JAMESCharlotte, freed now, stands silent, her eyes narrowed, watching it all.Klempner, gun in hand, nods to her. "Jenny."She nods back. "Father."His mouth works.Acknowledgement from her?For the first time...But he's earning it..."How are you, Jenny? Did he hurt you?" His tone is odd, hesitant.He's nervous?He faces down a man with a gun without blinking, but he's nervous of Charlotte?She snorts. "I can't believe you have the nerve to ask that. I'm sorry about your mother, but you're still a maniac."Something like humour skips across his face. "The point is, that I'm the maniac on your side. And I'm probably a lot better equipped than you are to deal with the maniac who isn't."She's weaving a little. Her nose-bleed has stopped but with the blood down her face and clothing, she's not a pretty picture.How badly hurt is she?And not admitting it?I hook my arm around hers, as though casually, but trying to gauge if she needs support. "Astonishin

JAMESMichael falls to his knees, howling and weeping, gathering his fallen brother into his arms. Charlotte and Mitch stare, aghast, but not apparently, sorry.I'm shaking. There's blood everywhere. "What happened to him being an amateur and not having the balls for it?"Klempner shrugs. "He would have got there. He did get there. He was just screwing himself up to do it." He looks to Mitch and Charlotte. "They would never have been safe from him. They're safe now."He throws his gun to the ground. "Don't touch it. Forensics will show the bullet that killed him came from there." He picks up the weapon Charlotte, and briefly Michael, carried, wiping the handle before placing it in the holster under his jacket.He sees my expression. "One more shooting won't make a lot of difference to my record," he says drily. "And I'd hope you'll testify that I was defending my daughter."In the distance a sound rises: the wail of sirens. Klempner looks quickly outward, then he holds his

JAMESMichael...He's depressed...What can I do?Change of scene maybe?*****"Charlotte, I was thinking, we're about due for your road-trip."She pauses, half a sausage impaled on a fork midway to her mouth. "Road-trip, Master? What road-trip?""Have you forgotten that you were bequeathed a house? And everything in it. Perhaps it is time to make good your claim?"The half-a-sausage drops back to her plate. "Go back to the farm you mean? The last time I was there, they... they weren't very welcoming."Michael is listening, chewing on toast and marmalade, suddenly looking more animated than he has for days.Thank God..."Things have changed since then, haven't they," he says. "You've spoken with your friend Tom. He knows the truth of what happened. And of course, there's Chad."Still she stares at the sausage and the fried egg congealing by it. "I'm not sure..."I pour myself more coffee. "Even if all you decide to do is sell the house, you'll need to visit

MICHAELJames interrupts my gardening. "You seen Charlotte?""She said she was going for a walk." I nod along the road. "She went that-a-way." I straighten up, pressing hands into my lower spine. "Actually, now I think about it, her tone was a bit odd.""You look as if you've done enough for a while. Want to take a break and stretch your legs?""Good idea. I'll just tell Chad we're going out."I find him inside, paint bucket in hand, slapping emulsion on a bedroom wall. "James and I are just going for a walk. I don't think we'll be long."He cocks an eye at me, his expression assessing. "You might like to know that Mr Kalkowski is buried nearby, in the churchyard.""He is? I thought...""He had no traceable family, so he stayed here. Some of the holier-than-thou churchy types tried to kick up a fuss about it, but Mrs Collier kicked up a bigger fuss and they found a space for him.""Gotcha."He moves to the window and points a long finger along the road; the same dir

JAMESIt'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, looki