James
“You're not my father!” Pushing herself backwards against the wall, Charlotte shrieks the words at him.
Close to hysterical, almost frenzied with denial, utterly distraught, she screams, struggling against
Michael when he tries to hold her, tries to calm her.
The guard, Hartland looks increasingly alarmed. “You want me to...?
“No, it's alright. We need to deal with this.”
But he’s is already talking into his phone, satisfaction etched on his face as more guards burst in,
bundling the passive Klempner out. He looks over his shoulder as they hustle him away, his expression
shell-shocked.
Charlotte is still fighting against Michael, refusing to be held. “Let’s get her out of here,” I say. “I’ll get
her out. You get the car keys.”
“We all need to sign out.”
“Just take her out,” interrupts Hartland. “I’ll clear it at the counter.”
As Michael heads for the reception, I have to drag Charlotte, resisting me all the way, to the car. Red-
faced, wild-eyed and screaming, she fights me until at last, I grip her, swing her around and bring my
hand across her face in a slap that, as Michael appears, I see him recoil against from yards away.
“That’s enough, Charlotte. Get inside.”
Gulping, she shudders into submission and without a word, gets in the back, turning to face away from
me as I step in beside her.
On the return home, Charlotte’s silence continues. She seems to be over the hysterics, but I almost
preferred that to this non-response. I try to take her in my arms, but she stiffens, continuing her vigil out
of the window. And when I lay a hand on her thigh, she doesn't quite shrug me off, but she shrinks
away, rejecting my touch.
Michael's eyes meet mine in the rear view, his brow furrowing.
At home she goes to bed, closing curtains and shrugging away any attempt to talk. Michael joins her in
the large bed we share, trying to lie close, but when I look in, she's lying at the far side of the bed,
turned away from him. Her eyes blink shut as I enter but I saw she was lying awake, staring at nothing.
Later, I join them, easing in beside her in my usual place. Charlotte rolls to the middle where she
normally sleeps between me and Michael but when I try to touch her, she stiffens.
Sleep escapes me for hours. When it finally claims me, brief and unsatisfying, I wake again to find
Charlotte is gone.
Alarmed, I prop myself up on an elbow, turn on the side-light, to realise Michael is also not there. I
snatch up a robe, heading to find my grieving mermaid. At the door, I almost walk into Michael. He
raises a finger to his lips. “She’s in the next room,” he says quietly, “but she’s sleeping at least.”
*****
Twenty-Six Years Ago - Blessingmoors
Bech stalks the office. “Who was in charge of security last night? And who was responsible for securing
the perimeters? For the repair of that gate?”
A woman in a blue nurse’s uniform shifts from one foot to another. Her features are sharp-cut, severe.
Sweat beads her forehead sheens her face. She looks down, licking at dry lips. For such an ordinary-
looking man, Bech inspires a reaction. “That would have been Jared, Mr Bech.”
His expression, flat-eyed, could etch glass “Really? He’s been with us long enough to know better. I
want to see him. Right now.”
A bead of sweat drips from the nurse’s forehead, splashing to the tiled office floor. “Yes, sir. He’s
upstairs. I’ll fetch him. Would you like me to inform Mr Klempner of the intruder?”
“No, that's fine, Helga. I'll handle it.” Bech surveys her. She’s relaxing a little. “Don’t worry. It wasn’t your
fault what happened, and you did the right thing calling me immediately.”
Relief washes over her face and tumbles through her voice. “Thank you, sir.”
“So, who was she? What did she look like?”
“She was quite striking, sir. A red-head. Young, well-turned out, very beautiful.”
He shoots her a glance. “A red-head, you say?”
“Yes, sir.”
“And she asked for Mr Klempner by name?”
“Yes, sir. She asked for ‘Larry Klempner’ and asked if he was in charge here.”
“Thank you, Helga. You can go. But send Jared to me. And call someone in to get that gate replaced
and secured.”
“Yes, sir.”
*****
An hour later, a tap on the door. “Mr Bech?”
“Come in, Helga.”
Her eyes drop to the cooling corpse stretched out on the floor and the crimson pool inching over the
tiles, then flick up again. “Just a word, sir. There is a workman at the back installing a new gate. I’ve
sealed all the doors and windows, but…”
“Thank you, Helga. Yes, forewarned is forearmed. No more uninvited trespassers”
Her eyes fall once more. “And that… sir?”
“The river. Where he’ll be found. Let’s spread the message.”
*****
Bech watches, impassive, sipping coffee as what is left of Jared is carried away and Helga mops the
floor. “Anything else, sir?”
“No, that’s fine. You can go.”
She nods, leaves. Bech paces the room, chewing a thumbnail.
Klempner’s whore…
What the fuck was she doing here?
How much did she see?
Hissing in frustration, he links hands behind his head, tilting back until his neck cracks.
What to do about her?
The obvious?
She's a looker. She'd get a good price.
Ship her somewhere no-one speaks English, and no one cares…
Klempner…
Just how attached to the bitch is he?
?
?
How would he react?
?
Bech shudders.
No…
Arrange an accident? Solve the problem at source…
Deny everything?
?
Would he buy it?
?
Very unlikely…
Shut her up then… At least for now.
Discredit her?
While he’s still away…
Fait accompli.
Then back to business as usual.
Grinning to himself, Bech reaches for the phone. “It’s Corby. Is Cappelli there? Thanks… Cappelli?
Yes, I've had a report… Never mind who from. But this one's for you. I’m sure Drugs will be interested.”
*****
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