The Lover's Children

Chapter 50 – April’s Tears #1

KLEMPNER

Stanton blows out his cheeks. “Yes, I’ve spoken to Richard. He confirms your story for yesterday. That

doesn’t mean you’re off the hook for today’s little performance. Your past record…”

“… has no bearing on any of this. I was there because…” I falter… Even in my head, it already sounds

ridiculous.

“I’m waiting,” he growls.

Now what?

Whatever I say, I’m going to sound cracked…

I exhale. “I was there because yesterday I saw Borje…”

“Borje?” Stanton knits brows. “Borje Anderssen? What about him?”

“Yes, him. He was running towards your ‘scene of the crime’.”

He shrugs. “Hardly a surprise in that, given his position.” Stanton stills. “What’s your interest in Doctor

Anderssen?”

“My interest in Borje is his interest in a friend of mine.”

“Who?”

“Does it matter?”

Stanton clicks his tongue. “Oh, I think so, yes. If you want to implicate Borje in something like this,

you’d better have a good explanation.”

“Fair enough. The friend is James Alexanders’ daughter, Georgie. Borje…”

The door slams open. Borje strides in. “What the fuck are you trying to imply, Larry?”

“Doctor Anderssen!” thunders Stanton. “This is an official police interview.” He mellows, scrapes out the

second chair, stabs a finger at it. “Sit.”

Borje dithers, scowls, then takes the chair, arms folded, jaw clenched.

I eye the mirror. “Were you out there just now?”

“I was, yes. I learned a thing or two from what I heard.”

“All of which,” growls Stanton, “is confidential. So…” He swings back to me… “Mr Waterman, the least

you’re facing is a charge of interfering with a police investigation. And if you don’t satisfy me, I intend to

offer Doctor Andersson here another opportunity to press charges.”

Borje fixes glacial eyes on me.

There are times to surrender the battle to win the war. I allow a note of apology to colour my voice. “It…

wasn’t my intention to assault him. I was keyed up. I saw the blood on his hands. I reacted without

thinking.”

“What was your intention?”

“As I said… I saw Borje in the crowd yesterday.”

The silver man stirs, but Stanton raises a silencing finger. “You might well have done. Doctor

Anderssen is on our forensics team. If he was in the neighbourhood when the alarm went out, I imagine

he would go running in to assist…” He glances to Borje, who shrugs, nodding agreement. “So, is that

it? What’s that to do with you faking your way into the crime scene today?”

“Today, I… I was in the square. No particular reason. I’d only meant to stop for something to eat… But I

saw someone. Something about him was… odd.”

“Odd?” Borje’s stance loosens a touch. “How?”

He subsides as Stanton silences him with a look, but I answer anyway. “It’s hard to describe. He was

entirely too interested in what was happening.”

Stanton’s head tilts, the anger draining also from his expression. “The City’s full of nutcases. And

voyeurs for that matter. What put it into your head to follow this one?”

“He was behaving suspiciously.”

Stanton’s forehead creases. “Suspiciously? What does that mean? Who was it?”

Borje snaps, “You followed him because you believed it was me?”

Stanton glances sidelong… “Are we still talking about Doctor Anderssen?”

“I didn’t see his face. I don’t know who it was. But he was watching the police enclosure. The activity.

Everyone else around was either involved or pretending nothing was there. This man… He was

enjoying the show. Spectating. His body language was way off for what you would expect. I tailed him,

but I lost him at the last moment. But it was close by your compound entrance...”

“And from that, you deduce that he came inside?”

“I… wondered… And when I got inside, the first familiar face I encountered was Borje again.”

Borje’s expression hardens again. Stanton sucks in his cheeks, looks between the pair of us. “So, to

summarise, you saw our forensic pathologist running in to attend a murder scene. And you stalked

‘person unknown’ because you didn’t like the way he was behaving?”

When he puts it like that…

I feel an idiot.

After a few moments silence, Stanton continues. “For the avoidance of doubt, Mr Waterman, do you

believe that Doctor Anderssen here is the individual you were tailing?”

The word curdles in my mouth. “No.”

“No? Really? Why not?” Borje drips sarcasm. “What’s changed?” Stanton looks askance but doesn’t

interrupt.

“The man I was following was shorter than you. And your clothes are wrong. He was wearing jeans,

sneakers and a hoodie. But… I did see a very similar hoodie among the coats outside your marquee.”

“Half the male population under thirty wears a hoodie. I don’t. So, what’s your gripe with me?”

Mouth dry, I drop my face, shake my head slightly.

After a few moments, Stanton slaps palms down on the tabletop. “Perhaps that concludes the

interview. Doctor Anderssen, for the sake of form, do you wish to press charges?”

“No.” The word is curt, chopped off.

“In that case, Mr Waterman, you are free to go.”

*****

JAMES

Mitch, humming, works her way through a box containing tiny socks, sweaters and mitts. Bibs and hats

rub shoulders with mini-bootees. Some of them were Cara’s, some Adam’s. And Vicky, growing fast in

the way of very small infants, has also worn many of them.

“Looking forward to being a grandmother again?” I ask.

She turns a headlamp smile on me. “Jenny and Michael both wanted it so much. It’s good to see that

their plans are bearing fruit.”

I chuckle… “In the most literal sense…” …then nod down to her collection of micro-woollies. “Don’t we

have enough of those?”

Mitch wrinkles her nose. “I’m sorting them into sizes, looking for the ones for a newborn.”

“It’s going to be a while before you’ll need them.”

She shrugs and, resuming her humming, continues sorting. Picking out a set of pale blue mittens, she

plucks at the wool, sniffs, then tosses the pair into the bin. Text © by N0ve/lDrama.Org.

“Where’s Larry today?” I ask. “I’ve not seen him around.”

She keeps her attention on the box. “I’m not sure. He didn’t say.”

There’s subtext there, but I’ve no idea what it might be.

He’d be pleased about Charlotte’s pregnancy, wouldn’t he?

Why would he not be here?

Richard's phone rings. He checks the screen, then answers. "Good afternoon, Will. What can I...?" His

voice trails away and he darts a glance at Mitch, then at me. Mitch jolts to attention, her smile fading…

The faintest of creases lines Richard’s forehead. "Really? Will, just give me a moment, would you. It's

rather noisy in here." He steps out into the hallway, closing the door behind him. From outside, the

sense of his voice carries through without the words, puzzlement, then dismay. Mitch sits in silence,

screwing a tiny mitt around and around.

Richard, flicking me a warning glance, re-enters. "Mitch, I'm going down to the City.” He perches on the

chair-arm beside her. “Listen, I don't want you to panic. I'm pretty sure everything's alright."

The mitt drops from Mitch’s hand. White-faced, tension rippling through her voice, "What's happened?

Is it Larry? Has he been hurt?"

“No. No. Nothing like that. Larry’s perfectly well. However...” He lays his hand on hers... “…he's being

held by the police."

Mitch whimpers. “He's been arrested?" Her face stricken, “What has he done?"

The normally unflappable Richard is as close to flustered as I’ve ever seen him, trying to calm the

panicking woman. "Mitch, I'm not sure he's actually done anything. I don’t believe he is under arrest,

but I don't have all the facts yet. "

Her eyes flood. "He’s not under arrest? But the police are holding him?"

"That's what Will’s telling me. I understand he’s being interviewed. Mitch…” He squeezes her hand. “…

Please don't worry. I'm going to the station right now. I’ll call you as soon as I know what’s happened.

And if Larry needs to be bailed out, I'll see to it."

"But you said he wasn’t under arrest.” Mitch’s voice rises in pitch… “Why would he need bail?” She

rises from her seat. “I’m coming with you."

"I don't think you should. Stay here with James. Try to relax. I promise I'll ring as soon as I know

something solid."

He heads out to the hall. I follow. "What the hell's going on?"

“James, I'm truly not sure.” Richard snags his overcoat from a hook, lowers his voice. “That murder in

the City yesterday… Klempner was caught inside the police compound with a fake press pass."

My brain turns a somersault. "Well, he's not responsible for the murder. He was with us all morning.

And the day before that."

"Of course he was, and that's what I told Will. But you can’t avoid the question of what the hell he was

doing in there. Apparently, he's being close-mouthed about it."

He looks back. "Keep Mitch company. Get Charlotte too, to help calm her. I'll call Elizabeth and ask her

to join you. See if you can steer the conversation to pregnancy and babies. That always seems to settle

Mitch." Car keys jingling… “I’ll be in touch.” He exits.

In the lounge, Mitch is on me. "What did he tell you that he wouldn't say to me?"

My mouth opens and closes. "Nothing very much."

"But?" She slits eyes green as acid.

Ah, Christ…

"Richard tells me Larry was found on the site of that murder near the square yesterday."

"What?" The eyes widen again to great wide ovals. "Why would he be there?" She spins, a palm

pressed to her forehead. "The police don't think...?"

"No. Richard has already confirmed…” I lay palms on her shoulders, steer her to face me… “…What.

We. All. Already. Know. Larry was here, with one or other of us both yesterday and the day before.

Whatever has happened, he’s not implicated in the murder. Mitch, when he left this morning, where

was he going? What were his plans?”

She shrinks in on herself. “I… I don't know.” The eyes raise to mine, tear-sheened emeralds. “I told him

to take some time for himself. To go enjoy himself. To relax. He's been feeling...” She stalls.

“We know how he's been, Mitch. We’ve all been seeing it. He needed some time out.”

“There was nothing wrong. If there were, even if he’d not said something, I’m sure I’d have sensed it.”

“I’m sure so, too. Now, listen to me. Richard is by far the best person to talk to Will Stanton. The two of

them go way back. Why don’t you carry on with what you were doing. Charlotte and Michael will be

relying on you when the baby comes. As soon as Richard knows anything at all, I’m sure he’ll be in

touch.”

She nods, sits again, picking through the box of clothes. But as she inspects a tiny stretch suit, her

hands are shaking. After only moments, she stands again… “Fuck this.” …and dashes out.

Moments later I hear her calling… “Richard. Wait!” …and the closing bang of the front door.

*****