Chapter 135: Chapter 135: The Girl Who Was Hunted - Chapter Fifty-One

CHARLOTTE Klempner turns away, won’t meet Michael’s eye. “I’ve no idea. The police gave her a new identity, hid her from me. I couldn’t find her, and I’ve not seen her for over twenty years. But if she’s not still alive, it’s nothing to do with me.” He shakes his head. “Don’t the two of you get jealous over her?”

His tone acid, Michael replies, “He’s my friend. Friends share things. They don’t go to war over them.”

Klempner stares at him, then at me. “I thought you were a complete lunatic with that performance you gave, you know. Daring us to rape you. I know what you were doing, keeping us off the other one…

Whatever else you are, you’ve got balls.” He glances at Michael. “No wonder it takes two of you to keep her in line.”

It is such an unexpected thing for him to say. Both Michael and I burst out laughing. “I’m glad you think we do.” he snorts.

Klempner gazes at me, eyes wide. It’s disconcerting. I shift in my chair, uncomfortable.

“What? Why are you looking at me like that?”

“I’ve never seen you laugh before.”

“You were always threatening to have me raped or assaulted before. Why would I be laughing?”

He looks down.

Is that…. regret….?

“You do look like your mother.”

I don’t know how to react, and I’m becoming a little nervous. Michael’s fingers creep around mine.

Klempner notices. “Looks after you, doesn’t he?” Then, glancing at our hands. “Nice rings. Are you getting married? To this one? What about your James then? Where does he fit in? I see you have your two rings back. Is he wearing one too?”

I ignore the question. “So, what happens now? I testify against you and your…. gang. You keep the dogs set on me…. ‘Cause I don’t doubt that even though you’re in here, you’ve still got contacts out there….” My voice chokes…. “ …. Everything I’ve done, and gone through, to make something of my life….”

… My voice is rising, growing louder, and I don’t care. “… Right now, it’s wasted, isn’t it? I can’t return to my college, because if I step outside I’m hunted, kidnapped, assaulted. You’ve made my life impossible; threatened and endangered my friends. You took my mother from me. Murdered my father.

You tried to murder Michael. Corby shot James, even though he was aiming for me. He barely survived. Your men set an office tower aflame. It’s sheer luck that no-one died there. You were going to gang-rape my friend, and me. Where does my life go from here? Everything I did to drag myself out of the hole that you dropped me in as a baby has been trashed. And all because you’re obsessing over something I had no hand in. I wasn’t even born for most of it….”

My eyes are welling. Michael’s hand squeezes mine.

Klempner watches me. “Obsessing?”

“What you would call it?” The tears stream down my face.

“And now you cry?” he says. “Not over threats to enslave you, ship you out, gang-rape you? But because you can’t go back to your university?”

“What the fuck have you done to my life? I never hurt you. And my mother really did nothing either. No-

one chooses who they fall in love with. But she might have stayed with both of you if you’d let it happen…. But it’s all about you, you selfish, evil bastard…. And with what they’ve got on you now, my testimony isn’t even going to make any difference. You’re in here to stay, but you’ve got me in prison too….”

I’m crying hard, sobbing, Michael’s arms around my shoulders, but as I look up, Klempner is watching us, his expression unreadable.

It becomes embarrassing. I wipe my eyes on the back on my hand, my nose on my sleeve, before Michael, from somewhere, produces a tissue.

Finally, from out of the silence, Klempner speaks. “Jennifer…. Charlotte. Go get your life back.”

I gulp down, hard. “What?”

“I said, get your life back. You’re right. You appearing in court, no matter what your testimony, isn’t going to make a difference to me at this point. Go home. Go back to your university. Go find your mother if you want to, if she’s still alive. You won’t have any more trouble or at least none that I’m responsible for.”

Incredulity dripping from every word. “You’re kidding,” says Michael. “Just like that, it’s all different?”

Klempner stares up at the ceiling. “Yeah… just like that. I suppose you won’t believe me, but, for what it’s worth to either of you, you have my word. Whatever else happens in your lives, I won’t be behind your problems…. But there’s a price….”

Ah….

“Which is?”

“I’m going to be locked away for a long time. Probably for good. Come and visit me.”

I stand, my chair grating backwards. “You cannot be serious.”

He sucks his lips. “I’m perfectly serious. Come and visit me… Talk to me sometimes.”

“You murdered her father, tried to destroy her mother, enslave her…. And you want her to visit you?”

hisses Michael.

“What harm can it do?” says Klempner. You think they’re going to let me near her?”

“What I have to get past….” says Michael, “…is that I’m looking at a man who kidnapped, assaulted, and intended to rape and sell, my wife-to-be, and to crown it all, suspects he might be her father, suddenly turns into Father Christmas and says that everything’s suddenly okay?”

“Yes, I did all that. But that was then. And…. I’ve already lost the game.”

*****

MICHAEL Will Stanton scratches his head. “I don’t know what the two of you said to Klempner, but he’s changed his plea.”

“Sorry?”

“He’s changed his plea. He’s saying that he’ll give a full statement and plead guilty.”

“Does he say why?”

“Yes. The other thing he says is, that he doesn’t want Charlotte to testify in court. If she makes a written statement of anything considered relevant, he will comment and confirm whatever is there.”

“What does he get out of this? A shorter sentence? A plea-bargain?”

“Hardly. We have him for murder, attempted murder, trafficking, assault; the lawyers are still arguing over exactly what the charge is over the business of the attack on the Haswell Building, but since he’s confessed, in writing and on tape, to being responsible for it, that hardly matters. With what we’ve got on him now, regardless of Charlotte’s testimony, he’ll not be coming out of prison again for a very long time, if at all. He’ll probably be sentenced to life-long imprisonment. In other times and places, he would certainly get a death sentence. Mind you, his lawyers are trying to argue that he’s not of sound mind and shouldn’t be tried at all. Or that he should be judged as not guilty by reason of insanity. But even if they got away with that, which I doubt, he’d still end up in a high-security psychiatric institution.”

Is this for real? Can it possibly be for real?

“So, why then?”

Will’s voice hovers between bafflement and misgiving. “He’s making the sounds of remorse….”

“Go get your life back.”

“You believe him? That Klempner’s trying to make amends?”

He shrugs. “Perhaps. But whatever the reason, if he does what he says, we don’t need Charlotte’s testimony.”

“You mean, she doesn’t need to appear in court? She can go home? We can all go home?”

“It’s looking good, yes.”

*****

James, sitting up in bed, radiates scepticism. “Do you think he could possibly be sincere? After everything he did, you think he would simply give up? Forget his revenge, just like that?”

“I’ve got to say, no. But…. if we don’t at least consider taking him at face value, what are our alternatives? We all have to disappear, like Charlotte’s mother? Change our identities? Give up our lives?”

James sits, silent. Lips pressed together in a hard, white line. Then, “We can take precautions of course.”

“Of course. I’m already on it. And this time, it’s more than just keeping an axe under the bed.”

“Oh?”

“The house is a complete renovation anyway. While it’s stripped to the foundations, it’s as good a time as any to install any extras we might think of.”

“Such as?”

“Cameras, security protection, fences, pressure detectors around the fences, vibration sensors on the windows….” James stares at me. “.… And since we were digging out the cellars anyway for your.…

er…. ‘Play Room’….” James grins. “…. I’ve extended the excavations somewhat to give us some extra options for getting out undetected if we need to.”

“You’re kidding? Some sort of secret door?”

“More than that. A tunnel. A literal bolt-hole, in case we ever have gunmen turn up again in the night.

Personally, I don’t want any more midnight escapes through the snow.”