding, Part 3, Klempner

KLEMPNER

Sutcliffe pokes his head around the door. "You have visitors, Mr Klempner."

I jolt to attention. "Who? Is it her?"

"No sir, it's two men. The blond one who came with her last time, and another one."

"Dark-haired? Looks a bad bastard?"

"That sounds like him, yes, sir."

From outside my cell comes another voice, brusque; Hartland. "Sutcliffe, get on with it. Larry, move yourself. We don't have all day."

Sutcliffe rolls eyes, offering me a look of mute apology, then, "Yes, Mr Hartland. We're coming now."

In corridors of concrete and steel, sour with the stink of disinfectant and sweat, Sutcliff walks behind me, as per the rules. I speak in a low voice. "You remember what I asked you to do?"

"Yes, sir. Leave it with me."

*****

MICHAEL

Klempner ambles in as though he'd been invited to a tea party. His eyes pass over me, already seated, instead sliding across to James who stands, arms folded, lids hooded, silent.

Klempner sits, the screen separating us. "Only you two?" he drawls. "Where's Jenny?"

"We came without her on this occasion," I say, then cock my head across. "James wanted to weigh you up for himself."

"Is that right?" He looks back at James, apparently considering. "Does she know you're here?"

"No."

He ignores me, addressing James. "So, what do you want?"

"I want to know why you want to see Charlotte. And why you imagine she would ever want to see you."

"The last time we met, you broke both my arms. Am I supposed to be pleased to see you?"

"You were on the point of having someone I care about gang-raped. We'll call it even, shall we?" James' chin lifts. "And it's worth pointing out that, in fact, it wasn't me that broke your arms. It was Charlotte. And if the police hadn't turned up when they did, I might well have shot you with your own gun. I was tempted. That would have finished all our problems, wouldn't it."

Klempner looks down, rubs his nose, then back up again. "That's why I'm on this side of the screen, and you're on that side. So... Why should I talk to you?"

James sits back in his seat, folding the arms again. "If you don't satisfy us, me and Michael, Charlotte won't be coming anywhere near you. A show of goodwill on your part would go a long way. A little humility wouldn't do any harm either."

Klempner sucks in his cheeks, considering that, then "Okay, shoot. What is it you want?"

"Why do you want to see her?"

Klempner raises eyes, staring up at the ceiling, exhales, then aims a finger at me. "The last time you were here, with her.... When she laughed, it reminded me of... happier times."

"You're not happy?"

He huffs. "They put me on suicide watch."

"Really? You're thinking of suicide?"

Klempner gives a long look, then gestures around the miserable room. Unplastered brickwork, painted institutional green. Bars cut across windows. When the guard shifts his position, the sound of the slight movement echoes against hard walls and harder floors. "What do you think?"

"I think that you think far too much of your own skin to go down that path..." Klempner's eyes narrow... "... If you weren't here... If you were still living your previous life, from before you were captured, would you be happy?"

Klempner shrugs. "What's happy? I worked. I was wealthy. For all the good it did."

"If it didn't make you happy, why do it?" James' voice is dry, but....

He actually sounds interested....

Klempner's reply is equally dry. "It's better to cry in a limo than on a bicycle...." His gaze travels the length of James' expensive suit.... ".... Don't you think?"

James doesn't reply, instead pursing his lips. There's a set to his eyes...

He leans forward on the counter, his face close to the screen, hands fisting. "I want to know why the man who enslaved, abused, and came close to having Charlotte raped, wants to see her again. Why?"

Klempner stills, silent.

"Do you want to see her again?" I ask. "Or was what you said last time simply a spur of the moment thing? You didn't really mean it?"

His eyes snap up. "Yes. I want to see her again."

"Then... Why?" insists James. "If I don't get an answer that satisfies me, she's not coming."

Klempner gives him a slow look. "It seems to me...." he drawls, "from what I saw of her, that if that one decides she wants to come, she'll ignore your opinion."

James stiffens, bolt upright, eyes slitted, lips pressed white.

But Klempner continues. "You see, Jenny's a lot like her mother. She takes after her. There's damn all of her father in there."

"She could be your daughter," I say.

His voice is flat. "She's Conners' daughter."

"You're sure of that?"

"I'm sure."

"How?"

But he doesn't reply, simply looking away.

"What was she like? Her mother?"

"Mitch? Ahhh...." Klempner's eyes soften. He stares into some unreadable distance. "She was charming and clever, spoilt and selfish. She told me she'd been the youngest in her family, and it showed. She wanted everything her own way. I don't think she'd ever been refused." He coughs a laugh, bitter and raw. "She learned better than that with me...."

"I can imagine."

".... And she was the most beautiful woman I ever saw...."

"And you've seen a few." James' face is set.

"Oh yes. I'm a good judge of.... female flesh."

I interrupt. I know trouble brewing when I see it. "How many have you enslaved?"

Klempner's eyes droop. "I have no idea. I never counted."

"No idea? Not even roughly?"

"When I'm shipping a cargo," he snaps, "I don't care what's on board. Just how much it costs and how much it makes."

He inhales, rubs the back of his neck, blows air. "Why are you here, the pair of you? You didn't come to ask about my business practices. What is it you want from me? I want to see the girl. What do you want?"

"We want to find her mother. Charlotte wants to find her mother. You robbed her of that when she was a baby. Perhaps you can make amends now."

Klempner pauses, seemingly thoughtful. "I've not seen Mitch in over twenty years." He speaks slowly. "If I knew where to find her, I'd have done it, long ago."

"Where did you lose the trail?"

He ponders again, lids lowered, then, "Got a pen and paper?"

Uncertain, I glance at the guard, but he nods permission, watching closely as James take his diary from a pocket, tears out a sheet and slides it under the screen with a pen.

Klempner scribbles something down, slides it back. "That's the address where she was living when she was with Conners and the baby."

James glances at it, then passes it to me. "You're the City boy."

"You're not from around here then?" Klempner seems genuinely interested.

"Not originally, no."

I read the address. "This part of the City was demolished. But it would have been the same parish as the church where the wedding certificate shows they were married. It's also quite close to Blessingmoors."

"Wedding certificate?" Klempner sits bolt upright. "You have that?" Then he recovers himself.

That rattled him....

Why?

James and I exchange a glance.

He saw it too....

I sit back in my chair, folding my hands onto the counter. "Yes, we have that. And her birth certificate," I drawl.

Klempner's eyes narrow, but he's regained his cool. Pursing his lips, he locks eyes with me, wearing I-can-outstare-a-cat expression.

"Got anything to add?" asks James.

"Yes...." Head tilted back, the white of his eyes showing all round, Klempner swings the stare onto James,

Trying to intimidate...?

.... Good luck with that...

".... For what it's worth, if you want to find Mitch, I think you're tackling it the wrong way."

"What does that mean?"

"The other one, the Haswell woman. They're clearly related. Track it down from her end. I set Bech on it...."

"Bech?"

".... Corby to you. Before he died, I told him to find out who she is, where her family hails from. But he didn't make much progress other than to learn her family name is Kimberley. You might do better."

"What do you know about Michelle's family?"

"Not a thing. She never spoke of them."

"Then I suggest you leave Beth out of this...."

Klempner sneers. "I'm not interested in that one. She's too much of a sniveller. Some women are born to take orders. She's one of them. Haswell is welcome to her."

"But you are interested in Charlotte."

"I'm interested in Jennifer. And her mother. Mitch was mine."

I don't like the emphasis in his words. "You know, from most men that would be a statement of love, or at least affection. From you, it smacks of ownership. But of course, that's what you did, isn't it? Own people. Enslave them. Before you were caught anyway.... How did Frank Conners die?"

"Who wants to know?"

"My fiancée."

His eyes drop to my hand, then to James. "Nice rings. A good match to the ones she's wearing. You're planning on putting something legal on her?"

"I'm marrying her in a few weeks, since you ask."

He grins, but there's no humour there. "I'm sure that my lack of an invitation to the wedding was an oversight, not a deliberate insult."

"How did her father die?"

"Look in the records."

"The records aren't there."

"Really? I suppose I have Bech to thank for that. So why do you think I'm going to give you a full confession?"

"You've already confessed. We'd simply like to know the details. How did he die?"

Klempner considers, nods. "In the river. Off the side of the old bridge. I imagine if it was dredged there, something might turn up."

"Christ, you're a heartless bastard."

"I daresay you're right." His eyes shift between me and James. "You going to let her visit me then?"

"We'll think about it," snaps James. Then to me, "Anything else?"

"I don't think so, unless...." I turn to Klempner.... "Anything you want to add?"

"Not right now. But I'll hope to see you again, Michael. With Jennifer." He nods across, apparently polite. "James."

*****

The car door bleeps and we get in. "So, what do you make of that?" I say, starting up the engine.

James buckles up then tips his head back, staring heavenward. "I think he's an appalling bastard. And every bit as dangerous to Charlotte as he was before. He's obsessive, egotistical and completely fixated on Michelle. And therefore, from that, on Charlotte."

"I agree, but you know, I think he genuinely loved the woman."

James blows out his cheeks, musing. "And you believe that makes him any less dangerous?"

"Not at all. His idea of love is ownership. Fortunately...." We drive at a crawl through heavy gates which sweep closed behind us. ".... he's securely locked up, isn't he." A second set of gates swings open to let us exit... "Do we tell Charlotte we've seen him?"

James hmmms. "I don't think so. At least not yet. I think you and I need to digest what Klempner said. If Charlotte gets any ideas, she might just decide to take matters into her own hands."

"Yes, she might."

I drive. James, hands clasped, orbits one thumb around the other. "Charlotte's had to think for herself most of her life," he says. "And she's had someone trying to control her for most of that life. She's not used to having anyone else to rely on. She's not apt to give up her liberty easily."

"Even when it's you that's asking?"

His lips pucker to a half-smile. "Even when it's me."

*****

KLEMPNER

"Did you do it?"

"Yes, Mr Klempner. Just as you asked."

"Perfect. I'll not forget this, Sutcliffe."

"Thank you, sir. Is there anything else?"

"No, not right now."

He leaves, the door clanging shut behind him. The lock grinds as the key turns but the sound no longer bothers me.

Two photos sit on my locker. One old. One new. I pick up the older one....

Happier days....

The photo is faded, the colours no longer true, the corners frayed and yellowing....

.... Mitch, smiling, bright-eyed, beautiful, wearing green as she often did, her arm around my waist.

The other photo....

Jennifer....

.... Mitch's daughter....

Grown up just like her mother.

Mine.