There's no place like HOME (Emma Frost Book 8)

  “But don’t expect me to wait for you. I’m done, Morten. This time, I’m the one who wants out.”

  I hung up with my heart pumping in my throat. I was sad, on the verge of devastation, but it had been a long time since something had felt this right.

  54

  August 2014

  ANOTHER WEEK PASSED. Every day, I searched eagerly through the papers to see if there was any news of Jesper Melander being arrested. But, still, there was nothing. It irritated me immensely.

  Who knew what atrocities the guy was up to while we were waiting? Was he planning on killing another couple? Had he already done it, but no one had found them yet?

  My thoughts drove me crazy. There were days I could hardly think of anything else. I studied the housing market closely, and every day, I went through all my e-mails with my heart pounding, fearing to find that another house had been sold on the island.

  Luckily, it hadn’t happened yet.

  I looked up everything I could about Jesper Melander and his previous life as Bjarke Lund, and the more I did, the more convinced I became that he had to be the killer. In my opinion, he was mad enough to fit the profile, and maybe more clever than any killer I had encountered. Somehow, he had managed to get out of every kill he had committed. I just hadn’t the faintest idea how.

  Sophia was with me on my search. She wanted to nail the guy as bad as I did. I guess being the first to see someone who was killed made you feel like you owed it to them to get revenge for them. That was how I felt, after all. I felt like I had to help the poor people who couldn’t act for themselves anymore, and make sure the bastard got what he deserved.

  On a positive note, Maya was getting a lot better. Every day, I saw improvement in her, and every day, I thanked Dr. Sonnichsen for working with her. I couldn’t remember being this grateful to a stranger in my life before. It was such a blessing, and I knew it was one I risked losing any day. I had no idea if the county would take her away again sometime soon. Dr. Sonnichsen kept telling me she wasn’t going anywhere, but I wasn’t convinced. It was very expensive for the county to have someone like Dr. Sonnichsen work with only one child. So, I tried to enjoy her while I could, and make the most of her for the one hour a day she was here.

  On the following Monday, I lost my patience and hacked my way into the police database. To my surprise, I found nothing new. It seemed that they had hardly worked on the case at all. The forensics had finished their report on Mikkel Hermansen, the last victim. But there was nothing about the hair that Morten had talked about. Did it take that long to analyze it? Morten had told me Jesper Melander had agreed to let them take a sample from him to compare with, so I was surprised to see that nothing had come of it yet.

  Maybe I was just being too impatient. I simply couldn’t understand why they didn’t just arrest the guy.

  Sophia laughed at me when she came over for coffee a little later in the morning. She had Mondays off, and was supposed to use them to clean her house, but rarely made it that far, since she was always hanging out at my place. I loved it when she stopped by, and I always made sure to have enough coffee in the pot.

  “You can’t just arrest a guy like Jesper Melander,” she said. “He plays with the big boys now. They all attend his classes…that he calls therapy lessons. But they’ve all been there, all the CEOs, the big business people in Denmark. They love him. Even the crown prince attended one of his classes once. It’s true. They all like that stuff. He tells it as it is, you know. Makes them proud to be men. He tells women to get back in the kitchen and let the man be the man and provide for them.”

  “I hate him already,” I said.

  “He’s just provoking, that’s all. Gives him lots of business to say things like that.”

  “Yeah, I know. But it makes me so angry when people say stuff like that.”

  “That’s why he does it. He says what the CEOs wish they could say out loud.” Sophia grinned.

  I could tell an idea was shaping in her head.

  “We should pay him a visit. Just to check him out.”

  55

  August 2014

  IT WAS THE worst idea ever. Still I couldn’t deny the fact that I was curious as hell. And the police didn’t seem to be doing anything. They had interviewed the guy, and he had told them his alibies and whereabouts during the killings.

  I didn’t believe any of it. It was very frustrating, knowing what he was capable of, to have him on the loose like this. And Sophia was right. They couldn’t just arrest him if they didn’t have hard evidence. The fact that he looked like the guy in the drawing wasn’t quite enough.

  I stared at Sophia across from me. I wondered about Morten and what he had been doing this last week. I couldn’t believe he had nothing to link the guy to the killings.

  “He’s killed five people,” Sophia. “I don’t think we should. It’s way too dangerous.”

  Sophia shrugged. “Maybe you’re right. I just thought that, maybe if you were face to face with him, then maybe you could be sure it was, in fact, him you saw run from the house that night. Then you could tell the police that you’re certain it was him.”

  “I’m not sure it’s enough,” I said. “They need more evidence to place him there.”

  “We could go there and pretend to be journalists. Tell him we wanted to do an interview with him. He loves that stuff. Maybe we could snoop around a little. See if we could find a pair of ruby red slippers or something? Then call the police and let them know where to find it.”

  “That’s not an awful idea,” I said. “But what if he recognizes me?”

  “You think he saw you that night?”

  I shrugged and sipped my coffee. I felt a tickling sensation in my stomach. I had been passive for too long now. I really needed to do something about this guy. I felt like, if I didn’t, then no one would. The police didn’t have the capacity to investigate this properly. And, even if they did, they might be too late. This guy could kill a lot of people while we waited for them to build a case.

  “I don’t know. It was dark. He was under the streetlamp, so that’s why I could see him. I don’t know how much he was able to see from where he was standing. I doubt it if he could see anything at all.”

  Sophia smiled. “We could disguise you. You can borrow one of my mom’s wigs.”

  “Those awful red haired ones?” I said.

  Sophia’s mom’s hair had become very thin with age, so she insisted on wearing these horrible wigs that didn’t fit her very well. Still, it could work, I thought to myself. Maybe if I added a pair of glasses? I had a pair in my closet. Yes, that might just work. The guy had, after all, only seen me from very far away and in darkness. I wasn’t even certain he had looked at me.

  I tapped my fingers on the kitchen table. It was still early in the day. We had plenty of time to go there and come back before the kids returned from school. All I wanted was to get into his house for a little while and take a peek. And maybe talk to the guy. Pretending to interview him wasn’t a bad idea. I was quite surprised by Sophia’s ingenuity.

  “I’ll bring my gun, if that makes you feel any better,” Sophia said.

  “I can’t just sit here and do nothing, while he’s planning to kill more people. They might have children the next time. I’ve got to at least do something. I’m in,” I said.

  Sophia laughed. She got up and looked at me. “Great. I’ll get the wig, and we’ll have you disguised beyond recognition in no time.” She paused. Then, she smiled, satisfied. “Oh, my. How exciting. I feel like Thelma and Louise. Or uh, Miss Marple or something.”

  Now it was my turn to laugh.

  56

  August 2014

  WE DIDN’T WANT him to be prepared for us, so we didn’t call ahead to let him know we were coming. Instead, we took a chance and just drove there and knocked on the door.

  It was almost noon when we drove up the long driveway towards the old farm. The gravel crunched underneath the wheels of my car. I was nervous, and t
here were times when I thought about turning around and going back.

  I parked the car in front of the main building, looked at myself in the mirror, and made sure the wig was on right.

  I didn’t look too bad, I thought. It was believable that this could actually be my hair and glasses. But, most importantly of all, there was no chance he would ever recognize me. Even if he knew who I was or had read my books. I looked very different.

  To my surprise, he opened the door himself…wearing nothing but his birthday suit.

  I blushed and looked at Sophia. She sounded bewildered as she spoke.

  “Mr. Melander?”

  He smiled and leaned on the door, like it was the most natural thing in the world, him being naked in front of two female strangers.

  Then, he shook his head. “Not anymore,” he said.

  “Excuse me?” Sophia asked.

  He could tell we were taken aback by his nakedness, and seemed to enjoy it. I tried hard to look anywhere but down there…

  “I changed it,” he said. “A couple of months ago. I was sick and tired of it. I needed a change. I’m Steffen Carlsen now. Who are you?”

  “I’m Laura Bo and this is Mille Bille, my photographer,” Sophia said.

  I held the camera between my hands, so he could see it.

  “We’re from the Zeeland Times,” Sophia continued.

  Steffen Carlsen looked interested. I wanted to punch that smug look off of his face. It annoyed me already.

  “Oh, are you now?” he asked.

  “Yes,” Sophia said. “We’re covering the recent killings on the island, and thought of asking for your expert analysis of this killer, your professional opinion as a therapist, and, well…as someone who knows men very well.”

  Steffen Carlsen chuckled, while scrutinizing me. It made me highly uncomfortable. “And don’t journalists call in advance anymore?”

  “We were in the area,” I took over. “To be honest, we didn’t think of you until we drove by out here and both agreed it could be interesting to hear your opinion on the murders that everyone is talking about.”

  I could tell he bought it. I couldn’t tell if it was because he was flattered, or if he liked the fact that everybody was talking about his killings.

  Steffen Carlsen smiled widely and opened the door completely. “Alright then. Any publicity is good publicity, I always say. I have plenty to say about this. Come on in.”

  My heart was pumping hard in my chest as I walked past him into his house. There was no doubt in my mind anymore. Standing in front of him in person made me certain. This was the guy I had seen that Friday night under the streetlamp. Now, all we had to do was find something to prove it.

  As he slammed the door behind us and let us into his living room, I couldn’t tell if we were the clever ones, or if we had just walked willingly into the lion’s den.

  I guess I was about to find out.

  57

  August 2014

  “YOU KNOW, I have to say, this is the first time anyone has ever come to me to ask for an expert statement about a killer,” Steffen Carlsen said, and showed us to the couches.

  He sat down in a chair in front of us, not making any attempt to cover himself up. I got the feeling he was enjoying seeing our facial expressions.

  “Well, you are an expert on the subject,” Sophia said with a smirk.

  “That I am. Not only because of my background in therapy, but also because I have spent time in prison with them. And, I’ll tell you, they’re not as bad as you like to make them out in the media. Most often, they suffer from long term hurt and terrible childhoods. It’s not just a cliché. It’s a fact. Many of them are very sensitive creatures who never had anyone love them, but I tell you, love heals everything. That and sex,” he took time to laugh at his own remark before he continued. “It was while I was in prison that I decided to become a therapist. I could tell there was a great need for someone like me. I just didn’t have any idea how great the need actually was.”

  I grabbed the camera and started taking some photos while he talked. He seemed to like the fact that I was looking at him through the lens. He smiled at the right time and looked into the camera like he was posing. He even took his penis in his hand and made that pose as well.

  “That’s not gonna make it in the paper,” I said.

  “I know,” he laughed. “Just messing with you. It amuses me how frightened women are of the male sex organ.”

  “Does it now?” I said, trying hard to not get provoked by his remarks. I continued to take photos, and tried to take some of the living room as well, looking through the lens, searching, scanning frantically for anything that could indicate he was actually the killer.

  “Yes. It is interesting, don’t you think? Our relationships with our sex organs. I have actually recently written a book about it. What startled me was when I realized that women completely ignore their vaginas. I studied hundreds of women for years, and came to the conclusion that, while men love their penises and often caress them in the shower, women choose to ignore their vaginas. That’s too bad, don’t you think? It’s a shame. To a man, the cock is the most important part of the body and they keep a close connection with it. I always tell my students that my cock is my God! I try to make them feel the same about theirs. I mean, why not? I worship mine. And so does my wife. She adores it. I kid you not. Every morning, I have her say good morning to it, and give it a good morning kiss. Just to acknowledge its importance in our marriage.”

  I felt nauseated listening to all this. I couldn’t believe what he was saying. How pompous and self-indulged could a man be allowed to be? Did he say he had studied hundreds of women? Was he just being unfaithful to his wife on a regular basis and proud of it, or what? All of his alibis had been with different women, Morten had told me. He made me sick…just from looking at him, sitting there flashing his penis at us, acting like we should worship it as much as he did.

  He stared at me while I walked around in his living room with my camera. I felt his eyes on my body, on my behind when I turned the other way. He was scrutinizing me, observing me.

  It made me very uncomfortable.

  “So, these killings, huh?” he said. “Terrible story. But these acts, these killings…those poor families.”

  “So, what do you make of the killer? Who are we dealing with here, from what you know?” Sophia asked.

  I lifted my head from the camera and looked at his face as he spoke. He didn’t seem at all thrown off by the question. On the contrary. He was enjoying this, wasn’t he? He liked this situation, the bastard. It made him feel on top. Us running to him for expertise. It made him feel strong.

  Was that how it felt to kill those people, huh? Was it all just a power trip for you, you bastard?

  58

  August 2014

  “IT’S WHAT’S INSIDE the killer’s head that we must look at, naturally,” Steffen Carlsen said.

  “Most killings are about sex or money or revenge. These are not. There might be a sexual aspect to it, the killer might get off by killing these people, but there is more to it than that.”

  “And what might that be?” Sophia asked. “What do you think this killer gets out of it?”

  Steffen Carlsen threw out his hands. “I would say an act of cleansing. He is taking these people’s lives at the moment they are starting them together…when they’ve just bought the house of their dreams and everything is so pure and new. That’s when he strikes and rips it apart. It’s the beginning of a new life. And, I believe he takes something from them, right?”

  The way he spoke sounded like he idolized the killer. I didn’t care for that.

  “It might be a sort of artwork in his mind, maybe like a hunting trophy; it seems to be almost ceremonial. The last victim was put on a pole to be displayed. Very ritualistic. It might even be religious.”

  It was bullshit. He was just talking, playing us. Had he seen through us, recognized me behind my disguise? Did he know we weren’t re
ally from the Zeeland Times? Or was this just the way he was?

  “You seem to know a lot about these killings,” Sophia continued.

  “I read the paper, like everyone else,” he answered.

  “Do you know anything besides what has been in the papers?” Sophia asked.

  Steffen Carlsen took a breath, looking like he was reflecting on the question. “No. I don’t see how I could.”

  “Did you know any of the victims?”

  He shook his head. I could tell he was wondering about the character of the questions. Sophia had to be careful now.

  “I don’t think I do. I don’t socialize with people on this island a lot. They really don’t want me here, and made that clear in several open letters to the local paper, and by protesting outside in the street once I moved here. It’s quieter now, but they still tend to approach my wife and me when we go shopping. We stay away from the town for that same reason. I thought changing my name again might help, but I can’t seem to escape my past, even though I was falsely accused. To most people, I’m still a murderer. I even think I might be in your eyes as well. You think I know this guy or something? That we all know each other and, therefore, I should have some sort of knowledge that no one else has? What? You think we speak over the phone? You think he calls me and brags to me? Is that it? Or is it because you think I did it? Please explain why you would ask these kind of questions.”

  That shut Sophia up. She stared at him, and I could tell she was wondering what to do next. That was when I saw it. I had been looking at the many photographs on Steffen Carlsen’s wall behind him. I lifted the camera and zoomed in. Then I took pictures of all of them. They all appeared to be women, but one of them struck me as someone I knew. Someone I had seen before.