The Lover's Children

Chapter 119 – Autumn’s Fury – Part 11

MICHAEL

I’ve put Marty into one of the hotel suites. It’s not ideal, but it will have to do until we sort out something

better, perhaps once she can stay with friends or family…

Did she mention a sister?

I tap on the door. “Marty? It’s Michael.”

“Come in.”

“Everything okay for you? Do you have everything you need?”

She perches on the end of the bed, hunched over, stroking a cat, I’d say as much for her own comfort

as the cat’s. “Yes, it’s very nice. Thank you.” She looks utterly lost.

I sit beside her, leaving enough distance between us to be sure I’m not invading her personal space.

“Marty, you’re safe here. The police have guards outside. I know it’s hard, but you can relax.”

She nods, chewing at a lip.

“Would you like to join us to eat? My family, I mean, at the house. Not just the restaurant. You can get

to know Charlotte better. Beth and Mitch too.”

A ghost of a smile flickers at the edge of her mouth. “That sounds nice. Who are…?” She’s cut off by a

knock at the door. She blinks rapidly, not moving to answer.

A voice rumbles through. “Miss Ramirez? It’s Will Stanton here. The police commissioner. May I come

in?”

“Oh…” She comes to life, unhunching. “Yes, of course.”

Will’s accompanied by a female, uniformed officer. He’s a big, bulky man and tends to loom, whether

he means to or not. Pausing, he takes in the girl, his gaze flickering to me then back again. “Miss

Ramirez, I’d like to introduce you to my officer, Sergeant Jackson. She would like a word with you. Are

you feeling up to it?”

Marty makes an effort to straighten up. “Yes… Yes, of course. How can I help?”

I make to rise. “I’ll be going…” But she snaps out a hand, catching me by the wrist. “Michael, I’d like

you to stay. Please Commissioner, can he stay?”

“Of course, he can, Miss Ramirez. I think you should have someone with you right now. And

perhaps…” his tone is hesitant… “… a female friend?”

Reaching for my phone, “I'll call Charlotte. Is that alright for you, Marty?” Shivering, she nods.

I tap in, and the line connects on the second ring. “What’s happening?”

“Hi, Babe. Are you free right now? I’m with Marty, but Will Stanton’s here too and they need to talk to

her. She could use some moral support.”

“I'm on my way.”

*****

Charlotte marches in, dumps herself onto the mattress next to Marty and takes her hand. Jackson

snags a chair, pulling it up to sit close, speaking in a low voice.

Will catches my eye, giving me an almost invisible head-jerk out of the door. I pad out after him,

snicking the door closed behind me.

Out in the corridor, he moves close, drops his voice. “Sorry about that, but it’s going to be a female-only

conversation for a few minutes. We can go back in when she’s had time to assimilate what Jackson’s

telling her and calm down again.”

“What is she going to be told?”

“Forensics have been over her apartment. They were in there anyway to take a sample of the blood left

there by Harkness from where Klempner injured him. But I had them do a complete sweep. They found

other DNA matches to Harkness.”

“Well, we know he’d been in there after we got Marty out of there…”

“Yes, but there’s more than that.” Will’s voice congeals to a monotone, relaying facts. “In the bedroom,

the one where you've removed the bed… on the carpet underneath where the bed was, Forensics

found dried semen. Quite old. It’s a match for Harkness.”

My stomach knots. “You telling me he’d been in her room some time previous to this? Under her bed?

Jerking off? ”

“That’s exactly what I’m telling you. Without getting graphic, the spatter pattern is consistent with him

climaxing under her bed…”

From beyond the door comes a scream. “Oh, my God!” Reflexively, my eyes follow the sound. So do

Will’s.

“No wonder you wanted her to have all-female support.”

“For this, yes. With your permission, I’d like to send in Forensics to check out this furniture of hers that

you brought out. Especially the underside of that bed.”

“Yes, of course. I’ve stashed it all in in one of the back rooms off the gym.”

He nods, sniffs and taps a message into his mobile, then, “We’ll give them a few minutes, then go back

inside.”

*****

Will taps on the door, quietly. A female voice responds. “Come in, sir.”

Marty is shaking violently, Charlotte’s arms around her. The cat, fur bottle-brushed, has retreated to the

far end of the bed. Sergeant Jackson waits quietly, hands folded on her lap.

Marty raises streaming eyes. When she speaks, her voice wavers. "He was under my bed? Doing

that?" Her voice rises half an octave. “It’s disgusting…” Her mouth twists… “It's just filthy!”

She sits up, tugging free of Charlotte, drawing the backs of her hands across her eyes. “He was

watching me when I… I was… getting undressed, or… Or…”

She shudders to a stop…

… Inhales deeply… Then exhales, her chest rising and falling.

And again…

Then she holds up palms in a Give-It-To-Me gesture. “Okay, tell me it all. I can handle it now. What else

should I know?”

Stanton scrapes up a seat beside his officer. "Miss Ramirez… Martina… May I call you Martina?”

She gives him a pale smile. “It’s Marty.”

“Thank you. Marty, do you have any idea when this might have happened? This… invasion… of your

apartment?"

"How would I know?” She blows out her cheeks, wrapping arms around herself. “If I'd had any idea he

was there, do you imagine I wouldn't have done something about it?"

"Of course. Anyone would. But, perhaps there was a day when you noticed something odd in your

room? Or elsewhere in your apartment? Something moved or missing? Anything different at all? Take

your time. Think about it.”

Charlotte stands. “Marty, would you like a glass of wine? There’s a mini-bar. A drink might help you

relax a bit.”

“Actually, I’d love a glass of wine. White if you have it.”

I move for the fridge. “I’m sure we have. If we don’t, I’ll go get a bottle.” But as there should be, the

mini-bar contains a cluster of the drinks and mixers, along with the laminated menu for room service.

“Would you like something to eat, Marty? I can…”

“Just the drink is fine, thanks.”

*****

Marty sips from her glass. Her throat ripples. Silently, she sips again, then, “There was a day… It’s a

few weeks back… Milo there…” The cat perks up, strolling, then sliding, onto her lap, purring like a

buzz-saw as she strokes him… “…Milo was very unsettled when I got home. And…”

She pauses, lips puckering…

“My laundry basket had been disturbed. At the time I suppose I assumed it was my flatmate, Lindsey,

though why she would...”

She raises a hand to her mouth… “Oh, God… He could have been going through my things… my dirty

clothes… couldn’t he. You read about things like that…”

Will resumes his monotone. “Was anything missing, Marty?

Her mouth works. “I didn’t think anything of it at the time, but one of my…” She grinds to a halt…

Sips…

Swallows… Exclusive © material by Nô(/v)elDrama.Org.

“… One of my thongs was missing. I noticed because it’s part of my dance costume. The top was

there, but the bottom was missing. I never found it.”

Surreptitiously, the Sergeant is checking something in a spiral-bound notebook. She exchanges a

glance with Will, who tilts his head, brows raised, then micro-nods her.

Sergeant Jackson flips over the pages. “Marty, could you describe this thong please.”

“Black. It’s black satin with an embossed pattern of roses. It cost me quite a lot. It’s part of the Eve

range.”

“That’s good. Is there anything else you can tell us…?”

Another tap on the door. “Sir?” A uniformed cop hovers, his expression unhappy. “I think you'll want to

see this.”

Stanton swings to face him. “Why? What’s happened?”

The cop flicks a glance to Marty. “If you’ll come back to the house, you can see it there.”

*****

Stanton marches in, his face thunderous. “Let’s see it then.”

I’ve already turned on the TV, setting it to the City News channel.

A house stands besieged by vans, cameras, microphones and a milling crowd of press gathered on

green lawns. A reporter speaks to camera. “Speculation is now rife as to the fate of Harkness’ sister,

Sophie, who vanished with no explanation, some years ago…”

“Who leaked?” barks Stanton. “I gave strict orders this was to be kept under wraps until we could check

out the mother. Who the hell let it out? I'll have his…”

The cop grimaces. “So, far as we can tell sir, it wasn't a leak. Just good old-fashioned footwork. Some

reporter recognised Harkness from the posters and made the connection to the old story.”

Michael raises a finger. “Hold on, she’s coming out…”

A woman stands in the doorway. Cameras flash and microphones thrust toward her. “Mrs Harkness, is

there anything you want to say?”

She’s immaculately dressed. As cameras zoom in, her face in close-up, her make-up is equally

immaculate; perfectly applied, with no trace of tears or streaking. The edge to her lips is a shade darker

than the inner flesh. Cheeks and chin are brushed with both high and low lights. Her hair, elaborately

styled up, shows no trace of the silver that might be expected for the mother of a grown man.

She shudders, hugging arms around herself. “How could they say something like this? My boy. My

lovely boy…” Sniffing, she swipes under her eyes. “… He would never do such a thing. I already lost

my little girl and now they say this about my Ricky.”

Watching the circus, Michael talks sidelong to Mitch. “If you found yourself blockaded by the press,

having learned that Charlotte was wanted by the police for multiple cases of torture and murder, what

state do you think you’d be in?”

Mitch watches the screen, hard-faced. “I’d be in pieces.”

“Think you’d dress like that for the occasion?” A fist pressed to her mouth, she swings her head.

Michael tilts his chin to me. “What do you think? That look like the grieving mother to you?”

“Crocodile tears,” I say. “Completely fake. That's not a mother grieving for her son. Or trying to defend

him. That's a narcissist enjoying being the centre of attention.”

Michael nods slightly. “My thoughts entirely.” He watches for a few more seconds. “Quite the media

circus.”

Stanton snorts in disgust. “That’s blown any chance of us catching him there.”

“If he’s already inside, he’s not going to be able to get out unnoticed.”

“He’s not already inside. We’ve been watching that house from about twenty minutes after he took that

ambulance.”

*****

GEORGIE

Borje…

My Silver-Haired Lover…

He’s taken me back.

He still loves me…

I’ve not completely ruined it…

… again.

But the words I’ve heard so many times reverberate inside my head…

You’re so critical…

Always has to be done your way…

Everyone says the same. Friends and boyfriends. Larry. Dad. And now, Borje.

Something inside resists, wanting to scream and protest that it’s not so. But when everyone says it to

me…

…it must be me, not them.

If I want a life, I have to change.

Got to learn to meet people halfway.

And I’ll start right here, right now.

Borje wanted to buy me a present…

Instead, I’ll buy him the gift.