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

  16

  February 2014

  "WHAT'S GOING ON?"

  Morten stormed into the kitchen a few minutes after we’d hung up. I was still looking at the screen on my computer, trying hard to calm myself and my desperately beating heart down.

  "I…it's…It looks like a guy is trapped in a box somewhere," I said. "Why? Why would anyone send a video like this?"

  "Let me see," Morten said.

  I pulled away so he could better see. "Please tell me what the heck is going on here, Morten. Who is doing these things? The two women, the head in the box and now this? Tell me you have a suspect. Something."

  Morten exhaled, tired. "I'm sorry. We don't have anything yet." He looked at the screen where the man was knocking on the roof of the box while screaming for help.

  "Who is he?" I asked.

  "I don't know. This is awful. We can't even tell if the guy is alive or if the video is old."

  "It's a live feed," I said.

  Morten looked at me. "It's happening right now?"

  "Yes. That man is in that box right now. And see the clock in the corner?"

  "It's counting down?"

  "My guess is that is how long the guy has left before he runs out of air," I said. "The killer attached some documents from NASA as well as some about how much Oxygen a person needs at rest in an airtight space. At first I didn't understand them, but then I saw the small clock in the corner of the live stream and then I understood."

  "So he has less than two hours left?" Morten asked.

  "Guess so."

  Morten pulled his hair. "And we have no idea what the killer wants, do we?"

  "None whatsoever. There are no demands in this e-mail and, as I said, I can't even reply to it to ask what it is he wants."

  "Have you looked through all of the attachments?" Morten asked.

  "I have. But it makes no sense. It's mostly newspaper clippings about a place on the island that is about to close, then there are statistics about young people with psychiatric diseases…I…I really don't get it."

  "Let me have a look at it," Morten said, and opened the attachments. He looked at the numbers and scrolled through the reports.

  "It's a lot, right? I mean, we can't sit here and read all this while the guy is running out of air. We need to do something."

  "But the answer has to be in these documents, somehow," Morten said. "Wasn't that what the letter said? You had to connect the dots to win?"

  "Yes, but…What if he is just a maniac and none of it makes any sense? Then we're going to be too late," I said. "The poor guy will die."

  "What is this place that the articles are talking about?" Morten asked, and started reading.

  "It's this place called Hummelgaarden. It's an institution for young kids with psychiatric problems," I said.

  "And it's closing? Why?"

  "Apparently, because the city can't afford to run it, but some of the articles say it's because the neighbors don't want it. They say it devalues their houses and make them afraid in case one of the youngsters runs loose and attacks one of the neighbors or their children. But, officially, it's because there’s no money." I paused and looked at Morten. "I think you're right."

  "What are you saying?"

  "Maybe the killer wants something after all," I said.

  "Like what?"

  "He wants us to stop the closing of Hummelgaarden. Don't you see? All these statistics show how many young people with mental diseases there are who commit crimes…and then this place that tries to help them is being closed. I think he wants us to save the place."

  "A killer with a noble motive? It sounds a little out there."

  "I know. It does. I mean, he killed two women to get our attention about this, why would he do such a thing? Unless…"

  "Unless there was a message in it," Morten said. "One was a social worker, the other a young woman who was diagnosed with bipolar disorder when she was in her teens."

  "Of course," I exclaimed. "That's why he put the head of the patient on the body of a social worker. It was all part of the message."

  "Because it's in the head she was sick and needed help."

  "Just like the kids placed in Hummelgaarden."

  Morten sighed and leaned back in his chair. "Wow that's a lot to take in at once. So how do we do it? How do we save this guy?"

  "We raise enough money to keep Hummelgaarden open."

  17

  May 2006

  "I LOVE YOU SO much mom!"

  "I love you too, Samuel," Alexandra said, forcing a smile.

  You don't mean that. Why are you lying to the boy? The fact is, you can't stand him. You're scared to death of him, even on the good days.

  She was standing in the kitchen cutting carrots for dinner when Samuel came up to her and said the words. She looked at him only briefly, afraid to say or do something that might cause another of his fits. The fact was, he could be so sweet and loving at one moment, but then change in an instant and Alexandra was never prepared for when that was.

  Unlike Poul who had stopped talking to the boy at all, Alexandra hadn't given up on Samuel yet. She still believed that somewhere, deep inside, the real Samuel was hiding and that there was a way to help him. But, as she had experienced in the last several years, there wasn't much help to get anywhere.

  Samuel is a troublemaker, the school said, when they expelled him.

  He needs better discipline, the social worker said, when Alexandra tried to get help from the county.

  He has a bad temper, he'll grow out of it, the doctor said.

  Meanwhile, Alexandra had to deal with the boy every day now, since no school on the island would take him. She had to quit her own job to homeschool him and she had no idea how to do it.

  "What's for dinner?" Samuel asked, still smiling.

  Alexandra's hands were shaking as she whispered the answer. "Meatballs and potatoes."

  She closed her eyes, waiting for the boy's response. He usually liked meatballs, but like so many other things, that could change. He could suddenly decide he hated meatballs and start throwing things.

  She never knew.

  "I love meatballs," he said.

  Alexandra sighed, relieved, and opened her eyes. Samuel looked at her and smiled. She felt fear rise inside of her, knowing how easily that smile and those eyes could suddenly turn pitch-black, and she would see nothing but evil on his face.

  "That's good then," she said, and returned to chopping the carrots. She didn't like the way the boy stared at the knife, which made her hold it more tightly in her hand.

  What am I to do with you, my boy? How can this ever end happily?

  She had tried everything and everybody. She had sought out all the experts, even tried to medicate the boy, but nothing helped. No one understood her. No one understood how she could be afraid of her own son, of a ten-year-old boy. But she was. She was terrified of him. Every day she woke up, she feared what the day with him would bring. Homeschooling him was close to impossible and she had almost given up. Poul had suggested they send the boy away, to a boarding school on the mainland and Alexandra was tempted, but still didn't like the idea of giving up on the boy.

  "When is dinner going to be ready, Mom?" Samuel asked.

  Alexandra swallowed hard. "Half an hour."

  "But I'm hungry now, Mom."

  Alexandra looked at the boy quickly, then down at the meatballs that she was about to put in the pan. It was only five-thirty. They always ate at six. She always made sure they did, ever since Samuel threw a fit because she was five minutes late with the food one day. Her heart started pounding in her chest.

  "The food will be on the table at six, like usual. Just the way you like it, okay?" she said, with a gentle tone to her voice.

  Samuel stomped his foot on the floor. Alexandra gasped and grabbed on to the counter.

  Please don't be angry. Please don't throw a fit. Please don't.

  "I'm hungry NOW!" he yelled. "I want meatballs NOW!"


  "But sweetie…It's not ready. See, it needs to be cooked first." She took the meatballs and placed them in the pan, then set the timer. "There. Now we’ll know it's done when the bell rings, alright?"

  Samuel's face turned red, his eyes pitch-black. Alexandra looked at the cutting board on the counter next to him. The knife was still on top of it.

  "Samuel," she said. "Calm down. Remember what we talked about. You need to try and control that anger. Don't let it control you. Do you hear me?"

  But it was too late. Samuel had gone to that place where she could no longer reach him. "Samuel, please."

  She stared at the knife, then made a jump for it. But it was too late. Samuel picked it up right before she managed to grab it. Now he was standing in front of her with it held high in the air.

  "I'm hungry NOW!" he yelled, then swung the knife at her and cut her arm. Alexandra shrieked and pulled back. Samuel walked towards her.

  "I hate you. I hate you. I hate you!" he yelled, while coming at her with the knife.

  Alexandra screamed and, as he swung the knife at her again, she moved so he wouldn't hit her. Then she ran for the door, just as Poul came through it. She threw herself into his arms.

  "What's going on here?" he asked.

  "Take him away from here," she cried. "I don't care where you put him. Just get him out of my house!"

  Behind her, she heard the knife drop to the floor. She turned and looked at Samuel. He had tears rolling down his cheeks. "I'm sorry, Mommy," he said. Then he ran towards her and threw himself at her, trying to hug her. "I'm so sorry, Mommy. I didn't mean it. I didn't mean to do it!"

  Alexandra looked down at her bleeding arm, then up at Poul. He nodded, then walked over and grabbed the boy by the arms and dragged him out of the house, while Samuel pleaded for Alexandra to change her mind.

  "I'm sorry, Mommy. I'm sorry, Mommy!"

  18

  February 2014

  "HOW ON EARTH WILL you raise enough money within two hours?"

  Morten was looking at me like I was insane, which I probably was. But I was determined to help this poor guy and, hopefully, save him.

  "First, we need to find out how much money they need," I said. "We need to talk to the local TV station and make an announcement as quickly as possible. Could you call City Hall and tell the politicians about the situation and then ask them how much is needed to keep the place open? Then, I'll talk to the journalists."

  "Got it," Morten said, and grabbed his phone. "I have to alert the station as well."

  "Do you have any IT guys who can try and trace this live stream?" I asked.

  Morten shook his head. "We're just a small police station. We have people in Copenhagen. I can try and contact them."

  "Do that," I said, and found my own phone. I found the local TV station's number on their webpage, then called them. I told them about the story briefly and how we had very little time, then persuaded them to do a special report, breaking news, and let everyone know to contact me if they wanted to donate. I put the phone down and looked at Morten.

  "Do you have a number?"

  "Five hundred thousand kroner," he said. "Five hundred thousand and they will keep the place open."

  "They're closing the place because they're short five hundred thousand kroner? That's just silly. Can't they find that in their little budget?"

  Morten rubbed his temples. "Apparently not."

  "Well, I guess it was the neighbor's fear and narrow-mindedness after all, huh?" I said.

  "I don't like to believe so, but you might be right."

  I stared at the poor guy on my computer. He was still knocking frantically on the roof of the box. "Don't use up all your oxygen too fast, sweetie," I mumbled.

  I had a knot in my stomach with worry. What if we didn't find him in time? It was such a long shot. Even if we managed to raise the money - which was highly unlikely, given we had less than two hours - then how were we going to find this guy? Would the killer let him go? Or did we have to look for him ourselves?

  "Who is he?" I asked again.

  "I've never seen him before," Morten said.

  "I thought you knew everybody."

  "Well, I don't, but Allan might. He grew up on this island. He knows everybody," Morten said.

  "Call him. Have him come here and take a look at the guy."

  Morten smiled. "Way ahead of you. He'll be here in any second." Morten stretched his neck to the sound of a car pulling up. "As a matter of fact, he's here now."

  Morten's colleague entered, took off his cap and nodded at me. "Hi Emma."

  I nodded back. There wasn't time for long hellos. "This is the guy," I said and pointed at the screen.

  Allan stepped forward and looked at the man kicking and knocking frantically, while screaming. I drew in a deep breath thinking that, with the rate he was going, the oxygen wouldn't last for the entire two hours.

  This is insane. There is no way to save this guy!

  "That's Anders Samuelsen," Allan said. "Irene Samuelsen's son. Her father used to own land on the west side of the island. When he died, she sold it all to some folks who built apartments down there for tourists. She made a fortune and never worked a day in her life."

  "Anders Samuelsen," Morten repeated. "What do we know about him?"

  Allan shrugged. "Not much. He kept to himself. Worked for a little while down at the harbor in one of the offices as an accountant, I believe. I had a friend working with him. He said the man was weird. Terrified of germs and touching handles. He could wash his hands for hours, my friend told me. It got really bad, as far as I know. He isolated himself and couldn't work anymore.

  "Anxiety," I mumbled. "OCD."

  "What did you say?" Morten asked.

  "He's mentally ill, just like Susie Larsen."

  19

  February 2014

  "SO YOU'RE SAYING THIS guy targets the mentally ill?" Allan asked.

  I looked at the screen again, wondering how horrified the guy had to be…locked inside that awful box.

  "I think so," I said, and looked out the window as the local TV station's van pulled up. "He has a point with all this, I think. That's why he wants to keep Hummelgaarden open."

  Allan looked at Morten for answers. Morten shrugged. "A killer with a conscience, I know. It's highly unusual."

  "Welcome," I said to the journalist entering my home. I showed her and her cameraman inside the kitchen and pointed at the screen.

  "This is the guy we need to save. We have one hour and forty minutes to raise five hundred thousand kroner."

  "We're broadcasting a special report right now," the journalist said. "We're on live in two minutes."

  "Let's get it rolling then."

  I flattened my hair with my hand and straightened my shirt, hoping I didn't look too much like a crazy-woman trying to scam people of their money. The journalist and cameraman got ready. I inhaled deeply to calm myself down. I could spot Anders Samuelsen on the computer out of the corner of my eye.

  "And we're standing here with famous author, Emma Frost, who has taken it upon herself to raise the money that the killer has asked for to save Hummelgaarden. And Emma how much money will it take?"

  "We need to raise five hundred thousand kroner to save the place and save the life of Anders Samuelsen, whom the killer has taken hostage. I want to ask everyone on the island to look into their hearts and see if they can't spare a few hundred, maybe a few thousand kroner to make sure we reach the goal. We'll be collecting the donations at City Hall, at the harbor, and at the local police station. Heck, if you see an officer, then give him some money and he'll make sure it gets here. We, as islanders, need to stick together in this matter. We can save the life of one of our neighbors or friends."

  "Thank you, Emma Frost. Back to you Benny." The journalist looked at me and I could tell it was over. Then they started packing their gear down and soon they left.

  "That was it," I stated. I felt strange. A man's life depended on me and my performance. It
was such an awful feeling; I felt so helpless I could have cried.

  "You did great, Emma," Morten said.

  Allan gave me a thumps-up. "Really good, Emma."

  I nodded and went back to the computer screen. I felt awful looking at him in his desperation. Morten turned on my small TV in the kitchen.

  "Now we wait for the money to start rolling in," he said.

  "Did you send someone to Anders Samuelsen's house?" I asked.

  "We have two man searching it now," Allan said. "We're doing all we can here, alright?"

  I bit my nails in distress. "I just feel like there must be more we can do."

  Morten turned up the volume on the TV. I looked at it and suddenly saw Lisa Rasmussen, a member of the Nordby City Council being interviewed. Morten opened his mouth to speak, but I stopped him.

  "I want to hear what she has to say."

  I turned up the volume.

  "Well I for one do NOT think it's a good idea to give in to terrorists," she said. "I mean, what will he ask for next? For us to raise money so he can leave the country and go live somewhere warm and be free? No, this guy belongs in jail and I ask our local police to catch him, so we won't be in this situation again. I strongly urge people to think twice before they give money to this project. We don't even know for sure that the man is still alive, do we?"

  I sunk into a chair. This was a blow in my face. I felt Morten's hand on my shoulder. "It's gonna be alright, Emma."

  "Don't keep telling me it's gonna be alright. How? How is this going to ever be alright? Lisa Rasmussen basically just told everyone to not give any money for this. She just killed the guy."

  "People might not listen to her at all," Morten said. "After all, she is nothing but a member of the city council."

  "The most popular member of the city council this island has ever seen. The most popular politician they’ve ever had. The most likely to become mayor at the next election. And you think they won't listen to her? They love Lisa. They adore her and everything she’s done."