Chapter 16


    Michael


    Mitch drives home. I’m exhausted. James and Klempner don’t look much different. From the back, it


    sounds as though Finchby has woken up. If he were still out, I don’t think he’d be squealing like a stuck


    pig.


    After a while, Klempner speaks. “I need a little chat with Finchby there. Where would you like me to


    conduct his interview?”


    There’s a thump from the trunk and he looks back then to Mitch. “It needs to be somewhere the women


    won’t hear. Is there one of your outbuildings I can use perhaps?”


    Mitch nces sidelong. “Don’t worry about upsetting me. I’ll hold your coat.”


    James, his expression savage, breaks in before I can reply. “We can do better than that.”


    “Where?”


    “Downstairs.”


    It takes a moment for James’ meaning to sink in. “Downstairs? You mean…?”


    “Yes. That’s what I mean.”


    As we crunch onto the drive, Klempner produces another of the phial and syringe sets, pursing his lips


    as he draws the drug into the chamber, then tapping it. “James, Michael. Open the trunk and I’ll get him


    quiet again before we take him through your home.”


    The trunk clicks open and the needle plunges into Finchby’s arm. The tape-masked shriek dies in his


    throat and…


    “Give me a second,” I say. “Richard hinted he’d been up to somethingst night. Let me go see what’s


    happening.”


    It’s as well I did. A blue-uniformed nurse is in the hall, discussing something on a clipboard with


    Richard. As he sees me, he steps smartly forward… “Ah… Michael…” He cups my elbow, easing me


    out of the door again. “Is everyone…?”


    The question dies on his lips. “James. Klempner. I’m pleased to see you.” His gaze lingers on James


    damaged eyes, the sh, leaking red, on Klempner’s chest, then moves to the bound and unconscious


    Finchby. “Is that one of them?”


    “Yes…” James heaves breath, then. “He was nning on prostituting Charlotte and selling Cara for


    organs. We need to ask him about where to find the other one. We’re taking him downstairs.”


    Richard inhales. “You’d better bring him in around the back. We have a houseful here.”


    Klempner reacts. “Police?”


    “No. Medics. Doctors. Nurses. For both Charlotte and Elizabeth…. I… I had an eventful night too.”


    “Is everything alright? Charlotte?”


    “Yes, she’s fine. I’ll tell youter. Right now, she’s sleeping and I’d say likely to stay that way for some


    while yet. I have a nurse watching her and Cara while she sleeps herself out.” He nces back to the


    door, holding up a palm. “Give me two minutes to clear the hall, thene in through the back. Go


    straight down.”


    He goes inside. “Ah, Doctor Polinski. Could I have a word, please. You too, nurse. Now, about my


    wife…”


    Mitch brushes past. “I’m going to go see Jenny and the baby.” And she follows him in.


    The door closes behind him and we heft Finchby around the side of the house, in and down.


    *****


    Klempner


    We tote him down the cer steps and along a basement passageway, rooms off to either side. “I’d not


    realised it was such arge ce you have here.”


    “This is it.” James opens the door ahead of us.


    Michael, supporting Finchby at the shoulders, says, “You sure about this, James?”


    “I’m sure. Can you think of a better ce?”


    “No…” He exhales. “But fuck’s sake, don’t ever tell Charlotte.”


    “I won’t. I don’t want her knowing about any of this.”


    “Suits me.”


    Between us, Michael and I heft the unconscious Finchby through the door and into…


    Fuck me…


    Don’t show surprise…


    Michael meets my eye. So does James. His mouth quirks and he drops me a wink.


    It’s a torture chamber.


    At least at first sight.


    Of course it isn’t…


    The first impression is a blur of manacles, racks, whips and chains; stone walls, a vaulted roof, a cold


    g floor.


    The second impression takes in a hearth, the ashes cold; a ss-fronted cooler containing wine and


    beer, and a huge bed at the far end of the room.


    It’s a yroom, but of a very particr kind.


    I’d realised in a casual kind of way what kind of rtionship my Jenny has with James, but I’d really not


    thought it through.


    Until now.


    Keep your cool…


    Michael halts. “Where?”


    James extends a finger. “That will do for a start. Take his waistcoat off. Leave the shirt.”


    The indicated spot is a chain, suspended from the ceiling a kind of winch and pulley arrangement.


    While Michael and I manhandle the unconscious Finchby into position, James takes something from a


    shelf; a steel bar, extendable, with leather, fur-lined wrist-cuffs attached to either end.


    “I’ll just be a moment,” he says, rummaging through a drawer, emerging with a second set of cuffs;


    these the real McCoy in steel. He fiddles with the bar for a moment, recing y-cuffs with the


    genuine article.


    Michael and I restrain Finchby while James snaps the cuffs around his wrists, then clips a carabiner


    between bar and chain. A few winds of the pulley draws the chain tight.


    Stretched upright, arms over his head, Finchby’s going nowhere.


    James inspects our catch. “That do for you, Klempner?”


    “That’s quite satisfactory, James. I’ll admit, I’m looking forward to seeing his expression when he


    comes round.”


    Grim humour creases his eyes. “I’d had the same thought myself. Excuse me a moment.” He makes for


    the door, pauses and turns. “Michael, set up a table where Finchby can see it. And another one behind


    him where he can’t.” He turns back and leaves the room, the sound of footsteps receding down the


    outer corridor.


    Michael taps me on the arm. “Give me a hand with this.”


    From a spot by the wall, between us, we carry a small table, cing it as James asked, squarely in


    front of Finchby. Then another behind him. Michael stalls, pondering, then shifts the front table off to


    the side a little and drags over a couple of chairs.


    What the fuck?


    I’d taken James and Michael to be fairly ‘everyday’ guys, even if they do have unusual family


    arrangements.


    I’m seeing a different side to them now.


    But then…


    How would I have reacted had it been Mitch that was taken?


    I position myself, standing where I can watch Finchby’s face.


    How long before he wakes up?


    And Michael is watching me, his face deadpan.


    Waiting forment?


    “Can anyone hear us from down here?” I ask.


    Content is ? 2024 N?velDrama.Org.


    “No. That’s why we use this room. Charlotte can be as noisy as she wants without it carrying to the


    hotel.”


    “She… enjoys this? The room is…” I wave a hand around bleak stone walls, dark corners and


    forbidding apparatus…


    “It looks rather different with the fire zing and the candles lit. A different effect entirely.” He nces at


    Finchby, hanging by his wrists. “I don’t think we’ll bother with that for this one.”


    “What does James intend?”


    “Intend?” His brows rise. “I think he intends to scare the shit out of Finchby. As you say, we need


    information. We need to know where Baxter is. Or at least where he’ll make for.”


    “How far do you think he’ll go?”


    He inhales. “For Charlotte? It’s anyone’s guess.” His head inclines. “Klempner, understand. James is a


    Dom. And a good one. And if there''s one thing that any Dom worth his salt understands, it''s the Mind-


    Fuck.”


    “He''s… skilled… at what he does?”


    Humour quirks over his lips. “James is Charlotte’s Dom. What do you think it takes to be the Dominant


    to the daughter of Mitch Kimberley and Larry Klempner?”


    What do I make of that?


    I swallow, then swallow again, jerking my chin to the hanging Finchby. “He does that with Jenny?”


    “Oh, yes. But she knows James won''t harm her. What do you imagine Finchby will think when he


    wakes up and sees this?”


    I turn, rotate, taking in my surroundings.


    I’m not sure what I think myself.


    *****