Charlotte
My back hurts…
Michael… his hands, soothing away the ache… Calming me…
I’ve been so bad-tempered recently…
So awful to him… Them…
I’m sorry.
I’m so sorry…
I wish you were here. I want to tell you I’m sorry…
Master…
My Master…
The softness in your eyes when I kneel for you, the velvet kiss of the falls trailing over my skin…
The bite of the lash…
With you… I fly….
*****
Michael
Beth pops her head up. “James, how do I zoom in here?”
“It’s a touch screen. Just scissor it out.”
He watches as she zooms, peering in on the screen, then replays…
“Beth, what are you looking at?”
“I think I might have something.”
She sheers off as Klempner abandons his laptop, striding over to sit by her. “Show me.”
His eyes slide sidelong. “Mrs Haswell, I realise you don’t care for me, but we have to work together in this, and I haven’t come here to eat you. I believe you and Jenny are close, so please remember I’m here on her behalf.”
Beth swallows, then nods. “It’s not just the attackers… Look there… That woman, in the main waiting area, just before James and Charlotte go in.” Beth aims a long nail at the screen. “I’ve watched the same clip now three times, and I’d swear she’s not really looking at her phone.”
The patient looks superficially like any other waiting there. Maybe mid-twenties, pretty enough in an unspectacular way and with the swelling to the front you’d expect of a young woman in a pre-natal clinic.
But Beth’s right. She taps at her screen as though playing some game to relieve the tedium of waiting. But every few seconds, her gaze flicks up to where Charlotte and James sit together with another couple by the door of one of the half dozen consulting rooms. Charlotte’s twitchy, looking uncomfortable in the hospital gown she’s wearing, and James holds her hand in his.
And while all the other occupants of the waiting area move on, single women or couples, heading out as their names are called, she remains, fiddling with her phone.
“Mrs Summerford…”
Charlotte and James enter the consulting room and her eyes travel with them, then follow them again twenty minutes later when the door swings open and they exit.
The pair talk quietly for a few seconds, James checking his watch. Then as Charlotte waddles towards the bathroom, the woman’s fingers dance over her phone. But now the pattern of movement has changed; no longer the swipes of evicted space invaders or crushing candy, but the taps of someone typing a message.
Seconds later the two ‘porters’ sweep into view with their patient trolley, and off again, following Charlotte.
All heads angled in close to the screen; zoomed in, enlarged, the woman’s face is blurry and uncertain
Klempner taps James on the shoulder. “Can you sharpen that up?”
“I’m on it.” James nudges Beth from her seat, working his magic over the keyboard.
As the features clear, Klempner inhales, pressing a forefinger to his lips.
All eyes move to him. “What?” I ask.
“I know her. Knew her anyway.”
Richard breaks in. “So… of the two suspicious faces in all this, you are familiar with both of them? You are the common denominator?”
Klempner sucks air through his teeth. “It seems so.”
Given the circumstances, the phrase ‘pregnant silence’ is in poor taste. Nonetheless, the quiet that falls is replete.
Richard continues, “Got any enemies you can think of?”
Klempner turns full-on to look at him, saying nothing, arms folded, tilting his head.
Richard’s eyes rising to the skies, “Alright, wrong question. Can we narrow it down a little? Can we assume for example it’s someone with local knowledge?”
Klempner stares into space. “That… is a more useful question. I’ll have to think on it.”
“Richard thumbs at the woman on the screen. “So, what about her? Is she a friend of yours?”
Klempner huffs. “Hardly. She’s one of Finchby’s. Still…” He chews a lip… “As you say, Finchby’s local.”
“Finchby?” James jolts. “The pimp from down by the docks?”
Klempner blinks. “You know him?”
“He’s not on my Christmas card list if that’s what you mean, but I know his reputation and…” James rubs the back of his neck. “… we’ve brushed by on one occasion.”
Klempner’s expression flits between surprise and intrigue. “What occasion?”
“He…” James’ words stumble, realisation dawning on his face… “He bid for Charlotte at her auction.” He stands, pacing a small circle, fist pressed to his mouth. “He bid for Charlotte.”
“Auction?” Klempner straightens up, arms folding. “The auction where you and Jenny met? Where you… bought her?”
“Yes, that auction.”
Klempner moves close, eyeballing him. “This isn’t something you’ve ever mentioned before.”
James’ voice turns dry. “Our acquaintance hasn’t allowed much time for casual conversation.”
Klempner relaxes. “Fair comment. When you say Finchby bid for her, what happened?”
James breathes a couple of times. “Finchby wanted her… badly. There was a lot of competition for Charlotte. She was the star of the auction and the price skyrocketed. But most of the other bidders dropped away. At the end there was just me and him. When I outbid him, he was clearly furious.”
Klempner muses, plucking at his chin. “Probably had plans for her. Customers lined up.”
“Just what I thought myself. In fact…” James’ eyes shift to mine. And I think I know what’s coming next.
Could a conversation get any more uncomfortable for him?
“… I’d not been intending to bid. I went to the auction meaning just to watch. Michael… Michael convinced me it would be a wrong thing to do. But when I saw Finchby was trying for her… I couldn’t stomach the idea of it. That decided me to bid for Charlotte myself.”
Klempner’s lids lower. “And why’s that?” He exudes sarcasm. “To save her from a fate worse than death?”
James mutters, “Something like that.”
I have a feeling the conversation is heading south. I cut in. “The woman…” I jerk a thumb at the screen. “So, you say she’s ‘one of Finchby’s’. One of Finchby’s what? One of his workers? A prostitute?”
Klempner shrugs. “I assume so.”
“You assume? I thought you said you know her?”
And now it’s Klempner who looks uncomfortable. “I don’t know her exactly. I know who she is. I recognise her face. I… passed her to him.”
“Passed her to him? You mean you sold that woman to Finchby?” I jab a finger at him and then the screen again.
“Yes.” He has the grace to flush. “What happened after that…”
… Is anyone’s guess…
“So, she has no cause to love you…”
Richard interrupts, his tone dry. “I think she qualifies as an enemy…”
“Probably, yes.” Klempner looks down at the video, looping the waiting room scene. “But I don’t see some little twenty-a-shot back-street hooker having the wherewithal to set all this up.”
“But if she’s under Finchby’s control?”
Klempner palms the back of his neck. “Why Finchby would have anything against me? We did business together for many years. A lot of business. I supplied. He paid. We got along well enough.”
He swings on James, aiming a finger at him. “He might hold a grudge against you though. Or Jenny herself. Finchby’s pretty tight about his profits. If you lost him money…”
He turns to Beth. “Nice work, Mrs Haswell. We’ll make an investigator of you yet. Can you give me the time reference for that video, please. I’ll run through it again on my own machine.”
She taps in. “Sending you the link. You too, James.” Then her eyes slant to Klempner. “Call me Beth. ‘Mrs Haswell’ is a bit of a mouthful right now.”
His brows rise. “So it is. Thank you, Beth.” Richard’s lips press flat.
“So, what now?” asks Richard.
Klempner stretches his arms, cracks knuckles. “I’d say it’s time for me to pay a visit to my old acquaintance, Mr Finchby.”
“What’s he like, this Finchby?”
Klempner sniffs. “He’s a weasel.”
“A clever weasel?”
“He’s not stupid. He’s a good businessman.” He ponders, eyeing James. “If he was bidding for Jenny you can be sure he had something lined up for her that would line the pockets for him.”
And she could be in his hands now…
My gorge rises…
“Not many scruples then?” says Richard.
Klempner huffs. “He’d sell his own grandmother for pet food if he thought it would turn a profit.”
“You’ve known him long?”
“Twenty-five, maybe thirty years.” Klempner stares out of the window, legs akimbo, a knuckle pressed to his lips. Then he turns, tugging up the zipper of the fleece to his chin. “Yes, I’ll pay our Mr Finchby a visit. James, I think you should come too.”
“Try and stop me.” He rises from his seat.
Mitch stands with him. Klempner swings his gaze to her. “Where do you think you’re going?”
“I’m coming too.”
“No, you’re not.”
Eyes of emerald harden to agate. “Yes, I am.”
“No, you’re not. Finchby’s ‘club’ is no place for you.”
She squares up to him. “D’you really think you’re leaving me behind? I lost Jenny for over twenty years. You’re not stopping me now….”
Klempner rests the tip of a forefinger on her chest. “Mitch, it’s not safe.”
“Safe?” She snaps the word like a curse. “What’s ‘safe’ got to do with anything? I’ve never been safe in my life. You think I don’t have the nerve to handle this? I snatched Frank out from under your nose, didn’t I?”
Klempner hovers, eyes narrowing. Mitch ploughs on. “What’s any different this time? If I risked it all for that piss-poor washout, do you seriously imagine I wouldn’t do it for Jenny?”
Klempner speaks slowly, gently, clearly choosing his words. “Mitch. I’m not doubting your courage. And yes, you certainly have more balls than that excuse-for-an-ex-husband of yours. But you’re still not coming. This is for me, and for James here, to deal with.”
“Why?” Her voice rasps, but tears lurk there. “Why don’t you want me to come?”
Something like humour twitches over his mouth. “Mitch, it’s a brothel. Finchby may call it a club, but it’s a brothel. Bordello. Cathouse. Whatever you want to call it. You don’t turn up at the door with a woman on your arm. It’s not a bring-a-bottle party.”
She folds her arms, face setting. “Seriously? That’s it? You think I can’t cope in there? Considering how you and I met…”
His voice sharpens…
Patience wearing thin?
“… Mitch, I don’t believe you’ve ever been inside one of those places. You were independent when I knew you. It seems to me you always were. Am I wrong?”
She subsides. “No, you’re not wrong. I’ve never been inside one.”
“That’s what I thought. Now, can we assume that perhaps I have good reason for saying, you’re not coming…”
She opens her mouth to protest, but I interrupt. “I’ll be coming though.”
Klempner swivels, his voice snapping. “No, not you either.”
My face heats. “Why James and not me?
Klempner havers, then says, “Because he’s supposed to be my ‘associate’.” Jerking a thumb at him, “He looks like a bad bastard…”
… James raises eyes heavenward…
“… You look as though you stepped out of an ad for organic yoghurt. You wouldn’t fit.”
“Is that the real reason?”
Klempner stills. “It’s one reason.”
“You don’t trust me… Do you?”
“Michael, I’m not sure if I can trust you. When I’m in a dangerous situation, I don’t want the man at my back to be part of the risk. And if Finchby is anything to do with this business, then this is going to be a dangerous situation.”
“You think I don’t feel as strongly about Charlotte as much as anyone here? James, Mitch?”
Klempner lets out air, scratches his nose. “I’m quite sure you do. What I’m not clear on is how you feel about me.” He tilts his head, waits, calmly regarding me.
What do I say? My face is heating but inside I’m cold. Without meaning to, I find I’m bunching my fists.
“Yes…” says Klempner, his tone mild, “That’s what I thought.”
*****