"Were you alone in the room?" Officer Janssen asked.
Henrik hesitated. He could hardly tell them about the girl, now could he? The girl? Could it? Could it be her? It had to be. It had to be her. She had to have something to do with this. But he couldn't tell Starsky and Hutch here, could he? ‘Cause then his wife would find out. Then she would leave him and take Thomas with her like she had sworn she would if he ever cheated on her again. No, he couldn't risk that.
"So … what do we do next?" he asked.
The officers looked at each other again, then at Henrik. "Well first, we take your statement and then we have to get back to the station and see what we can do," Officer Frandsen said. "We will start an investigation and get in contact with our Eastern European contacts to help us. We suggest that you stay here at the hospital till they're ready to let you out and then you go on to live your life like you used to. We'll be in touch."
After they left, Henrik stared for a long time at the door. It was in those crucial minutes following that he slowly realized that it was time to take matters into his own hands.
7
AUGUST 2012
THOMAS DE QUINCEY WAS looking through pictures on his computer. Pictures of a woman lying on the ground somewhere, her dead eyes staring at the photographer, her mouth stuck in a scream, her hand cut off and stuffed into her mouth making it look like she was throwing up her own hand. He studied it closely. The pool of blood gave the picture great color, but the girl didn't do anything for him. He wasn't appalled, he wasn't disgusted or delighted.
Thomas De Quincey leaned back in his chair and tilted his head slightly to look at it differently, but it still didn't do anything. The creator, the artist of this piece claimed it was worth a lot of money. Two hundred and fifty thousand, he wrote in his e-mail. With the deal, Thomas would get the girl and the hand in the mouth and that was quite unique. Thomas had never seen anything like this before. But he couldn't help wondering if the girl had already been dead when the artist put the hand in? ‘Cause that would change everything. If she was still alive, then it had the cruelty and gruesomeness that he was looking for, but if she was simply killed, and then the artist had cut off the hand and stuck it in her mouth for effect, then it was worth nothing to Thomas. And he simply didn't get the vibe from it he was looking for. It didn't cause the hairs to stand up on his back. It didn't have the brutality to it to make him shiver in delight. It simply wasn't there.
Thomas closed the picture and checked the chat. He had recently received a new follower, a new member who he had tutored and he was very excited to hear news from him and what he was about to do. He called himself Bill Durgin after the famous photographer whose macabre pictures were well-known to those, like Thomas De Quincey, who enjoyed the macabre immensely and lived for it.
Thomas chuckled when he saw that his new apprentice was online. He had that same feeling of excitement he used to have back when he had let Fred Einaudi, alias Allan Witt become a part of his small, yet very exclusive, club. Thomas broke a pencil thinking about how things had ended with Allan. Thomas had been very careful taking in a new member this time, in order to not make the same mistake twice. Allan had simply been too crazy and finally lost it completely. It was too dangerous to have someone that unstable as a part of the group. But, with the kind of people he attracted, it was probably hard to avoid.
This one, he was pretty sure, wouldn't let him down. He had passed all of Thomas' test and questionnaires. His fantasies were quite different from those Thomas usually encountered, since he wasn't as interested in actually killing, as he was in just simply inflicting immense pain on a special group of people. This was a new approach and very very intriguing. Thomas was extremely excited to see where this Bill Durgin was going to take it.
How did it go? Thomas wrote.
Perfect, Bill Durgin answered. It went exactly as I had hoped.
Bill Durgin went quiet, then posted some pictures. Thomas looked at them, feeling thrilled. He clapped his hands like he was applauding him, then wrote: Good. I'm so happy to hear that. Don't forget to give me my payment.
I won't. Next time. I promise.
When will you strike next?
Tomorrow night.
How exciting. Good luck.
Thanks.
Then he was gone. Thomas saw that two of his other apprentices were on as well. He wondered if he should write to them, but decided to just watch as they talked to one another instead. It was his chat forum, he had created it and he could listen in on his member's conversations any time without them knowing it. They were discussing a kill that one of them had done two nights ago. One of them was posting pictures while the other was jerking off watching them. The display on Thomas' phone lit up. He had received a text. Thomas looked at it:
Your delivery is here, it simply said.
8
AUGUST 2012
I SLEPT WONDERFULLY THAT night in the big bed. Peter woke me up with kisses and touches.
"Not now," I groaned, hoping desperately to get to sleep just for a little longer. I felt his hand on my thigh and his kisses on my throat. It felt good.
"Just a quick one," he whispered and put his hand inside my panties.
"Mmm," I moaned and let him crawl on top of me.
"Mmm you smell good," he moaned. "You taste even better."
I chuckled, but stopped as he came inside of me. I held his head between my hands and stared into his blue eyes. I felt so happy to be back with him. I hadn't realized how much I had missed him, how deeply I still loved him. Making love to him again reminded me of how much I liked us, how much we belonged together even if it meant having to fight through bad times.
I took a shower before breakfast and Peter went down to the kitchen to start cooking for us. Julie was already awake, he told me before he left the bedroom. She was running around in the yard, playing hide and seek with her imaginary friend.
"She has an imaginary friend?" I asked. Why hadn't I heard about that?
"I think he arrived the last time she was up here. I guess he lives here or something. Maybe he's just an animal, who knows?"
"I hope she won't get lost out there," I said.
"It's an island, Rebekka," Peter said with a grin. "We'll find her if she is lost. Don't you worry."
I heard her squeal in laughter from the yard and peeked out through the bathroom window. Then I laughed. Julie was running in circles, laughing out loud. I wiped myself with the towel thinking this stay was going to do all of us good.
I grabbed my toilet bag and started unpacking my stuff in the bathroom, putting things on the shelves in the cabinet above the sink. I pulled out a pack of tampons and looked at them. I was terrible at keeping track of when I was supposed to have my period. When I had been trying to get pregnant with Sune I had tried to be systematic about it. I had written in my calendar when I had my period but always ended up forgetting a month and then it was all messed up. Sune had been really annoyed with that.
I put the box on the shelf in the bathroom, then walked back into the room. I got dressed while looking at myself in the mirror. Had I gained weight?
No you're just acting crazy again. You always think you've gained weight. Learn to live with it. Make peace with your thighs.
I put on my jeans and a shirt and went downstairs. It took awhile for me to find the kitchen and Peter. He smiled when I entered.
"Right on time," he said.
"In time for what?" I asked, when the smell of food hit my nostrils and I realized I was starving.
"Breakfast is on the table."
He wasn't kidding. On the table was everything I loved. Scrambled eggs, croissants, buns and soft boiled eggs.
"You didn't make all this?" I asked. In all the many years of us being married he had never cooked for me before. Not even boiled an egg.
Peter smiled. "Nah," he said. "I have help. Mrs. Holm. She was here early this morning and made it all. She cooked for the entire day, so we only have to warm it up. She
'll be back tomorrow morning."
"Of course you have help," I said with a grin and sank my teeth into a croissant. It was heavenly. "Does she come every day?"
"Not on weekends. Her husband loves to fish, so he keeps his boat on the dock on the shore that she uses to get here every day."
"Does she clean the entire place as well?" I asked, feeling suddenly sorry for this poor lady, with all the many rooms and bathrooms.
Peter chuckled. "No. She puts on new bed sheets and stuff in the rooms we use, but she doesn't clean. I have a cleaning company that I hire to do that."
"Of course you do." I grabbed another croissant happily, forgetting all about how fat I thought I looked in the mirror less than half an hour ago. I chewed while looking at Peter. He was so handsome. He drank his coffee, holding the cup between his big hands. I loved his big hands. I loved that he was so much man and nothing like … I sighed and looked out the window where I spotted Julie in the yard. I hadn't spoken to Sune in weeks now and I felt really bad about how it had ended. I thought that if I gave him some time to heal, then maybe he would one day be able to forgive me. I didn't expect us to be friends again since he was so angry with me, but part of me still hoped we could … someday. Julie had been asking a lot for Tobias and it was getting harder and harder for me to find reasons why we couldn't see each other, why I couldn't just call Sune and ask him to come over with Tobias like I used to.
The back door to the kitchen opened and Julie stormed in. Her cheeks were red from the cold wind and fresh air, her eyes sparkling with joy.
"Are you coming out to play?" she asked us.
I looked at Peter and shrugged. "Why not?" I asked. "It's not like I have something else to do today. How about you?"
Peter stretched himself with a long yawn. "I was actually planning on getting some painting done."
"Painting?" I asked. "Don't you have people to do that for you?"
Peter grinned. Julie made a disappointed sound.
"No not painting the walls, but real painting on canvas. I have created a studio for myself in the attic."
I almost dropped my fork. Peter painting? The idea was so strange to me. Peter the military man who had spend his entire life in war? First as a soldier, then by running his own private military security company that was, in fact, a mercenary company, making money off of war.
"Why did you start painting all of a sudden?" I asked.
"It all began some months ago," he said. "It is all a part of my therapy. I paint my emotions, so to speak. It's really soothing for me. Makes me calm and relaxed, I discovered. You know I've never been good at expressing myself and how I feel. This helps me deal with some of the stuff I carry around with me."
I stared at him thinking I hardly recognized the Peter I had once been married to. Was it really possible for someone to change this much?
"Surprised?" he asked.
"To put it mildly, yes."
Peter laughed again. "What can I say? It makes me happy. Painting makes me a better person."
"Good for you. I really mean that. I'd love to see them. I'd love to see your paintings."
Peter exhaled. "And you will. When I'm ready to show you. Right now I'm keeping them to myself, but someday …"
"No pressure, Peter. It's okay. Just when you're ready for it. I know that kind of thing is sensitive. It's hard to put yourself and your work out there for people to see and criticize. Don't worry. I won't pressure you into showing me."
"Will you come out and play then, Mom?" Julie asked. "Please?"
I looked at her. "I'll come out and play in a few moments. I just want to catch up on the news first. I might be on vacation, but I still need to keep up with what’s going on."
9
JANUARY 1997
IT WAS VALDEMAR'S SECOND birthday. Anna was preparing the cake in the kitchen, putting whipped cream on top and setting the candles in the middle of it, while Valdemar was sitting on the floor looking up at her with affection in his eyes.
She smiled and looked down at him. "It's almost done, Valdemar. It's gonna be perfect, absolutely perfect."
Valdemar grinned, then bent forward and picked up a toy car between his teeth and started playing with it, using his mouth to push it around. Anna felt such great love for him at that instant. He had been finding his own ways to do things ever since he had started moving around on his feet. Crawling had been too much of a challenge without the arms to support him, so he had skipped that step and started walking at the age of seven months. One morning, while Anna and he had been sitting on the floor, he had suddenly bitten onto the bars of the playpen and pulled himself up with help from his mouth. Anna had gasped, thinking at first that something was wrong with him, since that was what Michael kept telling her.
"The boy is wrong. He is a mistake. He should never have been born. He will never be able to do anything. He'll need help just to eat for the rest of his life. What kind of a life is that for a child? And who will help him when he's a grown up? No one. He'll have to live in a home."
But at that instant, on the floor with seven month old Valdemar pulling himself up to an upright position using his mouth instead of hands, Anna realized that maybe, just maybe Michael was wrong about the boy. Suddenly, he was standing up next to the playpen with a huge smile and that was when he took his first step towards Anna with a big grin. At that moment, Anna cried and held out her arms and let him walk right into her embrace where she held him tightly for a long time, tickling his tummy, telling him how absolutely wonderful he was, how beautiful he was and how he would be able to do anything in life … anything and no one should ever tell him differently.
And she had kept telling him that every day of his life ever since. She knew, in her heart, that this boy wasn't normal, and she thanked God every day for it. No, he wasn't normal, he was special. And he was going to do special things in this world. Things no one else would ever do or dare.
"Mommy?" he said and stood up.
"Yes sweetie?"
"Will daddy come home for my birthday?" Anna looked at her boy, then kneeled in front of him. She stroked his light hair between her fingers and looked into his eyes. What she saw in there didn't belong to a two-year old. No, Valdemar had clever eyes, eyes that had seen much, eyes that understood more than what a two-year old normally would. The way he talked told Anna that he was smarter than other kids, even if many people thought he was retarded because of the way he looked and moved. His language was much more developed than any other two-year old’s. The doctor had told her and she heard it every day, how fast it developed and how long the sentences were that he was able to say. He was always using bigger and bigger words, sometimes so big Anna had to look them up to know what he meant.
"No, sweetie," she said looking into those eyes that seemed like they belonged to someone who was carrying the troubles of the world.
Just like last year, Michael wasn't going to be there to celebrate Valdemar's birthday. It was too difficult for him since he viewed this day as the darkest day in his life, not as the happiest like Anna. Like last year, he would probably go directly to the local bar in Brabrand after work and drink till he passed out and someone put him in a cab home. But even if Valdemar would understand all that if she explained it to him, she didn't want to. She saw every day how the gap between the boy and his father grew wider, how Valdemar looked at his father with longing eyes in the morning at the breakfast table, desperate for him to just look at him or even speak a few words to him.
But he never did. Michael ignored the fact that Valdemar even existed. And he had done so ever since they had come home from the hospital. He never picked him up. He never changed a diaper or even spoke to the boy. He simply pretended like he didn't exist and Valdemar didn't have to be as bright as he was to feel it, to sense his dad's resentment towards him. It was so obvious it hurt in every bone of Anna's body and some days she wished Michael would wait to come home from work till Valdemar was in his bed sleeping, to spare the boy from the pain
of looking at his father without him looking back, of talking to him, asking him things and the father never answering. It was heartbreaking and she was tired of making excuses for him, yet she still did. Luckily for her and Valdemar, Michael's job as a salesman for a big toy company demanded that he travelled a lot and was often gone for weeks at a time.
"Daddy had a trip," she said, like she had said so many times before. And, like so many times before, she saw the small light of hope in her son's eyes slowly die out.
10
AUGUST 2012
JULIE RAN BACK OUTSIDE and Peter went upstairs to paint while I pulled out my iPad. The national TV Station TV2's web-page was filled with yellow blocks stating Breaking News. I opened the link to watch it online. The anchor looked serious as she spoke.
"And now we will go live to the hospital in Aarhus where my colleague is with Henrik Fenger," she said.
Then they clipped to a live interview with some guy in a hospital bed. "Yes," the journalist on the spot said, "… and Henrik Fenger, I can understand you're very angry about what happened to you?"
"Of course I am," the man in the bed snorted. "Who wouldn't be?"
"Could you explain to us exactly what happened?" The journalist asked. On the screen the text said Organ thieves stole man's kidney.
"Well I … I was trying to fall asleep and, when I couldn't, I walked into the bathroom at the hotel where I was staying …"
"The Hotel Kragen in Brabrand," the journalist interrupted him.
"Hotel Kragen in Brabrand?" I mumbled. "I think we passed that place on our way here."
The man looked angry for being interrupted and shot the journalist a look that could kill. "Yes, the Hotel Kragen where I was staying for the night because I had an important meeting in the town the next morning."