Peek A Boo I See You (Emma Frost #5)

  Sophia opened a bottle of whiskey and poured some in a glass that she handed to me. "Here, this should calm you down."

  I had never been much of a drinker during the daytime, but this day I really did need something strong. I took it with shivering hands, then gulped it down.

  "Thanks. That helped."

  Sophia smiled. "One more?"

  I shook my head. "No thanks."

  She poured herself one and pounded it down while Morten studied the head in the box, while wearing plastic gloves. "I need to take this to the forensics team," he said. "I have a feeling I know who it belongs to."

  He looked at me and I nodded. I thought about the decapitated woman's body I’d seen the day before and felt nauseated. "Just take it out of here, please," I said again.

  "Why would anyone send this to Emma?" my mother asked.

  Morten shrugged. "That's what I hope we can figure out." He looked down in the box again as he was closing the lid, then stopped. He opened it again, then stuck his hand inside and pulled out an envelope in a small plastic bag. It was smeared in blood.

  "What's this?" he asked.

  I shrugged and moved forward. "I haven't seen it until now."

  He looked at it, then back at me. "It's addressed to you."

  My heart started pounding in my chest again. I walked towards him, then pulled it out of his hands.

  "At least wear some gloves, so we won't ruin possible fingerprints," he said and handed me a fresh pair of gloves.

  I put them on, then opened the plastic bag and pulled out the white envelope with my name on it. I started tearing it open while trying to calm my heart down. All eyes in the room were on me as I pulled out a letter.

  "What does it say?" my mother asked.

  I opened the letter and read it. Then I scoffed. "What the hell is this supposed to mean?" I asked and looked at Morten.

  I showed him the letter. He read it out loud:

  "Tag…you're it?" He looked at me again. "What the heck does that mean?"

  "You tell me. The first message was Peek-a-boo."

  "Both are kids' games. Someone is playing games with you, Emma?" Sophia asked.

  "Looks like it," Morten said.

  "Looks more like a bad joke, if you ask me," I said, and took off my gloves.

  "What is going on here, officer?" my mom asked with shivering voice. "Is Emma in danger?"

  "We don't know yet, Mrs. Frost," Morten said.

  "It's Miss Lisholm," she corrected him. "I went back to my maiden name after the divorce."

  "Sorry about that, Miss Lisholm," Morten said. He took the letter and put it back in the bag. "I'll have to take this as well."

  "Take everything," I said. "Get it out of here."

  "I'll have the forensic team look at it, then get back to you with the results. In the meantime, I encourage you to not be alone."

  "There aren’t many chances I will," I said, and looked at my mother who was still holding the mailman's hand, much to my surprise.

  Morten took the box, then forced a smile. "I'll call you later, okay?"

  "Okay."

  When he was gone, everyone in the room looked at me.

  "What?" I asked.

  "What do you think this is all about?" my mother asked. "I'm really worried about you. What is going on here?"

  I shrugged. "I don't know. Some idiot finds it funny to leave me creepy messages along with dead bodies." I paused.

  My mother's eyes looked appalled.

  "What do you want me to say?" I asked.

  "Well, I'd better be going now," the mailman said, and finally let go of my mother's hand. "People are waiting for their mail."

  "Thank you so much for all your help, Mr.…?" My mother said.

  "Arne," the mailman replied. "Just call me Arne."

  "Well thank you, Arne," my mother chirped, as she walked him out. "Thank you for being such a gentleman. There aren't many of those left these days."

  13

  February 2014

  THERE WAS ONLY ONE thing Anders Samuelsen hated more than open spaces and that was small closed rooms. Ever since he was a teenager, he had suffered from a severe claustrophobia, one that prevented him from taking any elevator, train, bus or plane. The thought of being cramped together with hundreds of people without being able to get away when you wanted to, was simply petrifying to him.

  So naturally, Anders reacted with fear right away when he opened his eyes and found himself in complete darkness. It seemed to be a small room, with walls so close he could reach out and touch them on both sides of where he was lying. Panic spread when he touched the walls surrounding him, feeling the wood to sense if it was movable, pressing on it to see if he could push it aside, but he couldn't. Above him, he could touch what appeared to be the roof of the dark room he was in. His body seemed to be lying on something soft. It felt like silk.

  What was this place? He could barely move. He couldn't see.

  "Help!" Anders yelled. "Help me? Someone? I can't see anything. Please turn on the light. Someone. Anyone?"

  A light was turned on. Anders gasped and looked up to spot a small lamp in the corner. It was so strong, it almost blinded him when he looked at it. He turned his head with a moan and tried to look around. Then his heart stopped. The room he was in was even smaller than he thought. As a matter of fact, it wasn't a room at all. He was in a box of some sort. All the walls were black and he couldn't see what was on the other side. Anders screamed, then looked up at the small lamp in the corner. There was something else next to it. What was that? It looked like…like a small camera?

  Oh my God, oh dear God. Where am I? Please get me out of here. I promise I'll be good. I promise. Please!

  Anders looked into the camera hoping there would be someone looking from the other end of it.

  "Please," he pleaded. "Please get me out of here. I hate small spaces. I really, really hate small spaces. Please help me."

  Anders fought his tears, but knew he wouldn't be able to hold them back much longer. He lifted his leg and started kicking the roof, then the sides of the box, but nothing helped. It didn't move.

  "HEEEEELP!" he screamed, while kicking and crying. The feeling of utter panic spread slowly, like a cancer through his body and filled him with despair, causing him to kick and hit the sides of the box even more frantically.

  Why is this happening to me, God? Why me? Please. I'm so scared. I have to get out. I have to…simply have to get out!

  But none of the kicking and banging on the sides, nor on the roof or the floor of the box helped. It didn't move an inch. Not an opening in sight.

  How the hell did I even end up in here?

  He tried to remember what had happened. The letter! He had received the letter telling him his mother had died.

  Did she do this to me?

  No, the thought was absurd. She was dead, for crying out loud. Anders shook his head, trying to remember. He had taken a chance.

  Oh, why did you do that? You knew it would end badly. You knew going outside would be a terrible mistake. You did it anyway, you fool! Look at what happened!

  He had called for a taxi to go to the lawyer's office. That's right. He had called for a taxi. It had arrived at his house and he had gotten in and told the driver the address. The driver had smiled in the rearview mirror, then said the words.

  "As you wish, sir."

  Then he had driven off. What had happened next? It was so hard for Anders to remember. He remembered driving through town, he also remembered going past the address that he had given the driver. Then he remember telling the driver to stop, that he had passed the address, that he had to go back, but the driver hadn't said anything. Instead, he had sped the car up. Anders felt scared, but tried to talk to him again, when suddenly the driver had stepped on the brakes. Anders remembered screaming as the car came to a very sudden stop, the tires screeching. He remembered yelling at the driver, telling him he was a horrible driver, then grabbing the door handle with his gloved han
ds to try and open the door, but not being able to. He had known something was really wrong, but didn't want to believe it. He had told the driver to open up, but the driver had laughed at him, then turned around and faced him. Thinking back on it, Anders shivered at the look he remembered on his face. It wasn't the coldness in his eyes or the manic smile on his face that scared him. No, it was the fact that the driver had sneezed at that very moment, spreading all of his germs in the car and Anders knew, he just knew in his scared mind, that there was no way he could avoid those small airborne bastards. He couldn't stop them from entering his fragile body. Even if he covered his mouth and nose, they would find their way through the tear-ducts in his eyes. He knew that much from the many books he had read and TV shows he had seen on the subject, describing it in the smallest detail, with graphics. The driver had laughed again, then lifted his hand which was holding something, what was it? Oh yes, a small spray can of some sort. Terrified, Anders had seen him press it and spray something into Anders' face and, soon after, he remembered nothing except for the strong smell and the taste of ether in his mouth.

  Anders drew in a deep breath, thinking this wasn't an accident. He had been sedated, then placed here in this box by this germ-spreading driver-person. But why? Why would he do this to him?

  Then a thought struck him. What if someone had put him inside of this box to kill him? To finish him off? Panicking again, he stared at the box, at the corners, and sides to look for just a small opening, anything where air could come in, but he found none. He gasped for air. He could already sense how it was getting harder for him to breathe. How his throat constricted.

  Calm down Anders. You have to save your air until help arrives. You have to stay calm.

  Crying and sobbing, he looked up at the camera again.

  "Please. Please HELP ME!"

  14

  February 2014

  "I GUESS IT'S NO SURPRISE," Morten said on the phone, "but the head sent to you is the one that belongs to the body we found outside of City Hall yesterday."

  "Well at least no more have been killed then," I said.

  It was afternoon when Morten called and I was waiting for Maya and Victor to come home from school. I had baked some of my very unhealthy wheat gluten-packed buns and had sent my mom into the living room, where she was sitting with her laptop checking her e-mail and Facebook.

  Meanwhile, Sophia had taken off for work, even though she had insisted on staying for a while to be there for me. Alma had started daycare and Sophia was back in her part-time teaching job at the local school, which she loved.

  Finally, I had some time to myself before the kids came back and I enjoyed it immensely. I was still shaken by this morning's events, but I tried to not let it get to me. I couldn't shake the feeling that the two women had died because of me, somehow, and that made me feel terrible.

  "Are you alright?" Morten asked on the phone.

  "I will be," I said. "Did you ID the second woman?"

  "As a matter of fact, we did. It wasn't too hard once we had the head…," he cleared his throat. "I mean, since it's a small island and everything. So when I brought it down to the station, my colleague Allan immediately recognized her."

  "So, who was she?"

  "Tine Solvang. She was a social worker down at City Hall," he said. "Went missing after a fight with her husband a year ago. Hasn't been seen since. Everyone thought she had left the island and gone back to Copenhagen where she originally came from…even her husband, since he received a letter from her telling him that she had left him and that she never wanted to see him again. It was sent from Copenhagen."

  "Wow," I said. "A year ago, you say?"

  "Yes. The forensics people told me her body had been frozen. It's hard to determine the exact time of death, but they believe she was killed about twelve months ago, then frozen until a couple of days ago when her body was thawed and the head cut off. It was definitely done after she was killed and the body frozen."

  "How was she killed? There was blood on her face," I said, remembering how I had gotten it on my fingers and scrubbed them to get it off.

  "That's another story." Morten exhaled. This was tough, even on him, I could hear. "The blood on her face wasn't Tine's."

  "Then whose was it? Susie Larsen's?"

  "Apparently not."

  "So maybe it was his?" I asked hopefully.

  "That's what we hope. But there's another possibility. One I don't like to think of."

  I covered my mouth with my hand. "It might be from another victim?"

  "Well, we don't know yet. We're getting it analyzed in the lab."

  I grabbed a chair and sat down, touching my forehead in distress.

  "So, he’s planned this for a long time, huh?" I asked.

  "At least a year, maybe even more," Morten said with a heavy voice.

  "And what part do I play in it all?"

  "That's what we need to find out."

  "Please, do it quickly," I said and spotted Victor and Maya walking past the kitchen window. "I don't want any more people to die because of me."

  "Emma, you need to let go of that thought. If he hadn't chosen you to deliver his message to, he would have chosen someone else. It’s not your fault. You hear me?"

  The front door opened and I could hear my children in the hallway, taking off their winter boots and heavy jackets.

  "Whatever," I said. "Just catch this guy for me, will you? Please?"

  Morten chuckled. "Anything for you. You know that."

  I smiled and waved at Maya as she entered the kitchen, looking cold with her rosy cheeks and red nose tip. "I know. Gotta go."

  "Talk to you later."

  15

  February 2014

  "HOW WAS YOUR DAY, SWEETHEART?"

  Maya exhaled and sat down in a chair. "The usual," she said.

  "And you Victor? Did you have a good day?"

  "Why?"

  I smiled. "I know I ask the same question every day. But did anything exciting happen today?"

  "No."

  I felt the buns to see if they were cool enough to eat, then picked a couple and put them in a basket that I placed at the table. "Did you learn anything new?" I asked Victor. He wasn't looking at me, but for once, I seemed to have his attention and I wasn't going to let it go easily.

  "No."

  I buttered a bun and placed it in front of him. He started eating, still staring down at the table.

  "What's your subject in History?"

  I only asked because I knew Victor loved history lessons and he could spend hours in his room reading about the French revolution, which was his favorite subject.

  "The Battle of Copenhagen on April 2nd, 1801."

  I buttered a bun for myself and started eating as well. Maya only had a glass of juice.

  "You're not having any?" I said, a little hurt.

  "I'm not that hungry. Plus, I don't think all this gluten is good for you. I prefer Grandma's bread."

  I scoffed, knowing she only said it to hurt me, which she succeeded at, but I pretended she didn't. "Well, suit yourself. You're missing out, right Victor?"

  "I'm done," he said and got up. "I'm going to play in the yard."

  "Don't forget to get your snowsuit on. And gloves," I yelled after him, but he was already gone.

  "I should be going too," Maya said and got up.

  "Where are you going?"

  "I have homework, then I promised Grandma I’d take her downtown to visit the organic health store."

  "The organic health store, huh?" I sipped my coffee and bit down on my buttered bun. "Well, have fun. Go crazy."

  "Thanks, Mom," Maya said, and stormed out of the kitchen.

  I exhaled and leaned back, not knowing what to think of it all. At least Maya wasn't doing drugs or hanging out with boys at the harbor. But a health freak? My daughter? I couldn't believe it. I grabbed my laptop from the table and opened it. While finishing my bun, I opened my mailbox and scrolled through my e-mails. I sipped my co
ffee, while going through all the e-mails from my readers telling me how much they loved my books, asking for signed copies, and so on. I answered as many as I could, then opened a new e-mail. It seemed to be from another fan, but as soon as I read further down, I realized it wasn't. As I read the letter, my heart started pounding. Then I grabbed the phone.

  "Morten, I think I've received an e-mail from the killer."

  "What are you saying?" he asked, startled.

  "I’ve received a very strange e-mail. I think it might be from the killer of those women."

  "What does it say? Can you read it to me?"

  "It all seems a little strange. It starts with Dear Emma Frost. I'm a great fan of your work. Then it gets weirder. I'm sorry to have been so drastic in my way of getting your attention, but it is hard these days to be noticed. Now that I have your full attention, we can move on. Do you like to play, Emma Frost? I do. My favorite game as a child used to be Hide and Go Seek. Do you want to play Hide and Go Seek with me, Emma Frost? I think you do. Here’s the deal. Attached to this e-mail you'll find a video and some information. If you know how to connect the dots correctly, you'll win. Isn't this fun? But you must hurry, Emma. As you watch the video, you'll understand. Time is of the essence here. Good luck. It's already so much fun playing with you. Yours sincerely."

  "Then what does it say?" Morten asked. "Is there a name? Anything?"

  "No, there’s nothing. No name, nothing. Not even a sender on the e-mail. I can't reply to it."

  "That's the oddest thing I've heard in a long time," Morten said, puzzled. "Have you looked at the attachments?"

  "No. I'm pressing play on the video now," I said, and moved the cursor.

  A picture of a guy showed up on my screen. He was panting and desperately knocking on the walls of, what appeared to be, a small box that he was in. He was crying and screaming desperately, pleading into the camera for help.

  I gasped.

  "What is it?" Morten asked.

  "I think you better come over here."