An Old Debt

by Doriana Cantoni

  "You can hang up, he's clearly not at home or he pulled the phone off," Lars said, answering Toft's questioning glance, and Toft hung up the phone just as Holst finally reappeared in his uniform from the door.

  "Do we know when the snowploughs will be here? I'm afraid we won't be able to go anywhere with these roads," asked him Poulsen.

  He looked at his youngest colleague who said, "I heard them early this morning, they told me they were going to pass by around ten o'clock."

  "I'm calling them to solicit," Jens said, as he sat down at his desk and began dialing a number marked on his agenda. "Is Sergeant Lassen on his way?" he asked while he was waiting for someone on the other side to answer him.

  "Unfortunately, we haven't heard from him yet," replied Lars, diplomatic, but the idea that the sergeant was almost never in the office was already in his head.

  "They say that a couple of vehicles are entering the village right now, we should see them soon," said Holst hanging up.

  "Do you have a service car?"

  "We have here behind, in the covered parking lot, the old car that we use to go on patrol, but with this weather I doubt that it can be used to drive on the roads, unless they can clean them very well, removing all the ice below. That's why the municipality gave us a truck last year, but only the sergeant has been using that ever since," Toft replied.

  "You mean he doesn't leave it at the disposal of the officers, but he uses it as if it were a private vehicle, taking it home?" Petersen incredulously asked.

  "That's right, you understand that he's our boss and we couldn't say anything about it," Holst replied for his colleague, with a half grin on his face.

  In the light of the facts, his position was becoming increasingly lighter, while Sergeant Lassen's one was becoming more compromised at every minute.

  "We're just wasting our time here," said Petersen, irritated. "We have to go out and do an inspection of the church, then we will have to interview the Mertens and finally old Hanne," he added, beginning to walk nervously along the waiting room.

  "You mean Hanne Møller, the woman who was the pastor's housekeeper before Ingrid?" Toft asked.

  "Yes, that's her."

  "You can go on foot to the church and the Mertens, as they are not far away, but Hanne lives with her son in a farm outside the village and you'd need the car."

  "They already told us," replied Lene.

  "It looks like they're coming," she said again after a short break, listening to the noise of vehicles out on the street. She looked through the window and nodded to the inspector in confirmation.

  "Well, we'll be out in a while. Holst will come with us, but you Toft stay in the office. If the sergeant shows up, let him know we're on our way, in case he wants to join us. Then you should call Mrs. Hanne as well. See if her son can get her here, I'd like to talk to her as soon as possible, not later than this afternoon," said Peterson.

  "All right," said the cop.

  "There's one last thing I've been forgetting. We verified that someone broke into the mailbox under the porch near the pharmacy last night. The mail has definitely been removed. Do you have any idea who might have done this?"

  The two cops looked at each other and shook their heads, then Toft said, "None. As far as I know, it has never happened in our town."

  Holst added, "Sometimes someone gets drunk at night and becomes annoying, but no one has ever destroyed anything."

  "We're currently dealing with a number of other bigger issues, anyway I had to tell you."

  Immediately afterwards, Petersen and Poulsen put on their jackets and left the office, followed by Officer Holst.

  The external temperature had risen significantly compared to the early morning. The northern wind that had blown insistently the day before had stopped, but it was still below zero, at least of several degrees.

  The snowplough had just passed in front of the police station, leaving the street clean, but the snow removed from the center of the road had ended all on both sides of the road, raising small whitish walls that were going to add to the snow still present on the sidewalks.

  "If they don't shovel it as soon as possible, it will become as hard as concrete," said Lene, barely crossing the obstacle and beginning to walk in the middle of the road.

  Her two colleagues followed her immediately, because there was no other way of walking. Luckily, there were only few cars, mostly off-road vehicles like the one Sergeant Lassen had required for personal use almost a year before. Lars thought he should have a quick chat with that good official in order to explain a couple of things to him about the misappropriation of municipal means.

  "Don't you feel like walking through a ghost town?" she said, commenting on the absence of people outdoors.

  "All winters are like this. After a heavy snowfall, it takes at least a week for life to resume as before. Unfortunately, we don't have the advantages of the capital, and we almost always have to do all ourselves," replied Holst, wheezing.

  Obviously the officer was not used to prolonged physical efforts, even though he must have been just a few years older than Poulsen, because he had turned red in the face and breathed heavily.

  "Are you okay?" Lene asked him and she became worried when a few minutes later the man had to stop, bending in two from fatigue.

  The church was close by, its outline could be glimpsed along the road a few hundred meters away, but Holst had just stopped himself.

  "I need to catch my breath for a second, I'm sorry," he said, trying not to fall to the ground.

  "Don't worry, we also needed a little break," Petersen said, looking around.

  They were now on the outskirts of the small village and the side streets led to small cottages isolated from each other. The strip of smoke coming out of the chimneys indicated with certainty that they were almost all inhabited.

  "Do the Mertens live nearby?" asked Lene.

  "At a hundred meters, a little before the church," replied the officer, beginning to breathe normally.

  "Then maybe we could go to them first," concluded the woman.

  "That sounds like a great idea," said Petersen. "You, Holst, do you think you can get that far?"

  "I can do it without any problem," answered the man with a whisper of pride, starting to walk again.

  "Let's hope we don't have to help him. With this weather calling an ambulance would be a problem," whispered Poulsen to the inspector and set off behind the officer.

  Five minutes later they were ringing at the bell of a well-kept cottage, surrounded by a large garden that was currently covered with snow. On the first floor you could see a small balcony that was almost certainly pertinent to the bedroom of the owners.

  The house was painted on the outside in a color halfway between cream and light brown, while the wooden frames protecting the windows were as dark brown as the roof. Despite its not frightening appearance, similar to that of the other cottages in the area, it gave rise to a strange feeling of uneasiness in those who approached it a little too close, as if there were something out of place in that house so clean.

  "I don't know why, but it makes me think of the witch's house in the Grimm's fairy tale," said the inspector at Poulsen, almost fearing that she would make fun of his digression.

  She nodded, however, continuing to carefully fix the facade with the arched windows that strangely made the same impression on her.

  Fortunately, the woman who came to open the door did not look like an evil sorcerer. She was a shy lady of about sixty years of age, with her hair still blonde and blue eyes, almost frightened by the sight of those two foreigners she did not know. Officer Holst was with them and she knew him well, so she relaxed.

  "Michael, we have visitors," she cried out, turning inside, and immediately afterwards appeared a man in his seventies, still in decent shape.

  "Else, don't scream. I've told you a thousand times that I'm not deaf," said the angry man, adjusting with one hand his hearing aid, then he added, looking at the visitors, "
Who are you taking with you, Holst?"

  "This is Inspector Petersen and she is his colleague Poulsen. They come from Copenhagen to investigate the death of the pastor," answered the cop.

  "What are you waiting for to come in? If you wait a little longer, you're gonna make us take a cold here on the door. Else, please move and let them pass," he told his wife and then she almost reluctantly stepped aside.

  "Sorry for the intrusion. We know you're still upset about what happened yesterday. The scene must have been terrible, but it is essential for us that you report everything," said Lene, trying to reassure the woman.

  She looked at her as if she didn't understand what she was alluding to, and then she said, "You're wrong, dear, we're not upset, at least not anymore. Of course we are sorry for poor Ingrid and for the minister who was so dear, but the worst thing were those journalists who have been tormenting us since yesterday. A couple of them were hiding behind our kitchen window and I almost died from fright, when I saw them."

  "I understand. It must have been a great nuisance, but fortunately they don't seem to be around here today," replied Poulsen.

  "Let's thank the snow that kept them away from us," said the man, making them sit in the living room.

  It was a small room, although quite cozy, with a three-seater sofa on one side and two armchairs covered in a flowery fabric. On the other side there was a bookcase and an old black and white television set.

  "We hardly ever turn it on, we prefer to listen to the radio," said the woman, following Lene's gaze, then she added, "Do you want gingerbread cookies with candied fruit on top? I just baked them and I can say that they came out particularly well."

  "Thank you, Madam," Petersen answered, and she came back after not even a minute with a tray where she had put a plate full with horseshoe-shaped biscuits and a pitcher filled with a dark drink, along with several plastic glasses.

  "It's orange juice, in case you become thirsty for my cookies. Are you sure you're not married? You look like such a beautiful couple, you have the same colors of both hair and eyes, you would have perfect children," she said.

  "We're just colleagues, he's actually my superior and he's already married," replied Lene smiling.

  "It's a real shame," said the woman and began to eat one of her cookies, as if to console herself from that disappointment.

  "What did you want to ask us about yesterday? We have already told everything to Jens and his colleague, the young lad whose name I always forget," her husband said.

  "He's called Ole Toft," said Officer Holst.

  "Ah yes, Ole. He's a useless, if not dangerous boy, at least in my humble opinion. When he played football in high school he was famous and thanks to this he did more damage than you could ever imagine. He put in trouble several girls here in the village, but everyone was quiet about that, then he broke his knee and things changed. but he's still a troublemaker to me."

  "But don't say that, Mr. Mertens. It's not fair at all. You know that Toft is a good cop, too," said Holst, and Else Mertens nodded vigorously.

  "You're just saying that because they're here from Copenhagen now, and then you can't talk freely. I'm too old to pay attention to these trifles and I just say what goes through my head, so now what harm can it do me? Anyway, let's forget about it, I don't want to bore you, Inspector. I will repeat to you for the last time what happened yesterday, at least what we witnessed. In the early afternoon we went to church, me and Else, we do it almost every day because it gives us relief to pray. It was about two o'clock when we found Ingrid lying on the ground in the middle of the aisle. She was in a pool of blood, so we just ran home and called for help."

  "Did you also notice the pastor on the ground by the altar?"

  "Not him. We were at a certain distance and as soon as I saw how bad Ingrid was I just thought about getting my wife to safety, in case the killer was still in there, hidden somewhere."

  "Did you get the impression that there might still be someone inside the church?" asked Petersen.

  "I can't say that, but it was clear that it must have just happened. The girl was gasping and needed immediate help."

  "Have you, Mrs. Mertens, noticed anything strange both inside and outside the church?"

  "At that moment, no. I was too terrified at the sight of all that blood, but now that you make me think about it, I noticed something unusual an hour before, bringing out the garbage," said Else.

  "What was that?"

  "A black pick-up I'd never seen around here before. It was parked a couple of streets away, but it was visible from our entrance. You know, we've all known each other here for years and I remember thinking that some of our neighbors must have changed car recently."

  "Are you sure?" asked her husband. He seemed really surprised and added, "I didn't notice it when I went to town."

  "What time did you leave the house?"

  "At noon. I went downtown to buy supplies and came back almost at one o'clock, then we had lunch. Right after we finished fixing up the kitchen, we decided to go to church."

  "Maybe you didn't pay attention, Michael, or maybe the vehicle arrived immediately after you came back," replied his wife, but the man didn't seem convinced.

  "Do you remember anything specific about the pick-up?" asked Petersen.

  "I don't know about cars, I just saw that it was all black."

  "All right. We will also ask the neighbors if they saw the same car," concluded the inspector. "You, Poulsen, do you have any questions?

  "Only one to Mr. Mertens. Can you tell me when you left the army?"

  The inspector looked at her, amazed at the question. Poulsen seemed sure of what she had just asked Mertens, even though there was no sign in his home that the man had belonged to an army department.

  Mertens smiled amiably and said, "I really don't know how you could understand that, Miss, but I retired, due to my age, five years ago. I was a colonel at the military base outside Copenhagen."

  "Did you move here then?"

  "No, my wife never liked life at the base, which is why we bought a house here in the village about fifteen years ago. I used to come and join her every weekend."

  "It must have been tiring," commented Lene.

  "Not so much, once we realized that it worked quite well without too much trouble in our routine. Else has always been very religious and she had found comfort from her frequent visit to the church, and here she has also met many good friends who have kept her company during my absences. Ever since I moved permanently, I've been following her to church. Pastor Knudsen was a very good person, always helpful with all believers and of good character, a real boatman of souls," he said with an emotionally broken voice.

  Lene was impressed by the sentence that the ex-military had just used, 'boatman of souls'. It confusingly reminded her of something she had perhaps studied in high school. She'd think about what it really meant later, when they got back to the hotel.

  Religion was not her strong point, not being a believer, but she respected all those who had a faith, as long as it did not become something similar to an obsession, or it was to the detriment of others.

  "What do you think of the attack on Skov? It seemed to us to be the work of a professional," Petersen said to him at the time, observing the man carefully for the first time since they had entered the house.

  The fact that he was a former career soldier changed considerably the cards on the table, as in the army they taught hand-to-hand techniques that certainly had to include a grip from behind such as the one that the killer had performed to immobilize Knudsen's housekeeper, before cutting her throat. Mertens seemed older than the description given by the officers in the hospital of the man who had entered the ward, but it was not a lead to be underestimated.

  "Who did it was certainly a man without moral temper, and perhaps he was not new to such violent acts," answered the old colonel.

  His wife, sitting next to him, gave no sign of distress to those words, continuing to sip her orange so
da.

  "Any idea who might be?" the inspector insisted.

  "On that, absolute darkness. As far as I know, the pastor had no enemies, same for Ingrid."

  "All right, that's enough for now. If you think of any new details, even a small thing, please tell us about it. Until tomorrow, we'll be staying in the village, above the pub downtown."

  "By Erik Ström?" asked the wife, and she seemed suddenly interested.

  "Yes, at his place, luckily yesterday he offered us two rooms, because otherwise we wouldn't have known where to sleep."

  "So you stay in town tonight," the woman said, thinking to herself.

  Now that she had met her in person, Lene thought with concern that maybe Petersen hadn't gotten too wrong with his first impression. Looking at her at that moment, Else Mertens seemed to her to be very similar to the witch of Hansel and Gretel.

  Soon after, they said goodbye to the couple and went out into the open.

  "She's really creepy," Lene told Petersen as soon as they were out, at a certain distance.

  "I hope they're not hiding anything from us. I have a funny feeling about this house," replied the inspector.

  As soon as he had spoken, Officer Holst asked him, citing Shakespeare's Macbeth, "Do your thumbs itch, Inspector?" because it would be the sign that something evil was about to come.

  Petersen looked at him in amazement at the quote and said, "I didn't think you were so cultivated, anyway, yes, that's the impression. What do you think?"

  "They've never given us a problem. However, Else Mertens immediately seemed strange to many, when they moved to the village. Thanks to the fact that she is a fervent Christian and has always participated in all the activities of the church, people have passed over many of her oddities. Anyway, about eight years ago there was a cats carnage right in the suburbs, caused by poisoned mouthfuls left by someone, and many pointed the finger at her, since she had said several times around that someone should clean up that mess."

  "How did it end?"

  "I hadn't joined the police yet, but I know that Mr. Mertens was very close to the old sergeant who had served under him on the army, and he covered it up."