Miss Polly had a Dolly (Emma Frost #2)

by Willow Rose

  The driver forced the limo through the crowd of screaming fans and drove to the back of the stage where Patrick took Hanne in his arms and carried her into his dressing room telling people on the way how she had fallen asleep in the car.

  "I think she drank a little heavily last night if you ask me," he said and laughed to one of the security guys guarding the door to his room.

  Much to his surprise, the guy laughed back.

  Chapter 55

  April 2013

  When we arrived at the hospital it was packed with police cars outside the front entrance. We walked in but were stopped in the main hall by a man in uniform.

  "Listen. My girlfriend is in there down that hall…" my dad started.

  "I'm sorry," the police officer said. "I have been told to let no one through."

  "You can let these two come in," a voice behind him said. It was Officer Morten. I smiled when I saw him. "They're okay," he said to the officer who backed down and stepped out of the way.

  "What's with all the police?" my dad said as Officer Morten showed us down the hallway towards Helle's room.

  "Protection in case the killer tries to finish Helle off. She is after all the first to have ever survived an encounter with the bowtie killer. He has reason to want to keep her quiet. Plus, she is awake now so we're questioning her to get more details about the killer."

  "She is awake?" my dad almost yelled.

  "Yes," Officer Morten said with a big smile until he noticed my dad's angry red face.

  "Why haven't they called me? I was told they would call me first thing when she woke up!" he said.

  "She has just woken up like half an hour ago, I think. I'm pretty sure the investigators wanted to have her a little to themselves, too. You know, to get all the information they need to catch the killer."

  "Have they gotten anything yet?" I asked when we stopped outside a door. Four police officers were guarding it. We heard voices from inside the room.

  "Not as far as I know. But they haven't been in there for long. The doctor had to check that she was up for it first."

  We waited at least twenty minutes outside her room before an officer finally came out. Officer Morten looked at him expectantly. He shrugged and shook his head. "She won't talk," he said.

  "Doesn't she say anything?" I asked.

  The officer looked at me questioningly.

  "They're family," Officer Morten said. "This is Officer Nyberg, he's on the case investigating the bowtie killer," he said to us.

  "All she says is she can't remember anything. She can't remember who attacked her or even how," Officer Nyberg said with a tired sigh.

  Officer Morten nodded. "Well, it's not unusual after being unconscious for this long, I guess."

  "No, it's not. But I have a feeling that she's lying. She does remember but she's scared or something. It's just a hunch, but a pretty strong one."

  Officer Morten nodded.

  "Why don't you let us talk to her?" I asked.

  Both policemen stared at me.

  "My dad is dating her and I've gotten quite close to her lately, as well. Maybe she'll talk to us?"

  Officer Morten shrugged and looked at the other guy. "Guess it's at least worth a try."

  Officer Nyberg looked at me. "This might not be such a bad idea. Are you up for it? It might be ugly. I mean if she starts talking she might tell you details that can be tough to handle. Can you deal with that? All you have to do is to get her to open up to you. We'll take over as soon as possible. All we need is for her to describe the damn killer for us so we can nail the bastard. Just make her talk, could you do that?"

  I looked at my dad. "We can do this," I said and grabbed his hand. "Right, Dad?"

  Chapter 56

  April 2013

  "I already told the police I don't remember anything. Nothing at all," Helle said. She looked horrible. Pale and in obvious pain when she tried to talk.

  "Just tell us what you do remember," my dad said. "We need to help them catch the guy. I want to put him away for a long time." My dad held Helle's hand in his. I could hear anger in his voice. "We need to help them stop him before he does this to someone else."

  "Didn't you see anything?" I asked. "Maybe his hair or eyes?"

  Helle turned her face away. "I told you I don't remember anything about him. All I remember is pouring myself some coffee while he entered the store, then walking out there and asking him if he needed any help. Then it all went black after that."

  "Didn't you catch a glimpse of him before it went black?" I asked.

  "I couldn't see properly. It was dark, he was standing behind the shelves wearing a hood over his head. You know one of those sweaters with a hood on. I remember the sweater was dark blue, that's all. I already told this to the police."

  "Did it say anything on his sweater?" I asked.

  She shook her head. I could tell it hurt.

  "Maybe we should stop," my dad said. "She needs her rest."

  I exhaled and nodded. "I think you're right."

  "I mean there was something about him that felt awfully familiar," Helle said all of a sudden.

  "Yes? Like what?" my dad asked.

  She shook her head again. It hurt and she closed her eyes to the pain. "I don't know…maybe it was his eyes, maybe I did catch a glimpse of them after all. I remember thinking I knew them from somewhere but I couldn't quite understand where from. Then there was his voice. I think I heard it somewhere before. I don't know. It's all very blurry."

  "Could you think of any reason why anyone would attack you like that?" I asked.

  "No," she answered promptly. "The police asked the same question."

  "Maybe it was your money," my dad blurted out. He looked at me like he had regretted he said it.

  Helle turned her head and looked directly at him. "That was also what the police said," she answered.

  I sighed relieved. If the police already asked her this it wasn't strange that we did as well.

  "They also asked me where I had gotten all that money from," she continued.

  "What did you tell them?" my dad asked.

  She looked at my dad then pulled her hand out of his. "You know what? I don't owe you two anything. I don't have to explain myself to you. You come here and ask me all these questions like I am some kind of criminal here, but I'm not alright? I'm not the criminal. I'm the victim. I was the one who was attacked. I'm in pain here and I'd really appreciate it if you two would just leave."

  My dad looked perplexed. "But, Helle. We're just trying to help out here. The police wanted us to try and see if we could help you remember more."

  "The police?" Helle almost yelled but it was too painful. She completely lost the little bit of color she had regained in her face. "You work for the police now, questioning me? How could you do this to me?"

  "But we're just trying to help," my dad said.

  "Well you're not helping me. Who says I want your help anyway? Who says I even want you here?"

  "But… But, Helle?"

  "You know what? I'm sick of you. Sick and tired of you and your ridiculous family snooping around in my business. Sick of your daughter's problems that always have to become your problems, too I don't care about her and all her crap. I don't understand why I have to be dragged into all your problems again and again. She's a grown woman, for Christ sake. Let her handle her stuff on her own. It's sick that she still needs her daddy to help her out constantly and do everything for her. You people make me sick."

  "Helle, my dad's only trying…"

  Before I could finish the sentence, she hissed at the both of us:

  "Get out. Get out of here now. Get out of my life."

  Chapter 57

  April 2013

  My dad was very quiet in the car on the way home. I felt really sad for him. Once on the ferry, we walked onto the top deck to get some fresh air.

  My dad leaned on the railing and looked at the island approaching in the distance. He shook his head heavily. "I just do
n't understand. Do you, Emma?"

  "I…I really don't, Dad."

  "What got into her? She used to be so sweet. She never raised her voice like that before. Nor did she ever complain about my family. Why would she say those things, Emma?"

  I shrugged and looked down at the water beneath the ferry. The cold wind was biting my cheeks. "I wish I could explain that to you, but I really can't. I don't know her very well, but to be fair she did just suffer a serious trauma. Maybe if you gave her a little time?"

  My dad shook his head. "No. I can't. Not after what she said. My family is everything to me. You, the kids, you're all I have and I'd do anything for you. I can't be with a woman who doesn't understand that. I just can't."

  "Maybe she'll apologize later on," I said. "Maybe it was the medicine talking, or something else. The stress of being interrogated by the police? I don't know."

  My dad shook his head again. "It was strange seeing her like that. Did you look into her eyes? It was like they were suddenly filled with hatred. I felt like she suddenly really hated me. It came right after I asked about the money. Now I can't stop wondering why she doesn't want to talk about the money."

  We went back to the car as the ferry approached land. When we drove across the parking lot, my dad looked at the big stage they had put up at the port.

  "The show is tonight," I said. "I completely forgot about that. I promised Maya she could go see it. Ida is going to sing on stage. We should all be there and cheer on her."

  My dad chuckled. "What do you think Victor is going to say about that?"

  "Oh no. Victor," I said. "I'm never going to persuade him to come down here. He'll hate all the people and the noise. Maybe I should just stay home then."

  My dad put his hand on my shoulder. "No, you go. I'll stay at your house with Victor."

  "Would you really do that?"

  "Sure. Him and me are buddies, remember? It'll do us some good to hang out a little. Both of us, I think. I need some quiet time and so does he. It'll be good, don't you worry."

  "Thanks, Dad. I appreciate it. I know Sophia will be so happy that I went. Her mother has come down here to take care of the other kids while she goes to watch Ida in the show. She's been looking forward to this. And frankly so have I. I can't wait to see little Ida up on the stage. She surprised everyone with her big voice at the auditions. I had no idea she had it in her. She's usually so shy."

  "It's always the quiet ones that surprises us the most," my dad said with a little smile.

  It felt good to see him smile again. Even if it was still with a sadness in his eyes. I hated to see him heartbroken like this. He really didn't deserve it. I drove the car into the driveway and parked it in front of my grandmother's old house. I looked at the clock in the kitchen when we entered. Victor and Maya would be home from school any minute now. Perfect timing. My dad walked into the living room and sat in an armchair. I approached him.

  "Do you want some coffee or anything else?"

  "No thanks, I'm good," he said.

  It startled me slightly. He never said no to a cup of coffee. "Can I get the paper for you?" I asked.

  He shook his head. "Maybe a little later."

  "Oh, okay." I walked to the kitchen and started making a pot of coffee. My stomach had turned to knots. I felt so angry with Helle for treating him like this. As the coffee ran through the coffeemaker I started feeling guilty for having brought up the subject of the money at all. Would she have reacted so angrily if my dad had never known about the money?

  I shook my head and poured myself a cup. No, there was definitely something wrong with this woman and I concluded that I should only be glad that my dad discovered it now and not later when he had become even more emotionally involved. This was a good thing even if it didn't feel like it was.

  I decided to pour him a cup of coffee anyway, and placed it on the end table next to his chair. He was staring out the window at the big trees in the back yard that I so desperately wanted to cut down so we could see the ocean from the house, but couldn't since it would kill Victor. It was his playground and the only place in this world he actually liked to be. I had to live without the view.

  He didn't notice the coffee. He seemed deep into his own thoughts so I decided to let him be and grabbed my laptop. I sat on the couch and started going through my research. I hadn't gotten much more information for my book and it annoyed me slightly. I really wanted to write the book about the children being kidnapped from the island.

  I opened an article about the first disappearance in 1997. Nina Kristensen, six years old. Once again I looked at the picture of the girl and the doll that had been found on the ground. I sipped my coffee. I found another article about the same case. This time it was an interview with the mother who was pleading for people on the island to please help her find her precious daughter. I felt a pinch in my heart thinking about my own children and trying to imagine what it must feel like losing your child like that. It made me almost sick with sadness. Then I thought about Helle and how losing her daughter must have been devastating for her and maybe, maybe that was part of the explanation why she seemed so troubled, why she seemed almost like she had a split personality. She definitely had a side to her that was quite scary and maybe it was for the better that my dad stopped seeing her now before she showed more of her hidden side. Even if it did mean he was back to grumbling and moping again.

  I looked down at the article again and at the picture of the mother in the interview. I remembered seeing her in Helle's store and that Officer Morten had told me how they each shared the same tragic story. I wondered if they both knew? If they ever talked to each other about it?

  I read the name underneath her picture. Asta Kristensen. Then I searched for her name in the yellow pages and found her address. It wasn't far away from the playground that Officer Morten had told me all the girls had disappeared from. I had long wanted to go see that playground. Maybe I should pay Mrs. Kristensen a visit while down there? Talk to her about the book and ask her if she would be interested in doing an interview for it? I needed as many of the mothers as possible to be able to even write the book in the first place. If they all turned me down I would have to give it up anyway, so I figured I might as well begin there. Face to face was the best way to address this. If I just called her it would be too easy for her to decline my request.

  I wrote the address down on a small piece of paper, then got up from the couch. "I have to run some errands, Dad. The kids will be back from school any minute now."

  "I'm not going anywhere. Go do your thing," he answered.

  "Okay, Dad. Thanks. It's a big help. I'll get back and fix you dinner. The concert starts at six."

  "I've got this, sweetheart."

  "I don't like to leave you when you feel like this, Dad. Are you sure it's okay?" I asked with a sigh.

  "I'm fine, Emma. Really. The kids will cheer me up. Being with them always makes me feel good. Don't worry. You know I hate it when you worry about me. I'm a grown man. I can handle a broken heart."

  I leaned over and kissed his forehead. He patted me on the shoulder, and then I left.

  Chapter 58

  April 2013

  After the briefing, Patrick slipped into a disguise and managed to find a cab to drive him to the other end of town. It had been sixteen years since he was last in this neighborhood but he remembered every little detail about it; every corner, every house, every streetlamp brought back memories of the childhood he had spent here before his mother gave him away. Before she cast him into a world of abuse, uncertainty, and constant fear for his life. He had come to terms with it over the years and realized she probably did it to toughen him up, to teach him the way of life that nothing came easily and so on. Yes, he had many explanations for why his mother had given him away to these people who had abused him over and over again. But he was never able to forgive. And now it was time to settle the score, it was time for her to face her past and what she had done.

  Patrick giggle
d thinking about how great it was going to be as he walked onto the street of his childhood home and passed the playground. Then he stopped for just a short second and looked at all the children playing without a care in the world. It always annoyed him to see children happy. It reminded him of the fact that he had never been like them, that he never had the chance to just play without a care in the world. Not even when he lived with his mother. She would always dress him up in these horrible dresses and tell him not to get dirty or even play with other kids. One good thing she had taught him, though was that he was special, that he was different and that one day he was going to make the world love him and run after him. And she had been right. He was the single most popular TV host in the country right now. If you went into a store his face was on the covers of all the magazines. They either loved him or they loved to hate him. Patrick couldn't help chuckling, thinking that maybe his mother didn't quite picture it being in this way. But he had done it in his own way, hadn't he? Yes he had. Like in that famous old song, he had done it my way. And for that he was proud. He wasn't just another pretty face.

  Looking at the children remembering how much he hated wearing those dresses he realized it had started way back then. He had always felt like he was trapped in the wrong body. It wasn't just that he had come to hate everything about himself being a girl who was so weak that she was constantly abused. It had always been like that. And his mother hadn't wanted to listen. She had refused to let him wear pants like he'd wanted to. Instead she had put ugly bowties in his hair and on his dresses. How he loathed her for that. She was the reason for everything bad happening in his life.

  Patrick took one last glimpse at the children playing, laughing, yelling happily. A girl was on the swings singing a song. Part of him wanted to grab her and slit her throat. Just to make her shut up.

  There is nothing to be so cheerful about, little baby doll. The world is a cruel place and soon you'll see it, too. Then you'll never want to sing again. I make that promise to you.