The Lover's Children

Chapter 129 – Autumn’s Fury – Part 21

CHARLOTTE

Gravel arcs from under the tires as Chad spins his car through one-eighty then screams through the

gate. “Which way? Gotta be downhill surely?”

“Where would he take her further up the mountain?”

One hand crossing over the other, he spins the wheel around, taking s-bends at breakneck speed.

“How far ahead of us will he be?”

“I… I don’t know. I was panicking. I couldn’t think about anything but Mom and the children. I’m not sure

how long it took me to get out. I think he’s had time to get off the mountain and onto the main

highways.”

“Just as well he took your mom’s car. At least we know what we’re following…” His words trail off, then,

“Fuck!”

Mom’s car.

Abandoned by the roadside, the driver’s door swings open.

Close by, fresh tire tracks lead downhill.

“Don't stop,” I say.

“We don't know what we're following.”

“A redheaded woman at the wheel and a man in the back with a baby, should be fairly distinctive.

Mom’s face should show up on the cameras at the speed traps.”

“Assuming she's still driving.” He squeals around one of the zig-zag bends. “Call the police back. Tell

them your mom’s car was dumped and where.”

*****

MICHAEL

The motel looks standard enough. Completely ordinary.

As we approach the gate, I say, “Slow down. Behave normally…” Klempner shoots me a white-rimmed

glare… “… If Harkness has a view of the highway, we don’t want to alert him.”

He nods, terse and tight. Still, he doesn’t so much park the vehicle as abandon it at the reception Còntens bel0ngs to Nô(v)elDr/a/ma.Org

entrance. Vaulting up and out of the driver’s seat, he slams a hand onto a wired glass panel, barging

open the door, barging into the office. I’m two seconds behind him, pizza box in hand.

Behind the counter, thick-lensed spectacles wear an alarmed expression, a mouse-coloured comb-over

above, and a Spiderman tee-shirt below, although according to the name-bade, Spiderman has

renamed himself, ‘Walter’. A hand hovers below the counter, perhaps to a panic button. “Can I help

you?”

Klempner bullies up to the counter, snarling. “We need information, and right now. A man with a woman

and a baby. Both redheads. Within the last two hours.”

Walter, eyes widening, eases back. “Hey, I can't just hand out that kind of information…”

“Larry, let me.” I hook a hand into his elbow, easing him away from the counter, opening the space

between the pair. “Listen, it’s urgent. The police are on the way. The man we’re after is the killer they

called the Surgeon. Maybe you saw it on the news a while back? That a man chasing him was hit by a

car .”

I jerk a thumb at Klempner… “Larry here is that man. And the woman and child with him are Larry’s

wife, Mitch, and his daughter, Vicky. We think he’s using the baby as a hostage but you know what the

Surgeon does to women…” I pause for effect…

Walter nods vigorously. “Yeah… I saw that on the TV…” His mouth snaps shut. The countertop snaps

up. The words snap out. “They’re in Number Fourteen. Police are on their way, you say?”

“Right behind us.”

He snatches a key from the board behind him, dangling it at us. “Master key.” He pauses… “How did

you find them?”

“She’s clever is Mitch. Managed to get a message out on the pretence of ordering pizza.”

He marches for the door. “Yeah… This way.”

“Is it far?”

“Two-minute walk.” He leads us out and past ranks of identical chalets. “As they checked in, y’know,

something felt off. They just didn't look like a couple. You know how people sort of match each other

when they’ve been together a while…”

“…They didn’t. For a start, she looked so well turned out, ‘least, so far as I could see. But him… He

stank… And he was carrying the kid. I mean, some fathers do, don’t they. But he didn't seem like he

knew how to carry a baby. My wife blasted me the first time I picked up our young ‘un. Said I handled

her like a bag of potatoes.”

White-faced, Klempner’s patting himself down, making an obvious inventory check. “He kept hold of my

daughter? Separate from her mother?”

“That’s right.”

“What did my wife do? Did she say anything?”

“She was in the driver’s seat. Stayed in the car while he paid, but she had the window wound down.

She was watching him the whole time. Didn’t look happy at all. Then, he got into the back seat again

with the baby and she drove them to the chalet…”

“…He’d pre-booked, just a coupla hours before, and he was specific that he wanted the chalet that was

most out of the way. Number Fourteen’s right at the end and it’s set back from the others. And he was

interested that we didn’t have many guests staying.”

“He would be,” I mutter, then, “You want to charge straight in?”

Klempner slips his knife from its holster at the back. “He’s keeping Mitch and Vicky separated. We need

to know where they both are. You go to the front. Try to draw him out. I’ll go round the back, see what I

can find. Don’t go charging in unless it seems necessary right there and then. Unless…” He jabs a

finger at me… “Unless he’s carrying Vicky as he comes to the door. In that case, get her off him and

yell. I’ll go in at the back.”

“Here…” Walter points at the pizza box. “Gimme that. I’ll knock and call. He'll recognize me. Less likely

to suspect something. You two can hang one side of the door and the other.”

“I’m Michael. This is Larry. You talk like you’ve done this before.”

He nods. Gives a depreciating grin. “No, the odd drunk or family dispute. Never anything like this. But

I’ve seen all the movies...”

Klempner, despite the situation, finds the energy to roll eyes and mutter under his breath then, “Is there

a rear entrance to this chalet?”

“Sure. Safety regs, y'know.”

“What's the layout inside?”

“All the same. Small entrance hall as we go in. Bathroom to the left, then single bedroom. Main

bedroom off to the right. Kitchen-come-living area at the end with the rear exit.”

“What kind of locks on the doors and windows?”

“Just standard stuff. Nothing special. But they’ve all got bolts on the inside.”

“What's to the back?”

“Woods. Picnic area and kids play area. That's why the living space is at the back. Got the view.”

Walter points toward the end of the row. “That’s it.”

As he’s said, Number Fourteen is set away from the other chalets, but it's not too quiet. Traffic rumbles;

highway traffic, speeding past, enough background noise to cover much of the sound that might come

from inside. But with no footpaths and no pedestrian access, there’s no one to hear anyway.

A car is neatly parked at the front. An average car. Average model. Four doors. Four seats. Take a

family. Nothing to draw the eye.

Klempner pauses, quickly scanning front and rear seats. “This what they were driving?”

“That's the one.”

Klempner quickly circles the car, looking inside… “Nothing to see…” …then, almost casually, he

stoops, reaching behind for his belt knife. Walter’s mouth flaps as he stabs the nearest tire, then strides

around the vehicle again, puncturing the remaining three. Straightening up, he chin-jerks sidelong,

pointing me to the door, then sprints away and around the side of the chalet.

I murmur to Walter. “Larry's gone around the back. We need to distract Harkness for a minute or two. I'll

stay out of sight for a few moments. If he answers, try to keep him talking if you can. Buy Larry some

time to check things out.”

“Sure thing.”

“Once I go in, you get the hell out of here and wait at reception to send the police the right way.”

“Gotcha. Will do.”

Walter sets his chin, flexes arms like spaghetti strings and marching to the door, gives it a swift Rat-Tat-

Tat! “Hey, it's Walter from reception. Did you order pizza?”

For long seconds, nothing happens.

He knocks again, harder. “Hey, you expect me to stand out here all night. I'm s'posed to be manning

the desk. Not running around delivering pizza. It is yours, is it?”

How long for Klempner to get around?

A few seconds more and a voice echoes from beyond the door. “Yeah. Sure it’s mine. They must not

have written all the address. Sorry, Bud. Leave it at the door. Just got out of the shower here.”

Walter yells back through the door. “I paid him. You owe me ten.”

From somewhere inside comes the wail of a baby.

“Oh, right. Course. Straight ten?”

Paper rustles. “Um, nine, seventy three, actually. You got change?”

“Ten’s fine. Call it straight. Sorry to have dragged you from the desk.”

“No problem. We’re here to help. But you want to stop that kid crying you know. There’ll be complaints

from the next chalet.”

The wailing grows louder, rising by the moment.

The voice turns belligerent. “You said there was no one in there.”

“Well, new guests arrive, don't they. That’s what we do here.” The wailing grows edgy, rising in pitch…

“Hey, she doesn't sound so good. I've got some gripe water back at the house. You want me to bring it

across?”

“No, thanks. The wife'll settle her.” The door slams closed and the lock clicks.

Where the hell’s Klempner?

But the question answers itself as he reappears from around the corner. “Back door bolted from the

inside. Windows locked. All the curtains are drawn. Can’t see a fucking thing.”

Walter brandishes his key… “I’ll let you in…” …sliding it at the lock… “Damn! He’s left the other key in

the lock.”

From inside, the wail crescendos to a shriek.

“Fuck this! Michael, you’re with me.” Taking a step back, Klempner kicks out and with a splintered

Whump!, the lock wrenches free of its timber mounting, the door crashes open and Klempner charges

in, me right behind him...

… and from beyond the door directly ahead of us, the uproar of all hell breaking loose.

*****

HARKNESS

Stomach grumbling, heading back along the hall, I flip the lid of the pizza.

Can’t get anything fucking right…

No fries.

No anchovies…

Fucked if she’s having any of it…

Fucking wasted on her anyway. S’not like she’ll be eating again…

But as the door to the lounge opens…

Something’s different…

She’s different.

She’s moved. Standing by the kitchen counter. And her expression…

The kid…

“Where the fuck is it?”

She flinches and her eyes flick sidelong. Then back again. But I caught it. And I follow the glance to the

kitchen cabinets.

A scream comes from… somewhere… a hollow sound. The kid squealing…

Did she really think she could hide her brat in a cupboard?