Chapter 45: Chapter 45

Elizabeth comes with me. The six of us, we gather around the large kitchen table at the Triad’s home.

Michael looks dreadful. Red-eyed, his face drawn, in a reversal of their usual roles, Charlotte sits by him, holding his hand.

He’s lost weight…

Elizabeth glances up, but she doesn’t need my permission for this. I nod her to him. She takes the seat on his other side, resting a hand on his thigh.

And in a kind of mirror of protective roles, James and I flank Mitch, seated to one side and the other of her as she holds the packet.

“It can only be from him,” she says. “And I think I know what it is.” She slits open the top and tips the contents onto the table, then checking inside, pulls out first what looks like a legal document, then a note; a single sheet of paper, folded double.

As the x-ray showed, keys; house-keys by the look.

And in a bubble wrap packet, a small moss-green velvet bag. She unlaces it, emptying the contents into her palm; the necklace…

James whistles inwards. Even Michael stirs. Thick and heavy, it’s almost a collar, emeralds set in white gold.

“That must have cost a fortune,” I murmur. I’m in a position to know, with some of the jewellery I have gifted to Elizabeth.

Mitch picks it up, plays it through her fingers. “He gave it to me. I threw it back at him the first time, for trying to buy me. He gave it to me again later but then, when I ran… At the time, I never thought about it.”

“And the keys?”

She nods, doesn’t speak, passes the document to me: a title deed for some address down by the harbour.

Then she unfolds the note.

They were always yours.

Please accept them.

LK *****

James It’s a nice area. A pretty area. And it’s a day for seeing it at its best.

Yachts and pleasure boats float in bobbing ranks on sparkling water. Tourists walk by with ice creams, tossing coins to cross-legged artists sitting by pavement chalkings. Shops sell souvenirs, art and holiday wear.

The apartment block is clean and well-maintained. The hallway as we approach the door smells of new carpet and fresh paint.

Mitch stands outside the door, seeming to gather herself together, then taking a breath, she inserts the key, turns it, opens the door and we step inside.

It’s… lovely…

Sunlight dances over walls painted in soft neutral colours. They complement the furnishings, made from some pale golden timber, perhaps beech.

“Can’t fault his taste,” comments Michael.

Paintings dot the walls, abstract mainly, except for a single striking piece taking the centre of one wall;

an image of ice and broken water in astonishing rainbow hues.

“Amazing painting,” I say, looking more closely. “Looks like an original.”

Mitch moves to stand by my side. “It is. I gave it to him. He took me to Helsinki that Christmas. I tried to give him Helsinki back.”

“You did this?” I back away, taking in the whole image. “Klempner said something one time about you having a talent for painting. He understated the case.”

The plain beige carpet pile lies striped paler and darker. Fresh flowers sit on a coffee table and a windowsill. Charlotte eyes them speculatively.

I wander around, just looking. In the kitchen a tray is set out with cups and saucers, a teapot and a packet of peppermint tea.

“Oh!” Mitch’s voice carries through and I stride out to see what’s amiss. I find her in one of the bedrooms. “He did it,” she says.

I look around. “Did what?”

“When I last was here, that fireplace was blocked up. I’d said what a lovely room it would make if the hearth were opened up.”

What’s Klempner playing at?

“So, what are you going to do with it, Mitch? Since it appears that you are a woman of property after all.”

“I don’t know.” She shakes her head. “I just don’t know. I can’t decide.”

“Why don’t you rent it out for a while?” says Michael. “You’ll get a decent income from it, in a spot like this. You can decide later, when you’ve had time to think about it.”

“I might at that.”

“Shall I make some tea?” says Charlotte.

I leave them, talking and chewing over the fat, wandering over to stare out of the window.

A rowing eight pulls over dancing water. Gulls wheel, turn, then dive, to rise again, splashing and gulping. Along the harbour wall, fishermen sit with their rods, apparently content to stare idly at the sea for hours on end.

What is the appeal of fishing? I could never see it…

My attention drifts over them, a good twenty men, all with kit bags, lines…

And then I see it. At the farthest point of the wall, looking towards the open sea…

Ahhh….

“I’m going for a stroll,” I say. “Going to get some air.”

Charlotte looks up. “Shall I come with you, Master? Keep you company?”

“No need. You keep an eye on your mother.”

*****

Klempner leans back against the concrete, feet crossed at the ankles, watching me approach. Wearing jeans, a casual shirt and trainers, he could be an everyday tourist. No one looks at him twice.

As I join him against the wall, he says, “Thank you for coming.”

“You’re welcome. Why am I here?”

“Don’t worry. It’s not some nefarious plot to abduct you.”

“I’m pleased to hear you say that. Can I assume that someone has a gun on me?”

“No, it’s just you and me, talking.” He stands upright, arms held out and turns three-sixty, then resumes his position. “As you can see, I’m not armed.”

“And the leg holster?”

He lifts first one trouser leg, then the other, displaying no more than the tops of a pair of white sports socks.

“So, why am I here?”

“I just wanted to… talk. I’d like to talk with Mitch, but since I can’t, I’ll talk to you. You can tell her whatever you think is appropriate.”

“What do you want to talk about?”

“How's Eye Candy doing?”

“His name is Michael.”

He sucks a smile. “I know what his name is. So, how is he?”

“Not well. He's just lost a brother under perhaps the worst possible circumstances.”

He nods, looking thoughtful. “Does he blame me for it?”

“I'm not sure. I don't think he knows what he thinks about anything just now.”

“Do you blame me for it?”

“No. If you’d not finished Ben, I would have, or Charlotte. Michael might have done it for that matter, but that would have finished him too, I think.”

“Even though his brother was in the wrong?”

“The problem was that Ben was convinced he was right.”

“He was, wasn’t he? Everything he did, was willing to do, all because he thought he was right.”

“You don't exactly have a blameless record.”

He snorts. “I never tried to tell myself what I was doing was right.” He stares out over the sea. “At first, when I was young, I didn’t care. Either I was just trying to survive, or I was making a lot of money from it.”

He looks down to where a scrawny cat perches on a rock, paw raised, intent on the darting shapes below. “Later, when I’d come to know Mitch, but I lost her again… When I thought she’d gone running to Conners… that Jenny was his…”

“Yes?”

He whispers, “I wanted the world to burn.”

My gut tightens. “But not now?”

“No, not now.”

“So, what do you want?”

He’s quiet. “What I can't have… Maybe Mitch will find someone else.”

“I think she's had enough of controlling men. Between you, Conners, Stephen…”

His forehead creases. “Who’s Stephen?”

“Her elder brother. Control freak. Kept her on reins so tight when she was a kid that she ran. Left home at fifteen and… well, you know the rest.”

Klempner straightens up, clasping hands behind his neck and sucking air between his teeth. “Wonder if she became a hooker to spite him?”

“It’s possible, yes.”

He slides a glance. “I went to see Conners.”

“Oh, yes?” I keep my face bland and my tone carefully neutral.

“Oh, don’t look at me like that. The spineless bastard’s still alive.”

“So, what did you do?”

He sucks at his teeth. “Let’s just say that, before I left him to dwell on the error of his ways, he pissed his pants.”

Despite myself, I laugh. “I had a taste of Conners myself. It sounds as though you gave him what he deserves.”

He sniffs. “No, I didn’t. Not what he deserved, but enough to be sure that Mitch’ll not get any comeback from him.”

“She’ll be happier that you didn’t kill him. And she won’t suffer guilt over it.”

His forehead wrinkles. “Is that right? I suppose so…” Then his face clears. “James, the main thing I wanted to talk about is… Tell Mitch, she’s safe, from me anyway. I want her to… to have a good life.

Jenny too.” He thumbs towards the shore. “If she chooses to live there, that's fine. If not, that’s fine too.”

“It's a lovely apartment. She clearly likes it, but I don’t think she’s decided yet what to do with it.”

He nods, scratches the back of his neck, doesn’t seem to know what to say.

“It must have cost you plenty,” I say, “in a spot like this. That necklace too.”

Klempner huffs. “And what do you spend your money on? You're not without.”

“My family. Those I love.”

He drops his head back, breathing deep. “I have more money that I could spend in three lifetimes.

What good does it do me?”

“I thought they seized your assets? When you went inside?”

He sucks in his cheeks, looking much more like the Klempner I think of. “And you think they found them all? All those nice little civil servants and public officials with their tidy little offices and tidy little minds?”

He huffs. “They found what they were supposed to find.”

His face softens again, eyes vacant. “I saw the look on Mitch's face when she was watching Ben.

Jenny's too. How they despised him. Everything about him. And then, I see the look on Jenny's face when she looks at Michael. And at you…” He looks at me sidelong… “… Not that it's the same…”

“You have a problem with that?”

“No. She’s happy. That’s enough.” That faraway look again, then he heaves and runs a hand over his hair. “Anyway, tell Mitch I’ll not be looking over her shoulder. The apartment’s hers. I hope she gets some joy of it.”

“You’re leaving?”

“Yes.”

“Dare I ask where? Or what you’re planning?”

“No point. I’ve not decided, but for the avoidance of doubt, it’s nothing like Blessingmoors or anything that went with it. I’m dismantling all that.”

What the hell’s going on?

“What’s in your mind, Klempner?”

“I’m not sure. I just have the shape of something in my head.” He looks at his feet, scuffs at the ground.

“Do you believe in redemption?”

How on earth do I answer that?

“I don’t believe in many things, but as for redemption… I suppose I’d say that to achieve it, whether you’re speaking religiously or otherwise, you would have to be serious about wanting it. And to be willing to work for it.”

Klempner continues to inspect his feet.

Then looking up and out, he takes a deep breath. “Sea air. Nothing like it.” He offers me his hand.

“Look after them, James.”

I stare at the hand, then take it. “I will.”

He turns, starts to walk.

“Klempner, one question.”

He tilts his head, brow creasing. “What?”

“What was your mother called?”

His eyes unfocus, lost in some distant place. “Deanna,” he says. “He called her Deanna.” Then he nods, turns again, and I watch him walk away and vanish into the crowds.

*****