Emma Frost Mystery Series Vol 7-9

by Willow Rose

  Damn!

  In the crowd, Lisa spotted a reporter form the local paper. She knew how important it was to get him to write about her key issues. Merethe had told her how important he was, and now he was looking all interested at the old lady.

  “When I had put my purse in the basket on my bike, a car drove up next to me and a person approached me. She said she needed directions, but I had never heard of the place before, and soon I realized that it was a scam.”

  Lisa widened her eyes. What was this? Did she have something interesting to say? Did she have a cause?

  “As it turns out, the guy in the car tried to steal my purse from my basket, but I grabbed him by the ear and made him give it back. Then, I sent them both off and told them to never show their faces here on the island again. I can tell you, they were suddenly in a hurry,” she said, and laughed.

  Lisa was paralyzed. The crowd laughed too, and now they were applauding her. The journalist was writing on his pad and taking pictures of her. What was this? He was supposed to take pictures of Lisa. She was the winner here!

  “But, jokes aside,” Jonna Frederiksen continued. “To me, this was a turning point. I grew up on this island. I remember a time when we didn’t have to lock our doors. A time when there was no crime here, and everyone could walk safely at night. The last two years, we’ve had people being brutally killed, we’ve had people disappearing and never being found, and our own mayor for numerous years was killed in what is believed to be an arson-fire. We’re losing the tourists. Stories about them possibly getting their valuables and wallets stolen by criminal Eastern European gangs are spreading widely and scaring them away. Criminals are coming here to exploit the fact that we are not used to crime; we are not properly protected. I say we take back charge of things. I say we bring back security.”

  Oh, no she didn’t! She pulled the local-card! It’s not fair. I can never be a local. I can never tell stories about how it used to be. Did she mention the Eastern Europeans? That was my key-issue. That was supposed to be my cause, the one I got elected on! What the hell is this bitch trying to do?

  Desperately, Lisa looked at Merethe, who was standing behind the curtain. She shrugged when Lisa signaled her what was going on? More people had started to gather, attracted by the story, and faces were listening to the old woman with great interest. Some were nodding in recognition of the problems she pointed out, others were looking at the person next to them and agreeing.

  You need to do something, Lisa. She’s got them! They like her! They love her, for crying out loud! You have to do something!

  “So, that is why if you elect me, dear fellow islanders, I will fight for the local police to be strengthened, and not cut back as they are trying to now. I will fight to get the criminals off this island. We’ve never had crime like this here before, and we never will again.”

  Do something now! You need to say something, something that tops whatever she said.

  Lisa leaned forward, grabbed the microphone and yelled. “I couldn’t agree more. Hey, my name is Lisa Rasmussen, but most of you already know that, since you’ve probably seen my picture on posters, but I completely agree with Jonna Frederiksen here. The Eastern Europeans pose bigger and bigger problem for our tourists. We have all seen how it’s going down; we have all felt it in our businesses. But they are not the only problem we’re facing here on the island. That’s why, if you elect me, I’ll make sure to fight so that not only will the Eastern Europeans be unable to come here and do their crime, but also the Asians. Yes, you heard me right. Asians pose huge problems today. Just the other day, I had a very unpleasant encounter with one. They come here with their unsanitary ways and bring all these diseases with them. They bring them to our food in the supermarket; they sneeze in public places. They have SARS, MERS, and the flu. Yes, that’s what they bring here…rats and bird flu. And they bring it all to the supermarket!”

  Lisa looked at the many estranged faces in the crowd, and realized she might have lost them a little. Yet, she continued.

  “And Ebola,” she said, trying desperately to find a common ground, something they could all agree on. “We need to fight Ebola.”

  The faces didn’t look any less alienated. Lucky for her, the entire debate was interrupted when someone burst out of one of the buildings facing the square, yelling and screaming in terror.

  49

  November 2014

  “HELP!”

  I was screaming as I ran out of the building. The terror of what I had seen had overwhelmed me, and I couldn’t stop yelling.

  “Call the police. There’s been a murder!”

  Someone ran to me and grabbed my arm. It was the reporter from Fanoe Times, Hans Lejbach. He had his camera around his neck and a notepad in his other hand.

  “Emma Frost?” he said, startled. “What’s going on?”

  “A man…in a chair…dead. Call the police!” I stuttered.

  “Where?”

  “In that building,” I said, panting desperately, suppressing my desire to scream again. The images of the man still flickered before my eyes; my heart raced in my chest. I pointed. “Third floor to the right.”

  Hans Lejbach reached into his pocket and found his phone. He walked away while talking to the police. Others came running, and soon I was surrounded. I felt dizzy and fell to my knees.

  “What happened?” I heard someone say.

  “It’s Emma Frost,” another whispered.

  “Oh,” someone else replied.

  Turmoil broke out. People were whispering and murmuring about me. I tried to block them out, while catching my breath. At first, I wanted to explain. I wanted to tell them why I had hacked, that I had never used it for bad things, that it had helped solve murder cases and that my boyfriend was innocent, that he certainly wasn’t a pervert, but then I realized I didn’t owe them any explanations. It didn’t matter what they thought. Besides, they wouldn’t believe me anyway. It was no use.

  I was still bent over on my knees, trying to calm down, when a hand reached out to me. I lifted my head and spotted Jonna Frederiksen, the new candidate. She smiled. I put my hand in hers, and she helped me up.

  “Emma Frost?” she said.

  I nodded.

  “I’ve read all of your books and loved each and every one of them.”

  I looked at the old lady with the warm hands. “Thanks,” I said, quite surprised by this sudden gesture. The people surrounding us went quiet. I got the feeling they had great respect for the old lady.

  “No problem. Us islanders must help one another,” she said.

  The police came, and I gave my testimony to Allan. I told him what had happened, how I had known from the email, how I had gone out there to see if it was true, and found him. Allan nodded and wrote everything down on his pad. When he was done, he looked up at me.

  “Thanks, Emma. By the way, I’m sorry for all the trouble lately. How’s Morten holding up? We miss him at the station.”

  “He’s at a meeting with the chief in Esbjerg right now. But he’s not good. He’s frustrated. It was a set-up.”

  Allan nodded. “I know. None of us believe he would ever do such a thing. I just hope he comes back soon.”

  “So, what do you think about this?” I asked, and looked up at the building.

  Allan scratched his head. “It’s ugly. The way he was killed, I mean. It’s what they call a Columbian Necktie. I’ve read about it, but never actually seen it. Quite nasty.”

  “Was he related to Ulrik Larsen, who died the other day?” I asked.

  “Brother. Ulrik was the oldest,” Allan said.

  “So, I guess it’s fair to say that the two killings were related, huh?”

  “Probably not a bad assumption.”

  “And the mayor?”

  “What’s that?” Allan asked.

  “The murder of the mayor. Could that be related?” I asked.

  “We’re investigating them separately. I can’t see any link between them. Plus, the mayor an
d Ulrik didn’t know each other, according to the mayor’s wife. Well, I’d better…” Allan signaled that he had to get back to work. I grabbed his arm and held him back.

  “So, are you arresting this kid, this Tommy Malthesen, who sent the email to my daughter?” I asked.

  “We’ll take him in right after we’re done here. Now, say hi to Morten from me, will you? And stay out of trouble.”

  50

  July 1965

  THEY RODE THEIR BIKES to old Hansen’s farm. Erling and Per stayed a few meters behind them on the road, so Ulrik and Jonna could talk. They discussed the murder of Malcolm X, and Jonna told him that she heard there was a book coming up this fall, an autobiography that they both agreed they simply had to read.

  Ulrik sighed and looked at Jonna.

  “What?” she said shyly.

  “I’ve never met anyone who wanted to discuss Malcolm X before. I’ve never met anyone as interesting to talk to as you are. I thought I was the only one with a passion for books.”

  Jonna blushed. It didn’t make her any less beautiful. On the contrary. Even blushing looked good on her. Ulrik watched her and reached out his hand to grab hers while they biked down the road and turned into the gravel that marked the beginning of old Hansen’s property.

  “So, what does your brother do for this man?” Jonna asked.

  “Handiwork, I guess. The old man is all alone, and has no sons. So, he pays Peter to fix stuff around the farm. Peter’s been saving his money. He wants to travel when he’s done with high school. I guess I envy him a little. I would love to see the world. It’s silly, but I once had a dream of visiting libraries all over the world.”

  “That’s not silly,” Jonna said. “I kind of like that idea.”

  Ulrik chuckled. “Yeah it would be nice. But having to take care of my father’s farm takes all of my time. I’m not sure there will be much time for traveling in my future.”

  Jonna shrugged. “You never know how life will turn out.”

  “I guess not.”

  Ulrik liked that. Jonna was so right. You really never knew what life would turn out like, did you? Up until a few months ago, he had never thought he would meet a girl like her. He never thought he would be able to discuss important things with anyone again, since he stopped going to school. He thought the rest of his life would be all about pigs and corn. But along she came, and everything was changed. Maybe there would be traveling in his future, after all. Maybe he was going to visit libraries and museums all over the world. Maybe some day…

  They drove their bikes into the courtyard. It was very quiet at the farm. The dogs were sleeping by the stairs.

  “Where is he?” Jonna asked.

  Per and Erling threw their bikes in the grass and started fighting and laughing. Ulrik shook his head. He wondered what was ever going to become of his baby brother. He was so wild. So out of control. Well, it was entirely their mother’s fault, wasn’t it? She spoiled him so much. She thought he could never do anything wrong.

  “He might be in the barn,” Ulrik said, and pointed. He hoped he was right. He wanted so badly to get this over with, to deliver the bag with food, then get back and drop off the two boys, so he could once again be alone with Jonna. He still had a bike ride to town, and maybe they might catch an hour at the library before she had to be home. If he hurried up, they could just make it.

  “Don’t go anywhere, boys,” he said to Per and Erling. “Stay close. We’re leaving as soon as I deliver this to Peter.” He grabbed the sack his mom had packed with rye bread sandwiches, and started walking towards the barn. Jonna walked next to him and grabbed his hand in hers.

  “Peter?” Ulrik called. “Peter?”

  Ulrik had spotted his bike over by the main building, so his younger brother was still there. It was all about finding out where he could be, and preferably in a hurry.

  “Let’s try the barn first,” he said, still looking around to see if he might spot him somewhere else.

  Ulrik grabbed the handle on the big gate to the barn and pulled it aside. But the barn was empty except for an old tractor and a lot of bales of straw.

  “Peter?”

  “Maybe he’s somewhere else,” Jonna said. “Maybe we should go to the main house and ask Mr. Hansen?”

  Ulrik had hoped to be able to make the delivery without having to face the old man. He had never liked him much. He gave him the creeps.

  “Sure,” he said, thinking it was by far the smartest move, since old Hansen would know what he had asked Peter to do for him. “Come on, boys. We’ll knock on the door to the main house. Follow me.”

  Ulrik walked up the stairs and stopped in front of the door. Two dogs were sleeping heavily outside. One of them opened his eyes and took one glance at Ulrik, then went back to sleep. Ulrik knocked. There was no answer. He knocked again. “Mr. Hansen? It’s Ulrik Larsen!”

  Ulrik growled in irritation. “Hansen is old,” he said. “Probably can’t hear us.”

  The door was ajar and opened when he tried to knock again. Ulrik stepped inside. Jonna paused.

  “You think it’s okay to just go in?” Jonna asked.

  “Sure. I’ve been here a million times. The old man probably can’t hear us, or maybe he’s fallen asleep. I can give him the sack, and then he can give it to Peter. He might be working all the way down on the other end of the paddocks. He might be repairing the fence or something. We could end up spending the rest of the afternoon looking for him. This way is much easier.”

  “Alright,” Jonna said, and they all followed Ulrik inside the house. It smelled like old wet dog inside. Ulrik looked at Jonna, who held her nose.

  “Mr. Hansen?” he yelled. “It’s Ulrik Larsen. I brought dinner for Peter.”

  “Maybe we should just put it in the kitchen, if he’s not here” Jonna whispered.

  Ulrik thought it was an excellent idea. Hopefully, they would find it. If they didn’t, then his brother would survive. Ulrik loved his brother, but he wasn’t spending all day on this. Not when he could spend time with Jonna.

  “I thought I heard something,” Jonna said, all of a sudden.

  Ulrik heard it too. “Must be the old man.”

  “It sounds like it came from down the hallway.”

  Ulrik looked at Jonna. “I’ll just leave the food in the kitchen,” he said.

  Jonna gave him a look. “You can’t do that. If no one knows it’s there, then he’ll never get it. Your brother will starve. You have to at least tell the old man, so he can tell Peter. It’s the least you can do.”

  Ulrik sighed. He knew she was right. But he really didn’t want to have to walk into one of the rooms and talk to the old man. Jonna pushed him gently. “Go on. The sounds are coming from behind that door over there.”

  “Okay,” he said, and started walking. Jonna and the boys were right behind him. Per and Erling were very quiet for once. Probably scared to death of the old house, Ulrik thought to himself. The sounds became louder and louder as they approached the door, and Ulrik wondered for just a second what was going on behind that door. Still, he grabbed the handle and pulled the door wide open, so wide that all of them saw what was on the other side of it. On the bed, tied down with a leather belt, lay his brother. His beautiful innocent brother strapped down, naked, and on top of him was the old man…forcing himself on him.

  Ulrik gasped. Jonna let out a small shriek.

  “What the hell is going on here?” Ulrik yelled. As he did, his eyes met Peter’s, and he realized Peter was crying.

  “Help me,” he wheezed, barely able to breathe underneath the heavy weight of the old man.

  In that second, Ulrik blacked out. Later on, when trying to recall what happened, he would remember yelling something, then turning around and grabbing old Hansen’s rifle that was leaned against the wall behind the door. He would remember yelling for the old pervert to get the hell off his brother, while pointing the rifle at him. He would remember the old wrinkled body moving, the loose skin dangling,
and the face pleading and telling him he couldn’t help himself, telling him to have mercy on an old man. He would remember all that, including the look in the old man’s eyes as he fell to his knees and Ulrik yelled and screamed at him till everything exploded inside of him. He would remember that. But he wouldn’t remember firing the rifle. He wouldn’t remember Jonna screaming. He wouldn’t remember the blood spurting or the brain mass sprayed on the wall behind the old man as his face exploded. No, Ulrik wouldn’t remember the details of this event for many years afterwards, but his brothers and friends would. And they would never ever forget.

  51

  November 2014

  I WAS QUITE SHAKEN, still, when I returned to my house. The images of the old man sitting in his chair with his tongue pulled out through his neck, wouldn’t leave me. I poured myself a whiskey and sat down in the living room. Brutus was staring at me from the corner. I sighed and looked at him.

  “Is that all you do, huh?”

  I drank from my glass, then grabbed my iPad from the coffee table and googled Columbian Necktie. Apparently, it was first used during the outbreak of La Violencia, the Colombian civil war from 1948 till 1958. It was intended as a method of psychological warfare, meant to scare and terrorize. Today, it was used by drug kingpins to intimidate others.

  I took another sip of my whiskey, wondering how this could have anything to do with what was going on here on our little island.

  I never finished the thought before Morten walked in the door. I had left a message on his voicemail about what had happened. I was pretty out of it at the time, so I had probably scared the crap out of him.

  “Emma?” he yelled.

  “In the living room!” I yelled back.

  He stormed inside. “Are you alright?”

  I tilted my head from side to side, then lifted my glass. “This helps a little.”

  He relaxed a little when he saw my smile. He took off his jacket and put it on a chair, then sat down next to me on the couch. “That sounded like a bad scare. Did you say his tongue was pulled out of the wound?”