An Old Debt

by Doriana Cantoni

  "Do you know when they're coming to get the mail?" asked the man with a worried voice, perhaps because he feared it would soon be collected.

  "For today, they have already done it. The come only once before noon."

  "Which box did you put it in? If you tell me, I'll let you go," he said satisfied.

  His voice had assumed for a moment an inflection that reminded her of something, a slight contamination of Swedish sounds, or maybe it could be German, under the perfect Danish language of her aggressor. Ingrid was sure he wouldn't let her go, but at least he had believed her lie, and that gave her some comfort.

  "The one under the porch, it's a few steps from the pharmacy," she answered him, then she began to pray for the salvation of her soul.

  A moment later he cut her throat, a precise and quick gesture, as if he had already done it before. Ingrid felt a terrible pain and fell to the ground without being able to breathe anymore, while the man was leaving in a hurry. She could only glimpse him for a moment before she lost consciousness, suffocated by her own blood, sure to be dying.

  CHAPTER 2

  It was just over three o'clock in the afternoon of January 18th, a cold and damp Tuesday that advised not to leave the house, except for an urgent need. Lars Petersen, chief inspector of the homicide team at the central police station of the capital, was listlessly observing out of his office window the leafless trees that appeared at regular intervals from the sidewalk in the street in front of the main entrance.

  He had just typed the report of the last murder case solved, and at the moment he had nothing else to do. It took him two hours and at first he was tempted to have it written by one of his men, but the few times he had succumbed to laziness, he found himself with sheets full of errors and had to rewrite everything again, wasting more time than if he had done it alone.

  At almost fifty years old, he was still in excellent physical shape, and no one in his right mind would ever think of attacking a colossus almost two meters high, who looked like a Viking, both for the muscular body and for the blonde hair.

  Every evening, at the end of his work shift, he would stop for at least an hour, but sometimes even longer, in the gymnasium of the police station, where he would spend his time lifting weights or working with his sack.

  As a boy, he had been a decent heavyweight among amateurs, before deciding to let go of the dream of becoming a professional and enlist in the police. Over time he had made a career, thanks to the fact that he was endowed with method and a good deductive ability, qualities that were needed when it came to dealing with criminals, especially those who had no scruples at all about killing.

  One of his youngest colleagues, about thirty years old, appeared at the door just as he was about to pick up the phone and call home. Hege, his wife, had invited a couple of friends to dinner that evening, but he didn't remember if she had told him to buy wine or dessert.

  "The superintendent wants to see you right away, Inspector," reported the man, then he disappeared in the hallway.

  He had no friends in the police station since Anders had retired the year before. He had been his mentor and they had worked on the most difficult cases always together, covering each other's backs. Now he was no longer partnered with anyone. If he had to investigate a murder, he would take one of the young people with him, just to provide him some experience, but he had no particular preference and knew almost nothing about their life outside.

  The superintendent's office was located upstairs, to distinguish it from the rooms of lower officials. Next to it there was just the archive and a big meeting room, which was used only on rare occasions. As he went up the stairs, Lars wondered why he wanted to see him.

  They had never had a great relationship, since the other had got the job, perhaps because they were both sure that they were always right, in any case. Anyway they respected each other, and usually he was the first choice of Kurt Nielsen, when it came to assigning some complicated cases. Lars hoped it wasn't the reason he had called him in that day. His wife Hege wouldn't forgive him for another last-minute skipped dinner.

  Hege tolerated his work less and less even though, after ten years, she should have gotten used to that life by now. Things had gone well until she had also had a job that involved her outside the house, but then she had left the work as an English teacher in one of the most prestigious high schools of the capital to give birth to their little girl.

  Kirsten was now three years old, yet Hege still didn't want to entrust her to a babysitter, and she almost never talked about going back to school. What in the initial intents of both was supposed to be just a temporary break, now threatened to become a definitive stop to her career.

  The birth of her much desired daughter had deeply changed her and she had come to the point of fearing everything, even the most harmless thing, especially the dangers that her husband had to face every day. Lars had trouble recognizing her, but he still hoped it was just a passing phase.

  "So Kurt, what do you need?" he said, sitting in the chair the other one had just offered him.

  "I'm going straight to the point, as usual. A mess just happened in the town of Torslunde, and unfortunately the press has already been informed. They're running there with the usual circus of journalists, just to have immediately something sensational to write about, and a television crew has also joined them. The news will probably be broadcast tonight."

  "What is it about?"

  "Someone killed pastor Jesper Knudsen an hour ago while he was in church, and his housekeeper, a certain Ingrid Skov, is in danger of doing the same."

  "What do you mean?"

  "The killer left a present on her neck that usually gives no escape," he said, sliding his thumb from ear to ear like a blade, in an unequivocal gesture.

  "Did he slice her throat?" asked Lars incredulously.

  "That's right, with a precise cut. If she's not yet dead, it is only because she was rescued by two parishioners who entered immediately after the fact."

  "Did they see who did it?"

  "Unfortunately, no. They found the girl in a bloodbath and called for help right away. They hadn't even noticed the dead minister with his skull broken a few steps from the altar, so upset they were."

  "Was there anything of value in the church?" asked Lars, taking out of his jacket pocket the notebook in which he usually wrote things down. Before doing so, he silently prayed that his wife would be understanding with him, at least for that time.

  "The usual things, but nothing seems to be missing. My idea is that whoever did this only wanted to kill the minister. Unfortunately, the girl must have been in the wrong place at the wrong time," Kurt said.

  "It may be, but I am concerned about the ruthlessness with which she was attacked. To cut a person's throat like that, it really takes a lot of coldness, and I don't think it was someone who panicked about having just been discovered."

  "I thought so, too, when I was told. Everything's too clean, almost professional. It will be a tough nut to crack and, if you accept the case, the press will not give you a break. You know these things make the news. Are you up for it?" he asked.

  "You know I'm not one who backs down, but don't expect from me quick results, as the investigation could be complicated. Who's on the ground?"

  "The forensic scientists and the coroner have just gone to make all the reliefs and move the body as soon as possible, but there is none of ours with them. The village police station has been run for a few years by an old sergeant, now close to retirement, who seems to have two inexperienced officers doing all the work. One of them has only been hired for a couple of years. I doubt they'll help you."

  "It's anyway better than nothing, at least they know the people and the environment" replied Lars. "Is there any chance that the girl will survive? She's a witness and could be of great help to us."

  "As soon as they got there, the paramedics intubated her, and then they took her to Copenhagen. I heard the hospital staff on the phone. They told me that s
he was being operated on, but they said she was almost dead. It's been already enough that she arrived to them still alive. In any case, with the service that asshole did to her, even if she survives, she wouldn't be able to talk to us any soon."

  "I'll go there later to see if there's anything new. Did you send someone to protect her?"

  "That was the first thing I did. I'm certainly not a newbie, remember that I've been in the police for longer than you" said the superintendent lighting up a cigarette. Then he added, "Our men are already there. If she survives, she'll be checked day and night by two officers at a time, assuming our unknown thinks he'll get back to finishing the job."

  "I wouldn't rule it out. Now I'm going to the hospital, then I'll leave for Torslunde. I need to see the place with my own eyes. I'll have to stay over tonight, so tomorrow I'll be there to question the witnesses. If I may suggest, let someone check the pastor and the girl's criminal records, you never know that something pops up from our files," said Lars, putting away his notebook.

  "I'll ask one of the sergeants, the young officers don't know where to put their hands and when they look for something they mess up the archive. As usual you have carte blanche, just keep me posted if there's anything new. Who do you think you're taking with you this time? By now you've almost had all the new arrivals," Kurt said joking.

  His humor, halfway between the goliardic and the sarcastic, was known throughout the police station. Being the boss, the others usually laughed at his jokes, but often they didn't even understand them.

  "I think I'll have Lene Poulsen come."

  "Are you out of your mind?" asked Nielsen, totally astounded. "They'll say you want to sleep with her."

  There weren't many women in the police and those with the highest ranks were still seen with distrust. Their male colleagues were unwilling to give them the same respect they reserved for men, and the jokes about them were constant.

  "Let them talk. Poulsen is an excellent detective and the fact that no one wants to partner with her is a real shame. We've been over this before."

  "What can I do, if other men are goats and as soon as they see a nice girl they make fools of themselves?" said the superintendent, raising his arms.

  "She's been here over a year and so far we've almost always left her in the office to do the paperwork. Now we'll see what she's made of," replied Lars.

  "I get it, you're in favor of empowering women, but why are you taking her with you right now? Isn't this case hard enough?"

  "She might be useful to me with interviews and she deserves a chance, too, as I have given her colleagues. Anyway, that's the way we do it, if I see that she's not doing her best, tomorrow I'll send her back to the police station, and I'll take Svensson or Janssen."

  "What time should I wait for her?" Kurt said, starting to laugh in taste.

  Lars sent him to hell and then left the office. He had to talk to Poulsen, but first he had to clarify himself with Hege.

  It would not be easy to make his wife understand that the case was so relevant as to prevent him from returning home that evening to take part in the dinner that she had meticulously organized for at least a week. Almost certainly she would answer that for him all the investigations that kept him away from home were vital, as if that was his real hidden goal, and the insinuation, repeated several times in the past months, would end up making them quarrel.

  As expected, the call ended in a few minutes with the communication abruptly interrupted on the other side, a sign that Hege was at least furious. Lars left his office and headed for the coffee dispenser located near the stairs, in the only break room. Walking through the corridor, he passed through the open rooms where his younger colleagues were working and stopped in front of the office where all the reports ended, before being filed upstairs.

  Sitting at her desk, surrounded by a sea of papers, there was a young woman dressed in a sporty way, with a pair of faded jeans and a heavy sweater. She was slenderly built, with a fine face and long blond hair. At that moment she was checking a report and the absolute attention she was putting into it was really praiseworthy.

  Lars knew that the superintendent was right, you could not put a young and beautiful woman among a bunch of semi-primitive men without creating disasters. Since she had been transferred by them a year earlier, they had all tried to flirt with her, of course at different times, but the fact that she had refused any advances had only served to exacerbate the climate.

  Now her colleagues didn't even greet her, if they weren't standing face to face with her, and nobody wanted to be her partner. Not that they behaved in an inappropriate way, they knew perfectly well that Petersen, as their superior, would not tolerate such a way of doing, but they simply ignored the girl, and he could do nothing about that.

  "Poulsen, stop what you're doing for a second and come out. I need to talk to you," he said, putting his head inside and then heading towards the break room.

  She followed him immediately, fearing that he might want to make some notes about the quality of the work done. In more than a year he had spoken to her perhaps three times and always about minor things, just to show that he knew she was also in his team.

  When she had arrived at the central police station, after ten years spent doing a difficult job always at her best in a suburban precinct, she had thought she could make her best even in that more complex reality, but she was immediately cut off by her colleagues and relegated to the office to check the paperwork.

  It was clear that things would stay that way, so for a few months now she was thinking of asking for a new transfer, even if she had not yet told anyone about it.

  "How do you take your coffee?" Peterson asked, pulling coins out of his pocket.

  "Stained and with little sugar," she replied, mechanically extending her hand when the machine released the paper cup.

  "How are you feeling here with us?" he asked her again, while he was putting a new coin in the box and ordering his coffee without sugar.

  "Not bad," she said in a diplomatic way.

  "I know you were expecting a lot more, when you got here, but everyone has to pay their dues. I currently have a very complicated case, a murder in Torslunde. If you want, you can join me, but only if you really feel like it," Lars said, staring her right in the eye.

  "Are you serious?" asked Poulsen totally amazed, without looking down.

  "Do you think I'm kidding?"

  Lene remained silent for a few seconds, then she said, "Thank you for the opportunity. I accept".

  "Great. Have you got a change of clothes ready in the office?"

  "Like everyone else. It was the first thing they told me to keep when I got to the police station, in case I had to stop and sleep outside."

  In fact, she had left a bag in her locker with the minimum necessary for a couple of days, but she had never believed that she would use it.

  "Take your things and the weapon too, we're sleeping in Torslunde tonight. I go to my office for a moment and then we'll go with my car. But first, we're gonna have to stop by the hospital."

  "For what?" she asked and started walking down the hallway.

  "We need to check if our witness has survived the attack," Petersen said, lengthening the pace.

  Their male colleagues watched them go out together without a word, but as soon as the two of them had gone down the stairs that led out of the building, they began to complain about the inspector's choice to take her with him, as if it were a crazy thing. Lene didn't care about the chatter, she wanted to be a policewoman since she was a child and wouldn't give up for any reason the chance that her superior had just offered her.

  A few minutes later they were already in the car park outside the police station. In the short trip, Lars had quickly updated her on the case, at least on what he knew at the time.

  "So you think the killer's target was just the pastor?" she asked him when she got into the car.

  "It's the simplest thing to assume. I think the pastor was praying by the al
tar when our man entered the church. I don't know if they knew each other, but they had surely an argument that led to a violent struggle. Unfortunately, the priest got the worst of it, ending up on the ground with his skull smashed, and it was then that the girl must have arrived."

  "In this case, however, she would have witnessed the scene from a certain distance, having time to escape from where she had come, while instead it seems that she was attacked from behind," objected Lene.

  "We need to rethink about this," said Lars, who was surprised that he hadn't thought of it himself. "Maybe he heard her come in and decided to hide."

  "Then why attack her? He could have waited for her to go out in search of help to escape," the girl replied.

  "You're again right, that would have been the easiest choice. There's something wrong with the dynamics of aggression. Let's hope she survives, so she can tell us how things really went down."

  Petersen spent the rest of the trip driving in silence. Every now and then he would think about his wife Hege and the last discussion they had on the phone. He tried to remove the feeling of uneasiness that had taken him, repeating himself that it was just a stupid quarrel over futile reasons, but now he was the first to no longer believe that the situation between them was easily recoverable.

  Outside the darkness was already complete, although it was not even five in the afternoon, but in January the sun was setting early, and the hours of light every day were only eight. The hospital car park was illuminated and near the main entrance, which allowed him to stop the car in a great place. He had recently bought it and even if he didn't want to make others see it, so as not to be made fun of by his colleagues, he tried to keep it in a perfect way, reserving all kinds of attention to it.

  "Let's go," he told Poulsen checking, before moving away, that it was at the right distance from the other cars, and then they headed quickly to the entrance.

  CHAPTER 3

  Petersen hated going to the hospital. With his job he had to attend that place often, but every time he entered, he lacked breath and had to keep himself from screaming. He couldn't help it, since it was a normal reaction to the trauma he had suffered a few years before.