An Old Debt

by Doriana Cantoni

  The two of them went out immediately after. Once they got into the car, Peterson resumed the conversation.

  "Do you sleep here, too?" he asked the man.

  "No, we live nearby, but by morning at six o'clock we're here every day."

  "We've already seen where the church is. Where's the police station instead?"

  "You have to cross the square and take the leftmost street, but with this weather I would not recommend it, neither by car nor on foot, because you would get lost. You better wait until tomorrow," said the man, guiding him with gestures to the parking lot.

  Petersen parked carefully and then followed Erik back to the pub.

  "We're back. Have you seen how little it took us?" Ström told Lene few minutes later. She was still sitting at the table, drinking her hot tea.

  "Very fast," she replied with a smile.

  "We're going to the precinct in the morning, there's currently a snowstorm outside," Petersen said, as he sat down again.

  "You're right, and then tonight there wouldn't be anyone at the precinct, maybe only Toft," added the man.

  "Who is he?" asked the inspector.

  "One of two officers on duty here."

  "They told me that for some years now the security of the town is in the hands of Sergeant Morten Lassen, helped by two policemen," replied Lars.

  "Yes, when the old Sergeant Christiansen retired two years ago, we thought that they would send us a younger, stronger man, but we got him instead. Not that he's not good at his job, but I think he's taken a little of the Swedish way of life. He's very relaxed, if you know what I mean."

  "Let's say that Morten is not what you can call a born fighter," added one of the men who had followed the conversation, listening from a table not far away, and the others burst out laughing.

  "Why have you mentioned the Swedish way of life?" asked Lene, who was curious.

  "He doesn't give confidence, but we heard he's from a place near the strait with Sweden. Even there it sounds like he didn't make a good impression and he was more a guest of our cousins than on our side, it seems because of a woman. Then he had some problems, I don't know exactly of what nature, maybe the two of them broke up, and then he moved in with us."

  "I get it, so let's just say he's someone relaxed. What can you tell us about Pastor Knudsen instead?" Petersen asked.

  "He had been in this parish for twenty years now. A good man, always ready to work for others, a true shepherd of souls," replied Erik, and in the room fell the silence.

  "Wasn't there anyone who could want to hurt him?"

  "Most of us rarely went to church, but I don't know anybody who was mad at the poor guy," exclaimed the man with belief.

  "Same for Ingrid, his housekeeper?"

  "The girl had been living with him for a few years, replacing Hanne, the old woman who had finally retired. She had become loved by all the faithful and many had started to turn to her, when Jesper was busy. She was the one who now organized most of the church life. With everything she's been through in her life, I've never heard her complain. How's she doing? We're told she's seriously injured."

  "She's not out of danger yet. It's already enough that she's alive. Anyway, what caused her facial burns?"

  "She worked at the old factory outside the village, the one the owners just closed. She had an accident with a tank of acid, I believe, but the bosses never paid her back," Erik said uncomfortably.

  "So it would have been her who had a grudge against them, not the other way around," concluded Lars.

  "That's right."

  "And what do you know about the two people who found the bodies?"

  "The Mertens? They're an old couple who wouldn't hurt a fly, very religious. They live near the church and went almost every day to pray. My wife is their distant relative on her father's side and told me that they are terribly upset by what they saw."

  "I'm going to need their address and also the address of the old pastor's housekeeper, I think you said before that her name is Hanne. Does she still live here in the village?"

  "She's gone in a farm nearby, with his son, daughter-in-law and four nephews. In my opinion, she works more now than before, but when she comes to the village, she always says that she is very happy to be with her family. I'll write you the addresses you need right away and then, if you don't have any more questions, I'll go to the kitchen and make you dinner, because otherwise it's going to be late," he said, looking at the clock on the wall.

  "Go ahead," replied Petersen.

  "Helle, come here and put the tablecloth on for the gentlemen and also bring the keys of their rooms," he cried to the daughter who had just returned downstairs.

  "Do you have any particular preferences, or can I do at my taste?" he asked before going.

  "As long as it's something substantial. I haven't eaten since this morning," replied Lene and Lars agreed.

  "So my meat pie is what it takes," said the man smiling, then he moved away fast.

  Outside, the snow had just turned into a storm and most of the men had already rushed home, swearing against the winter. Only two elderly were still in the pub playing cards, as if they didn't care about the bad weather.

  "Good thing you managed to move the car in time," said Poulsen, pointing to the already white road.

  Petersen stood up and watched from the pub window the other cars that were parked in the street. They were now almost hidden, as they were covered with about ten centimeters of snow.

  "It would be difficult to walk in this weather," he said, returning to sit.

  "What do you think we can do?"

  "After dinner, I'll call the police precinct, to inform them of our arrival, but as I told you we will start to move only tomorrow morning, hoping that it will stop snowing."

  Fifteen minutes later, Erik and his daughter Helle served dinner at their table. It consisted of a first dish of pasta au gratin and, as a second dish, the meat pie of which the innkeeper was particularly proud. They had also brought a pitcher of water and two jugs of barbed beer, along with a basket of freshly sliced bread. Apart, a note written in good print, probably by the girl, with the addresses of the people that Petersen wanted to hear.

  The inspector and Poulsen were finally left alone in the room, so they rushed to eat what had been served to them, remaining silent, then Lars got up and went to call the colleagues.

  It was almost nine o'clock when they went upstairs and said goodnight in the narrow corridor leading to their rooms. Lene was so tired that she immediately fell asleep, while Petersen had time to check outside the snow that was still coming down in abundance on the small village. He hoped to be able to conclude something useful to the investigation the next day, unaware that that night some terrible things would happen just a few steps from him.

  CHAPTER 5

  The room was cozy and spacious, Lene noticed it only in the morning when she woke up wrapped in a double patchwork quilt and heard the door knock. The stove still crackled thanks to a residue of wood that burned inside, emitting a subtle smell that reminded her of the trips to her grandparents' home, in the house on the edge of the forest that they had purchased once retired. It had been at work all night long, giving her a quiet rest in the warm.

  It was almost seven o'clock, but it was still dark outside, as if it were the middle of the night. Sunrise in January only began to send out its first light after eight in the morning. Lene went to open, dragging herself into the flip-flops she had recovered from her bag, an item completely out of season along with a pyjamas that pressed for almost a year, waiting for an unlikely use, had seen better days.

  Petersen was already fully clothed and when he saw her in her pyjamas full of little hearts a slight smile escaped him, but he just said, "I'll wait for you down for breakfast. Leave your things here in the room, almost certainly we will have to stay another night," then he disappeared in the hallway.

  Dressing in a hurry, after a visit to the bathroom, Lene saw outside of the window a snowy landsc
ape that gave little hope about the practicability of the roads covered with at least half a meter of snow. At the moment it was not snowing, but it must have been doing it all night, making the little town a kind of late replica of a Christmas village.

  Downstairs, Petersen had sat down at the same table of the night before and had a pot of coffee in front of him. There was no one else in the pub, not even the daughter of the innkeeper who was probably still home sleeping.

  "Help yourself, I'm already on the second round. The good Erik has gone to get the brioches directly from the shop, but the coffee is not missing," he said, pointing to the pot.

  "Where did he go?" she asked as she began to pour the dark liquid into the cup.

  "The bakery is right back here, at least from what he told me."

  "Do you think they'll come and clean the streets?"

  "According to him, they should pass within a couple of hours, but my car is fortunately in the indoor parking lot," said Lars, relieved.

  "I'm part of the weaker sex, you couldn't count on me to get it out of the snow," said Lene, beginning to sip her coffee.

  "I don't know why, but I could have sworn it," replied Petersen smiling, then he added more seriously, "We'll have to buy snow boots to be able to move on foot, with these we're not going anywhere."

  Lene wore a pair of shoes with a heel of a few inches and he instead low leather shoes, with a smooth sole. They were both unsuitable for extricating themselves from the snow that was almost half a meter high, not to mention the ice that had formed below, sticking to the floor with a thin slab.

  Every winter, because of the heavy rainfall, usually both rain and snow, many people, mostly elderly, fell like skittles on the street. Lars didn't want to be one of them.

  Erik came back after a few minutes carrying a large tray in his arms that he rested with difficulty on the counter nearby.

  "Usually the boy comes every day, when he makes the deliveries round the village, but today his father told me that he slept by a friend, maybe for the bad weather," he said as an explanation, then took out a couple of croissants, laid them on two little dishes and brought them to the table.

  "Thank you," said Lene, beginning to eat hers with greed.

  "If you want another one, just ask, or you can take it directly, there’s a lot of them. Our Olaf is a real expert at preparing them. Anyway, did you feel comfortable into your rooms? Everything's okay?"

  "As far as I'm concerned, I slept beautifully," said Petersen, and Lene immediately agreed, nodding her head and keeping on eating. "Maybe we should stop tonight too, is that a problem?"

  "Not at all, for me it's all money that comes in my pockets, and in this season tourists don't show up frequently," said the man laughing.

  "We'll also need to buy some snow shoes. Is there a shop nearby?"

  "Of course, we have everything here in town. You have to go to the other side of the square, near the Post Office. Ingeborg sells both shoes and clothing, but she never opens until nine o'clock, and I don't recommend you go outside with those shoes on your feet, if you don't want to fall right now," said Erik.

  "How do we do that?" asked Poulsen.

  Before the inspector could answer her, the innkeeper added, "If you want, I can lend you two pairs of boots, then you can return them tonight, when you've managed to buy new ones. You, Inspector, should have the same number I have, and a pair of my wife can be fine for your colleague."

  "If it's not too much trouble, we won't say no. We are expected at the police station and without those on our feet I doubt very much that we will get there healthy," replied Petersen.

  "You're right, people slip like they're flying. Then I'll go home and get the boots, so I'll have my daughter come too. In winter she gets lazy, and I find it hard to get her out of bed. If any customers arrive, please tell them I'll be right back, and then I have another favor to ask you. When you join your colleagues at the precinct, could you report that someone had fun forcing the mailbox in front of the pharmacy tonight? As far as I could see, when I got there, all the mail from yesterday went missing."

  "Are you sure?"

  "Quite sure. The mail is collected every day at noon, so the mail deposited in the box after that moment has necessarily disappeared, because last night, when I went home, it had not yet been forced."

  "So it was opened during the night," said Lene as she got up to get another croissant from the counter. Although no one would tell by her healthy body, she was very greedy, especially at breakfast.

  The innkeeper smiled and said, "That's what I think".

  "Have similar acts of vandalism occurred before?"

  "Not that I remember, at least recently, but you can ask around," answered the man, and he rushed out of the room.

  "Do you think it can have something to do with our murder?" Lene asked the inspector as soon as Erik got out.

  "It seems unlikely to me, but we'll see if we can investigate that too, as the timing is at least strange. You stay here, in the meantime I'm going to call the intensive care unit to find out about the girl's medical condition this morning, hoping she has overcome the night. Then I'll get in touch with our police station, by now there should be someone in the office. I want them to send a colleague as soon as possible to check if questions have been asked to the hospital staff about both our victim and that Slovak who is in the ward with her. Maybe we'll get to something."

  "Do you need coins to make the phone calls?" said Lene gently, poking in her pocket and pulling out almost immediately three or four crowns broken into cents.

  Lars took them, marking the debt in his head, and went to the coin-operated phone he had already used the night before. It was located a short distance from the counter, so privacy in that place was non-existent, but fortunately at that time there was still no customer in the room, and he could speak freely.

  The hospital told him that Ingrid Skov was reacting well to the treatment, even if she was not yet out of danger, but the situation remained stable.

  He made the second phone call to the police station, where he managed to talk to Janssen who had just arrived at the office. The man took advantage of this to ask him insistently why he had not chosen him for that case, preferring instead his colleague Poulsen. Petersen had little patience and the timing was the worst, so in the end he had to remind him that he was the boss.

  He was finishing to give him instructions to follow when the first chilled people entered the pub, followed by Erik who quickly passed him a large bag containing the promised shoes. He was still complaining about the indolence of his daughter, who would come only later.

  It was eight o'clock now and it was starting to dawn. Lars and Lene went upstairs to change and after a few minutes they got off with their boots on.

  "Shall we go straight to the police station?" asked Poulsen, opening the door of the pub to get out.

  "Let me first check the mailbox," said Lars as he approached a large red container attached to one of the pillars of the porch.

  In fact, someone had forced the lock of the opening below, so much so that the lower part remained open, making it unusable.

  "They must have done it with a screwdriver, there are a few scratches here," Poulsen said, examining it in turn with attention.

  "A clean job that doesn't seem to me like an act of vandalism at all. I wonder why they did it."

  "Maybe someone wanted to take back a letter that they regretted having sent, finding no other way," said Lene, looking around.

  The square was slowly beginning to come to life, as if the timid appearance of light were the sign that it was time to leave the house, and a couple of people began to observe them, approaching with suspicion. Petersen was still bent, busy observing the damage to the box, so it was Lene's turn to show her badge.

  "What happened?" asked a worried man.

  He and the woman had to be in their forties, well dressed and probably married to each other, by the way she held his arm.

  "Someone forced the op
ening, removing all the mail in it," said Poulsen, watching them carefully.

  "But why?"

  "Have you ever had such acts, perhaps carried out by some overly bored boy in recent times?" Petersen asked them.

  "Not that I remember. Our young people are decent guys and would never dream of damaging a property of the municipality. Last night the box was not in that state, it must have happened tonight," the man said, looking at the woman at his side for confirmation.

  She nodded saying, "My husband is right. We are the Slovaks and run the pharmacy next door, we would have noticed, if someone had done it while we were working inside."

  The last name Slovak immediately triggered an alarm bell in both the inspector and Lene.

  "Let me introduce myself. I'm Inspector Petersen, and this one at my side is my partner Poulsen. We come from Copenhagen to investigate the murder of Pastor Jesper Knudsen and the wounding of Ingrid Skov. We'd need to talk to you privately."

  The man looked at them for a moment, as if he did not understand, then he made a sign that they followed him, quickly opening the shutter and letting them into the store.

  "What do you need?" he asked turning on the lights, while his wife went to the back of the store.

  "Are you by any chance relatives of Jan Slovak, a man who's been in the intensive care unit of the Copenhagen hospital for two weeks?"

  The woman ran back, listening to those words. She had put on a white coat with a plaque bearing her name, a sign that the first customers were about to arrive. She was visibly pale and immediately said to her husband, "I told you, Markus, that we couldn't just ignore him, in the end he's still your uncle."

  "For God's sake, Ellen, don't start that story again," exclaimed the pharmacist.

  "Excuse him, it's just that Jan left the village over twenty years ago, and he never got along well with his family. When the hospital informed us of the accident that he had had and that he had no other relatives alive, I tried to make my husband reason, but he did not want to hear a word."