Chapter 87 – Solstice – Part 20
KLEMPNER
James speaks in level tones. “How do you think you can help?”
“I know people. Or knew them, a few years ago. I can ask. They’ll talk to me even…” She lifts her face
to mine… “… even if they won’t talk to you.”
“Why?” His expression turns harsh. “Who are these people, Charlotte? And where are they?”
“It’s South Street and around there. I have friends there. Or I did. It''s been a long time, but I could find
them again.”
James Aaahhs, raising his face to the ceiling. “South Street? That''s not a good area. Why would you
know people around there?”
Her eyes turn wary. “It''s from before I knew you. I lived there for a while. When I first came back to the
City.” She turns a spotlight gaze on me…
Ye gods, but you look like your mother…
… “I''m not sure if you shoulde or not.”
I see the penny drop. “It’s the street girls themselves, isn’t it?” says James. “You lived down there. You
knew them. And you’re afraid you might find your father put some of them there.”
Jenny’s chin juts, but she remains silent.
“You''re right,” I say. “My being with you would be problematic.” James shoots me a look sidelong. “It
could scare off some of these friends of yours. As I’ve already learned, it only takes one who knew me
personally, rather than Baxter or Bech, and the whole area closes down against me…”
Her mouth opens to speak but I talk over her. “… However, I should stille with you. When you’re
talking to the women, I can stay in the background, but I''d be able to ask questions of their handlers in
a way you couldn''t.”
James jabs a finger toward me. “A word if you please. Charlotte, out. If Michael’s around, send him in.
And if I find you lurking behind the door, you’ll feel my belt.”
*****
MICHAEL
James circles like a caged tiger, bristling threat. “Are you out of your fucking mind?”
Klempner oozes nonchnce. “I’m not suggesting sending her out by herself. I’d be close. So could
you and Michael, if you wanted.” James’ fists ball, but Klempner’s still speaking. “… It’s an obvious
thing to do. After the miscarriage, Jenny’s depressed. If you want to knock her out of her depression,
give her something to feel responsible for, other than being just a failed mother.”
I surge forward, but James beats me to it. “She is not a failed mother,” he hisses.
Klempner lounges back against the door, arms folded. “Of course she isn’t. But it’s how she feels right
now. We can all see it.” James pauses, some of the tension easing from his shoulders.
Klempner straightens up, his indifferent air fading. “Jenny wants to help in the hunt for the killer. So, let
her. It will give her something else to think about. A purpose. Once she has control over something...
And once…” He jerks a thumb at me… “… Laughing Boy here gets her knocked up again, her state of
mind will look after itself.”
Much as I’d like to punch the bastard in the face, I’m not sure whether to rise to Klempner’s baiting or…
… I sigh, rubbing the base of my skull. “You know, he might have a point. Richard said something
simr to me once. Charlotte’s spent most of her life driving in high gear. Being just a mom may not be
enough for her. I’m her husband. You’re her Dom, but neither of us can decide that for her.”
James looks ready to spit fire. “You seriously think we should agree to this?”
Hang on to your temper…
“James, this is Charlotte we’re talking about. Letting her do something doesn’te into it. I’d say
she’s already decided she’s going to do it. That being the case, perhaps we should go along with
whatever she has in mind. That way we can keep our hands on the reins and retain some level of
control.”
James glowers, then matches my sigh. “You’re right, of course. You’re both right.”
Klempner speaks. “I’ll add something else. We’re dealing with a ticking clock. Our killer is runningte.”
“Late?” As one man, James and I spin to face him…
“Thest murder was April,” continues Klempner. “We’re almost at mid-summer. Given that our killer
has upped his game since he started, and that the intervals between the murders have reduced with
Têxt belongs to N?velDrama.Org.
each victim… If the Surgeon is working to his established pattern, he’s overdue to strike again.”
James blows out his cheeks. “Why might he break his pattern?
“He’s choosy about his targets.” Klempner clucks. shes brows. “Perhaps it’s taken him a while to
pick out the next one. Whatever the reason, it’s almost certainly only a matter of time before he moves
again.”
*****
It’s not a great part of the City, unchanged for years, with an air of ground-in poverty emphasised by
scattered trash, splintered ss and the cardboard ‘homes’ of the destitute. Spread out in disused
doorways and side-alleys, some are sheeted over with ck stic. Others with newspapers. The
advancing summer produces a moist evening heat that does nothing to improve the stench of urine and
rotting garbage.
Charlotte leads us, clearly knowing just where she is going, taking us to a brick-built apartment block.
Peeling paint, rotted window frames and cracked gutters are the first impression. She tries the door
handle but, as you would expect, it’s locked. She inspects a bank ofbelled buttons, pressing one.
The buzz is audible, but no replyes.
She tries a second. Same result.
She’s about to try a third, when Klempner steps in front of her, easing her back out of the way. “Let
me.” A glint of metal in one hand, he inserts something into the lock. Something else with the other.
Briefly, he stares into the distance, his gaze turning blind. Then, his wrist twists, jerks, and the lock
clicks open.
Charlotte rolls eyes at him. “You can show me how to do that, sometime.”
His lips quirk. “My pleasure.”
We follow her inside and up the stairs.
*****
Charlotte knocks on the door. James and I stand some way back, so as not to loom when the door
opens. Klempner lurks behind us. I hold my breath against the wash of stale cigarette smoke and
mushrooms.
From beyond the doores the sound of uncertain footsteps…
Not the pace of a young woman…
… and after drawn-out seconds, it opens by a few inches, stopping as a chain clicks taut. Fingers
clutch at the edge as rheumy eyes peer through the crack, maybe five feet from the floorboards. The
smell of decay and stale urine seeps out. Charlotte recoils.
“Yes? What is it?” The voice rasps. The figure and the voice could be female, but it’s hard to be sure.
Charlotte inhales. “I’m looking for Natalie…” Doubt enters her voice. “Does she still live here?”
“No.”
The door begins to close again, but Charlotte wedges in a toe. “Did she live here before you moved
in?”
“Don’t know.” The figure pushes at the door.
Charlotte persists. “How long have you lived here?”
“Five years.” A foot kicks out, dislodging Charlotte’s trainer and the door snaps closed.
*****
We stand by a street-corner cinema promising action, adventure and eternal romance. I’d say that’s all
of any of those things that anyone in this neighbourhood would see.
Charlotte rotates slowly, looking.
Klempner hovers, circles and hands-in-pockets, stares at his boots.
I’m notfortable being here. Garish signs re into the dark advertising the delights awaiting
beyond darkened doorways. Cars crawl the kerb, their upants, all male, staring out at the parading
street girls, looking for more than the promises of popcorn and celluloid.
In their cheap finery: the too-short skirts and too-low tops and with their too-young or long-forgotten-
being-young faces, the women disy to the onlookers. Some strut up and down, pacing the sidewalk.
Others pose, exhibiting long legs or generous bosoms, trying to catch the eye of their potential clients.
The hookers work mainly in pairs… Not that I me them… But when a male voice calls out, crooking
a finger, a woman leaves her partner, strutting across before stooping to the wound-down window to
exchange a few words with the driver. Then, alone, she steps into the car and it drives away.
Christ…
Klempner watches too. As the girl gets inside, his eyelids droop, then he returns his attention to
Charlotte. “Why have wee here, particrly?”
“When I knew Natalie, this was her pitch.”
“Not now it seems.” He muses, casting around. “Interestingly, I wasn’t far from here when I lost Hoodie
Boy.”
“Really?” Charlotte gestures up along the street, then down again. “It’s a good spot. A popr spot.
That’s why a lot of the girls work from here. You can see the iing traffic both ways. Even if the
driver’s on the other side of the road, he can pull here. And the sidewalk is good and wide too. So you
can hang back if the cops arrive, or step out if you see a car pull up.”
As if to prove a point, a blue-shing squad car idles past, and the parading women retreat into the
shadows.
“The police are more tolerant,” she says, “if the girls aren’t actively soliciting. But it hardly makes a
difference here.” James and I exchange nces. Klempner nods slowly.
Charlotte’s still looking, her eyes traveling from one face to another, but she shows no sign of seeing
what she wants, who she wants. The girls who notice her either look away, or re back. It’s
understandable. Draped in a long, figure-concealing coat, her hair tied back in a loose ponytail and her
understated make-up, Charlotte simply doesn’t fit in here.