by Sara Blaedel
Camilla merely smiled.
“Is her husband still alive?” the other woman asked. Camilla shook her head, hoping that there wouldn’t be questions that might reveal how briefly she’d known Agnete Eskildsen.
“I’m sorry,” the woman said suddenly. “I never introduced myself. My name is Lone Friis. In fact, it was Nete who suggested that I apply here back when the day center was starting up. She wasn’t interested in coming back to Eliselund herself, even though a lot has changed since she was a patient care assistant here. I never really understood her aversion to the place.”
She laughed warmly.
“And I’ve been here ever since, so I really have a lot to thank my old girlfriend for.” She motioned toward the chair opposite hers by the desk. “It almost sounds like you’re doing your own private version of that TV show The Locator,” Lone Friis exclaimed after sitting down. “It’s so exciting. I hope I can help. What’s your mom’s name?”
Camilla should have seen that coming. Of course she was going to ask that. For a moment she completely blanked as she tried desperately to remember what Agnete Eskildsen had told her about the director of the place.
“She took back her maiden name after she and my father divorced,” she said, stalling for time while digging frantically for a first name. But either the former patient care assistant hadn’t mentioned it, or she hadn’t been paying attention.
Lone Friis was smiling patiently but the silence was beginning to seem strange.
“Her name is Parkov,” Camilla said, feeling relieved that her brain was working again. “Or at least it was,” she rambled on while hoping that it didn’t seem too weird for her to only know her mother by her last name.
“Bodil Parkov is your mother?” the woman asked with surprise; she appeared not to register Camilla’s hesitation. She cocked her head while looking at her guest with interest as if searching for recognizable features. Then she straightened herself up a little. “Well, not that I know her personally but she is a bit of a name around here, you know. She was the first female director of the institution.”
“And was she here until it closed?” Camilla asked.
Lone Friis hesitated. “Close to it, at least,” she said in a way that made Camilla suspect something might have happened toward the end to put her out the door before the rest of the institution staff. “It was actually only a few weeks ago that we were talking about what became of her after she left. But it shouldn’t be too hard to find out.”
“How come you were talking about her?” Camilla asked curiously, thinking that it definitely couldn’t have been in connection with Louise’s attempt to find Lisemette’s family—that was too recent.
“They’re looking to hire a new director at the Andersvænge center this fall, and someone brought up her name as a possible candidate. But it seems to me that she must be long retired by now.”
There was a quick knock at the door and Lillian walked in wearing a light windbreaker and holding a bike helmet.
“I locked both of the back rooms and canceled the fruit delivery for tomorrow,” she said while Camilla stared straight ahead.
“Great, I’ll take care of the rest then,” Lone Friis replied. “But listen to this.”
She motioned for her sullen colleague to come in.
“This is Bodil Parkov’s daughter, who has come to learn a little about her mother from back when she was the director here at Eliselund.”
Camilla tightened her grip around the armrest of the chair while she forced herself to smile and look at Lone’s colleague.
Lillian tilted her head back a little as she contemplated Camilla. “You’re Parkov’s daughter?”
“Oh, that’s right,” Lone Friis exclaimed, ignoring her colleague’s undisguised disapproval of her speaking with a stranger. “You were here back then. I completely forgot.”
Camilla winced a little as she watched her entire fabricated story fall apart.
Lone Friis got up to go see off the last children. “What can you tell Camilla about her mother? The two of them have lost touch.” Lone excused herself, leaving Lillian and Camilla alone.
“Parkov didn’t have any children,” Lillian snarled, still standing in the doorway. “That’s how she was able to spend all of her time down here and make the rest of us do the same.” She stared at Camilla. “I don’t know who you are or what you’ve come to dig up. But I can tell you one thing that I’ll stand by no matter who’s asking: A lot of people would have been better off if Bodil Parkov had never set foot at Eliselund.”
A car honked outside and they heard footsteps running down the hall. Lillian turned around and left, and Camilla wiped her clammy hands on the thin fabric of her skirt. She had stretched her made-up story too far.
She quickly got to her feet and grabbed her purse but stopped as Lillian stepped back into the doorway, blocking her way.
“Get in your car and leave. We’re not interested in people who snoop around,” she hissed.
“You knew Lise and Mette?” Camilla observed and decided to drop the story about her missing mother. “You worked here. What happened the day they died?”
Lillian turned her back to her and walked out to the courtyard where three children were throwing their bags into the trunk of the car.
“Who signed the death certificates?” Camilla called after her.
“I don’t know anything about that,” Lillian answered dismissively. She started walking off with her bike but just then, the car with the children drove up and she had to stop to let it through the gate first.
Camilla caught up to her and grabbed her arm.
“Tell me what happened. You must have talked about it.”
“Why don’t you ask Bodil Parkov? She would be the one to know.”
Lillian tore herself away and pushed off with her foot to get the bike going.
“Don’t mind Lillian,” Lone Friis said as she walked across the courtyard. “She has a hard time with people from the outside. She gave me the silent treatment all last week because I allowed the police access to our archives. She has a hard time making the distinction between personally sensitive information and common sense.”
Camilla forced herself to smile even though every fiber in her body was trembling to get going. Lone Friis did not appear to have witnessed her scene with Lillian. She had been preoccupied with getting the children sent off, Camilla thought, and started walking toward her car. There she thanked the older woman while she opened the driver’s door.
“Well, I’m afraid it wasn’t much help,” Lone Friis lamented as the wind tussled her hair. “Wasn’t your grandfather a merchant—and quite wealthy at that? At least that’s what they said that one day when we were talking. It was unusual that your mother went into service at such a young age instead of finishing school since the family had money. But maybe that was all just lunchroom gossip,” she apologized. “You can probably read about that in Krak’s Blue Book,” she offered, referring to the who’s who of Denmark. “When we were talking about her and the job at Andersvænge, someone went and looked up your mother to find out how old she is.”
“She’s in the Blue Book?” Camilla asked, now sitting in the car with her window rolled down.
Lone Friis nodded. “But Lillian is right!” she realized. “Mrs. Tønnesen also mentioned that Parkov never had any children.”
Camilla started the car just as Lone Friis took a step forward, looking at her with confusion through the rolled-down window.
She shot her a stiff smile and pushed the button to close the window.
“What did you say your name was?” Lone Friis called as Camilla started backing up.
Her heart was pounding and the dust kicked up behind the car as she sped out of the courtyard, leaving Eliselund behind in a grayish-brown fog.
28
CAMILLA SLOWED DOWN a little, her eyes darting to the rearview mirror as she drove off down the winding dirt road. Her hands were shaking with adrenaline and her pulse rushed so r
apidly that she was breathing through her mouth in sharp blows. She focused on the road and tried to take deep, calming breaths, while telling herself that it wasn’t so bad.
They had seen through her lie but what did she expect?
She realized that her fingers were hurting from gripping the steering wheel so tightly and loosened her grasp. Just then her phone started ringing in her purse, but when she spotted Lillian ahead, pulling her bicycle up a hill while talking on her cell phone, she ignored it until it stopped.
Camilla watched as Lillian turned around, spotted the car, and stepped farther into the gravel road. Sweat was dripping down her back and she had no idea why she had gotten herself into this mess. She hadn’t been looking for a story for the paper. That wouldn’t have been enough to make her lie like this, she thought, stopping as Lillian positioned herself in the middle of the road with her bike, blocking the way. It was solely to satisfy her own curiosity that she had gone to Eliselund—and to try to forget the mess she had made of things at home, of course.
It was more like her foot found the gas pedal than her brain actually initiated the action. Camilla proceeded slowly at first but then she sped up and put her hand on the horn, holding it there as the car continued to accelerate. Pebbles sprayed the roadside and Lillian bounded off the road when she realized that Camilla did not intend to stop. The woman waved her arms to get her attention, but Camilla kept her eyes on the potholes in the road and shot past her without looking in her direction. She could only glimpse her brightly colored windbreaker from the corner of her eye when her cell phone started ringing once again, and shortly after she heard the beep signaling a new voice mail.
The dirt road ended just a little farther ahead. Camilla glanced in her rearview mirror one more time before signaling and turning onto the highway. Lillian was nowhere to be seen. She hadn’t made it over the final hilltop yet. Her heart pounding and bangs sticking to her temples, Camilla yielded to a succession of cars, her eyes continuing to dart to the mirror in case Lillian’s bike helmet started coming into view.
Her cell phone started ringing again from her purse on the floor. It hadn’t taken long for Lone Friis to track her down, Camilla thought, merging onto the road when a hole opened up in the line of cars snailing along now that the workday was over for most people. She had probably called up her old girlfriend to see what Agnete Eskildsen knew about Camilla or whether their connection was pure fabrication as well.
Camilla took a deep breath, cursing herself once again for not just laying her cards on the table. This time it was a text message beeping in, and she started to wonder. The gray-haired woman was surprisingly persistent. A car honked at her when she pulled over without warning across the narrow strip of grass separating the road from the bike path. She turned off the engine and reached down for her phone.
Four missed calls and two text messages—all of them from Frederik.
The first message read: Come to the Hotel Prindsen ASAP; the second message merely said: Let the front desk know when you arrive.
Camilla stared at her phone, re-reading both messages. Then she closed her eyes.
She would have preferred to have all of Eliselund hot on her heels than to receive just one of Frederik’s messages.
At a hotel, she thought, feeling the adrenaline drain suddenly from her body and leave her listless. Not even at home.
“Let the front desk know when you arrive!”
She snorted and signaled back into the road. It was as if he were summoning her to a business meeting. But then it occurred to her that this might be exactly the case. Everything had been quiet since she left their home and now he wanted to convene in a neutral location in town.
Her heart felt heavy and she cursed her temper even more. She blinked a few times as tears started welling up, blurring her vision. Her phone rang again and she answered without checking the display.
“Yes,” she answered, clearing her throat as her voice cracked.
“Hello, this is Lone Friis. You were just down here at Eliselund.”
“Yes,” Camilla repeated. “That’s correct, and it’s also true that Parkov isn’t my mom. I made up that story to find out who was the director of the place when it closed down.” The words came tumbling out. “I want to find her to ask how someone could have signed a death certificate for a person who isn’t dead. And why…”
She fell silent, her voice faltering as she looked in the direction of the riding academy located just before the town of Osted. One of her girlfriends once had a horse down there.
“I just wanted to say that you forgot your sweater.”
Camilla was barely listening. Now she had admitted to her story, and lying hadn’t done her one damn bit of good. Lone Friis had every right to be angry.
It was the older woman’s turn to clear her throat. “It wasn’t your mother… or Bodil Parkov,” she corrected herself. “I just went and checked. She quit and left at the end of February the same year that Eliselund closed down, but at that time the deputy director had taken over the management.”
Camilla was now fully attentive once again and looked around for a place to pull over. She knew there would be a bus stop a little way ahead. This time she signaled well in advance.
“I got out the old registers. We don’t use those anymore, of course, but they’re still stored in the old superintendent’s office. I got curious after you ran off like that. I heard what you said to Lillian and of course I can put two and two together since the police came down here as well, asking about the same girls.”
“What did it say?” Camilla interrupted her, staring at the dashboard of the car without really seeing it.
“It says that the sisters died from pneumonia. They were admitted for three days before they passed away, and were under the care of the same doctor who later signed the death certificates.”
“What was his name?”
“Hmmm…” It sounded like Lone Friis was reading. “Dr. Ernst Holsted.”
“How is it possible that nobody reacted to their deaths coming so close together?” Camilla asked.
“It would appear that the doctor didn’t quite live up to his responsibilities. From what it says here, it looks like he didn’t attend to his two patients as often as he should have considering the fatal development of the situation for the girls.”
“But the girls didn’t die,” Camilla insisted—or at least one of them didn’t, she thought. “So how did the death certificates get issued?”
“That does sound very strange,” Lone Friis conceded.
“I suppose it’s possible that nobody at Eliselund proceeded any further because someone was trying to protect themselves against accusations of medical malpractice and subsequent lawsuits. Maybe the former consultant doctor can offer you an explanation.”
I’ll definitely see what he has to say, Camilla decided. She inquired curiously to how Lone Friis had been able to track down her number.
“You had some business cards in the pocket of your sweater so it wasn’t really that difficult.” Then she asked Camilla to refrain from mentioning that the source of her information was the old register.
“Of course,” Camilla promised and thanked Lone Friis for her offer to mail the sweater back to her.
SHE WAS JUST about to put her cell phone down when Markus called.
“Hi, honey!” she said.
“Mom, can you come get me from August’s house? I’m too tired to walk home and Frederik isn’t answering his phone.”
“Aren’t you with Dad?”
“No, I didn’t want to go there after school so I went home with August.”
Markus hadn’t bothered to say hi or ask how she’d been these past few days. He just expected her to be at his disposal when he needed her, and that infuriated Camilla.
“No way. You’re old enough to walk the two miles to get home,” she answered briefly and turned off her phone.
Markus had always had the chores she deemed necessary for him to build a sense
of responsibility, but since they had been living at the manor house, he tended to just forget things. And maybe she did, too, she thought as she drove through Osted. Maybe that’s why she lost her touch… and her focus.
Something inside her had gone missing lately, something that used to be important to her. She felt terribly lost and disconnected. As the small-town scenery rolled by outside, she realized that she needed to find herself again. To reignite her passion; to relocate her personal touch. If not, she feared she’d wither away.
Come to think of it, that was probably why she’d gotten so out of hand at Eliselund. Apparently she needed a story to devote herself to if she was to stand being around herself.
It was another six miles to Roskilde when she called her old executive editor, Terkel Høyer, at the morning paper to find out why he had contacted her. He picked up on the second ring and apparently he still had her number in his phone.
“Hey, Lind!”
“You called me?”
“Well, yeah—but that was just to remind you that you still need to turn in your key card to the front gate.”
“I need to get back to work,” Camilla said. “Please let me know if you’ve got something for me. I miss writing. Freelance would be fine, too.”
“I don’t suppose you need the money,” he teased in a snide tone that she hadn’t heard from him before. Maybe she had made a mistake in calling. And she certainly wasn’t going to say that she may end up needing the money now more than ever if she was going to have to support herself and Markus on an unstable freelancer’s pay.
“Just give me a call if you need something,” she said, already on the retreat. “And I’ll be in touch if I think of any ideas that might be interesting to you.”
“All right, that’s settled then,” Høyer said, sounding pleased. He hadn’t promised anything. Camilla recognized his rejection. She had heard him say the same thing to scores of freelance journalists trying to sell their stories. “That’s settled then,” he would always say, and then that was the last of it.