There's no place like HOME (Emma Frost Book 8)

by Willow Rose

  I photographed it, then the other young women as well. I turned to face the TV, and walked a little in the other direction, while Sophia figured out the right response. I knew I had to act fast. We were running out of time, and his patience. He seemed angry with us now.

  “So, tell me, Miss Bo, can you explain to me why people picking fake names always make them sound either too phony or too common?”

  I swallowed hard, and then took a couple more photos.

  “I guess you know which category you and your little friend with the wig here belong to,” he continued.

  My jaw almost dropped. I looked at Sophia. Who had we been kidding? Well, not him, that was for sure. He had been on to us from the beginning. To our luck, at that same moment, the woman from the many articles I had read, his wife, who married him while he was still in prison, walked into the room. She wasn’t very pretty. I remember thinking the same thing when looking at the pictures of her. And Steffen Carlsen was, undeniably, a good-looking guy…if you liked men with long hair and beards. But there was something about him that made me understand why women fell for him. He had a charm, a powerful way of owning the room. I could never fall for a chauvinistic self-indulged pig like him, but I knew lots of women who could.

  The woman entering the room seemed bigger, though, than the one I had seen in the papers. She had grown wider, more muscular. She actually came off a little manly to me.

  “Louise!” Steffen exclaimed.

  “Sorry,” she said. “I didn’t know you had company. I was just on my way to Cross Fitness.”

  Louise looked at us like she wanted her husband to present us. He didn’t bother.

  “They were just leaving,” he said.

  59

  August 2014

  SHE WATCHED THE two women get into their car and leave. Then, she pulled the curtain to cover up the window.

  “Who were those two women, Bjarke?” she asked, as she walked back into the living room. She still called him by his birth-name. That was the name of the man she had loved and married, and he could change it all he wanted to, but to her, he would always be the same.

  Bjarke didn’t answer, so she walked closer. “What did they want?” Louise could hear her voice shiver slightly. She still couldn’t get used to all the women he brought home from time to time. She couldn’t control her jealousy, even though it happened almost every week.

  “Tell me, Bjarke. Who were they?” She grabbed his shoulder to make him look at her, but she shouldn’t have done that.

  As usual, it happened so fast she didn’t see it coming. He hit her so hard, she flew across the room and landed on a dining room chair. Her face was burning, and she couldn’t get up right away.

  “Could you just stop talking for one moment, woman, and let a man think!” he yelled.

  He always said things like that. He always told her to stay out of his affairs…to never ask questions. He would tell her she drove him to hit her. It was all her fault. Louise had picked up Cross Fitness, and had gotten stronger over the years, in the hope of being able to defend herself against his anger that she felt from the very first day he came to her apartment when he was released from prison. She had worked on building her muscles for years, but he was still stronger than she was.

  “Please…please, don’t…” she said, while watching him walk closer to her.

  “Don’t what?” he growled.

  “Don’t hurt me again. I won’t ask any more questions. I promise.”

  A series of blows rained down on her. Louise screamed. He grabbed her by the hair and pulled her up. Then he whispered, “You know you can scream all you want. No one will hear you. The farm is empty. We’re in the middle of nowhere.”

  “I’m sorry, Bjarke,” she pleaded. “I won’t say any more. I won’t even scream. Just let go of me. Just…”

  Bjarke suddenly laughed. “You’re not fooling me. I know you like it,” he said. “You like the pain just as much as I like to see you in pain.”

  He was getting aroused now. His sex organ was getting hard.

  “No…no…Bjarke…”

  He pulled her by the hair through the kitchen and down the stairs to the basement. She knew what would happen next.

  “Please…not today, Bjarke. I promise I’ll be good. I promise.”

  He flipped a switch and turned on the light. Louise hated this place more than anywhere in the world. Chains hung from the ceilings, and she remembered the time he had left her there for three days, only coming down to whip her every now and then and have sex with her while her arms were hurting from the chains. He had placed a sex-swing in there that he placed her in every time he felt like it. There were ropes, shackles, straitjackets, cuffs, and worst of all; the bondage wheel that he was now strapping her onto.

  “Please don’t, Bjarke. I’ll be good. I promise.”

  “Oh, you’ll be good. I’ll make sure of it,” he said, and slapped her across the face as soon as she was strapped to the steel wheel.

  Then, he reached over to the crafting table and grabbed the shoes. He put them on her feet, then grabbed the wheel and spun it. He stopped her as she was turning upside down, then forced his sex organ into her mouth. He pressed himself deep into her throat, till she could hardly breathe, while he looked at the shoes and screamed out into the room, “Oh, Auntie Em! There’s no place like home!”

  60

  August 2014

  “IT IS HIM and I can prove it!”

  Sophia had hardly managed to knock on my door before I pulled it open and dragged her inside. It was the day after we visited the farm, and Sophia had been at work at the school for a couple of hours.

  “What?” she asked, surprised.

  We went to the living room, where my computer was on the coffee table, the camera next to it.

  “I’ve been going through the pictures all morning, and you won’t believe what I found,” I said.

  We sat down, and I found the pictures. “I knew it was him when I laid my eyes on him, and now we have this to ring him up on.” I opened two pictures and let her look.

  “What am I looking at here?” Sophia asked. “She’s a very pretty young woman, but…?”

  “Don’t you recognize her? It’s Camilla Hermansen. Well, you’ve only seen her half dead, lying on the bed. Plus, it’s at least five years old. She’s a teenager.”

  “So, Jesper Melander, or Steffen Carlsen, or whatever his name is, knew her!” Sophia said.

  “Yes, he did. I believe the wall is a wall of conquests he has made over the years. Girls he has been with.”

  “They are awfully lightly dressed,” Sophia said.

  “If you look at them, you’ll see that some of them have whips in their hands and leather straps around their necks,” I said, and showed her some of the pictures.

  Sophia looked appalled.

  “It would be like him to have a wall like that to brag about all his conquests,” Sophia said. “I feel bad for that wife of his. Having to look at that every day. What a life.”

  I shrugged. “She chose it. She knew she married a psychopath. I’m more worried that he might kill her.”

  “So, now we know he knew one of the girls, what else?” she asked.

  I clicked on another picture from the folder. “I had to zoom in a lot, but here it is. Look what movie he watched recently.”

  Sophia studied the picture, showing an open DVD box. “The Wizard of Oz.”

  “Who owns that if they don’t have any children?” I asked.

  Sophia nodded pensively. “Only someone truly obsessed with the movie, I guess.”

  “Like our killer. Add those two things to the drawing, and the fact that I’m certain I saw him, I think there’s at least enough to take him in for further questioning.”

  Sophia gave me a high-five. “Guess it’s time to call Morten, then.”

  I paused. Sophia saw it. She could tell by my face that I was having trouble calling him.

  “You want me to do it?” she asked.


  I didn’t know. On the one hand, it would be great if I didn’t have to call him; I would like to save myself the embarrassment. I was still licking my wounds, trying to get over him. The last thing I needed right now was to have him back in my life, even if it was to nail a killer. On the other hand, he would know I had made Sophia call; she would have to tell him that I was a part of it all, and he would only think it was strange that I didn’t call myself. He might even get hurt or think I was a baby for acting like this.

  “I think I’d better do it myself,” I said, and grabbed the phone. “But thanks.”

  “No problem. Good luck.”

  I called his cellphone, but he didn’t answer. It made me angry. He always answered his phone. He was probably screening his calls. It could only be because he didn’t want to talk to me. Who was being the baby now, huh?

  I called the police station instead, and Morten picked up.

  “This is Emma. This is not a private call. I have something for you,” I said, leaving no room for him to talk. “Two things. First, Jesper Melander, who now calls himself Steffen Carlsen, knew Camilla Hermansen. He has her picture on his wall in his living room. Second, he has The Wizard of Oz on DVD, and has been watching it recently. The empty cover was right next to his TV. Plus, I have now been face-to-face with him, and there’s no doubt it was him I saw from the window as he jumped into a small red car. I will even agree to testify to that if you need it.”

  “I know, Emma. I know all of what you just told me.”

  “What?”

  “We brought him in this morning. The hair found at the scene of crime matched his. He’s going in for a lot of years. It’s over, Emma. We got him.”

  61

  August 2014

  SO, THEY HAD finally nailed the bastard. I felt a glimpse of satisfaction, knowing he was behind bars and about to be put away for many years. There was something so deeply gratifying about this fact.

  He was going to get what he deserved. Finally.

  For a couple of days, I managed to let go of the case and take care of my family. I was licking my wounds too, after the break-up with Morten, but the more time that passed, the more I became certain it had been the right thing to do. I couldn’t stay in a relationship where I was third wheel. I simply couldn’t. I missed Morten every day, and especially at night, but I stood by my decision. It had to be this way.

  Three days after the arrest, I invited my parents over for dinner and spent time with the people who mattered the most to me. My family.

  Just as we had eaten the main course and my dad and I both leaned back in our chairs and opened the top button of our jeans, my phone rang.

  A woman presented herself. “My name is Dina Wangede. I’m an attorney. I represent Steffen Carlsen.”

  My eyes grew wide. What was this? Why was she calling me, of all people? If anything, I was only going to testify against him. I had no business talking to anyone who wanted to defend the bastard.

  “Okay,” I said, shaking my head in disbelief. “What can I do for you?”

  “He wants to see you.”

  I burst into laughter. “Like that’s ever going to happen.”

  “He said it was very urgent. He asked me to beg if I had to. He believes he has something important to tell you.”

  I shook my head with a grimace. Who did this bastard think he was? Why would I want to visit him?

  “Oh, yeah. And what might that be?” I asked.

  “He wouldn’t tell me, but he said to tell you that he would give you exclusive rights to tell his story.”

  I paused. This just got interesting. “Tell his story, huh? And he’ll let me interview him and get all the details? I mean everything? He’ll tell me everything, and be completely honest with me?”

  “Yes. That’s what he said. It’s quite the deal, Mrs. Frost.”

  “Tell him I’ll stop by tomorrow.”

  I hung up with a smile across my lips. It wasn’t the prospect of having to spend time with this asshole again, but the thought of being the one to finally tell his story, the real deal, which excited me immensely.

  It was going to be a story everybody would want to read.

  “Good news?” my dad asked with a deep sigh. He was holding my mother’s hand. They were still like newlyweds. It was kind of cute, I guess. Gave me hope that it was never too late.

  “Yes,” I said. “Very good news, indeed. I feel a new book might be coming up soon.”

  “That’s excellent, Emma,” my mom said. “Gotta keep writing them, so people don’t forget you.”

  I stared at her. What was that supposed to mean? I had written so many books the last couple of years. Was she implying that I wasn’t working hard enough? I knew I was behind with the book that was supposed to be published this fall, but there was still time. I worked hard when I needed to.

  I shook the thought. This was not the time to start arguing with her. I was way too happy for that. If I landed this story, my editor would be ecstatic. Several journalists over the years had tried to tell the story of Bjarke Lund, the country’s biggest psychopath. I mean, with the latest killings, he could go down in the history books as the sickest killer in Danish history. If only I could get him to talk about the other killings that he was acquitted for too. I mean, even if he was cleared of all of those killings, I had to assume that he had done those as well, right? I had to assume he stood behind his mother’s death, his ex-girlfriend’s, and her sons’ deaths. I would have to make sure it was mentioned in the contract that he had to talk about all of that as well, and be completely honest.

  If I succeeded with this, it was going to be big. Like, really big.

  62

  August 2014

  “I’M INNOCENT.”

  The sentence hit me like a blow in the stomach. Was that why he had asked me to come? So he could keep claiming his innocence? I stared at him with an open mouth. I couldn’t believe it. I had taken the ferry to the mainland to visit the guy in prison because he had promised me his story, and this was the first thing he said to me when I sat down across from him?

  “I’m sorry, what?”

  This wasn’t at all what I had expected to hear. He wasn’t at all the person I had expected. I had thought he would show just some small portion of humility, but he was still wearing that confident and condescending look in his eyes. Like the fact that I was a woman made me somehow automatically inferior to him. It pissed me off, to put it mildly. His entire attitude made me resent him even more.

  “I was framed,” he continued.

  Oh, my God. He continues!

  I leaned in over the table between us. “Listen, buddy. I was promised your story. I’m not writing a book about a guy claiming he’s innocent, ‘cause the prisons are filled with them. I thought you were ready to tell the truth…the honest truth.”

  Steffen Carlsen slammed his handcuffed fists onto the table. “Goddammit! Why won’t anyone ever listen?”

  I exhaled. “Come on! You’re claiming you were framed? How do you explain the picture of one of the victims in your living room? How do you explain the fact that I saw you there on the night you killed that couple in Sonderho? How do you explain the hair they found? The red slippers, the movie next to your TV? I mean, you painted your face green like the Wicked Witch of the West during an interview, for Christ’s sake. You’re obviously obsessed with The Wizard of Oz. You like to dress the dead women in the ruby slippers, for some strange sick reason. The way I see it, there really is no way anyone will believe your innocence.”

  Steffen Carlsen’s smile had disappeared. His eyes were flickering. He was slowly realizing the seriousness of the situation. “But I am! I am innocent. I didn’t kill any of these people. I need you to help me prove it. No one will believe me. Not even my own attorney.”

  My blood was boiling. I couldn’t believe the nerve that this guy had. Did he really think I was that stupid?

  “Well, maybe that’s because you have the words guilty written al
l over your face. Everything points to you. Even the drawing made by the one victim that survived. There really isn’t much anyone can do for you anymore. It’s over. Finished. You’re done.”

  Steffen Carlsen looked intensely into my eyes. He looked scared. I saw deep fear in them. “I can’t go back to prison again. I just can’t. It’s just like the other times. People want me convicted, and there’s nothing I can do about it. I swear to you, Emma, I didn’t kill anyone. I never killed anyone. I might have been a bastard for most of my time on this earth, but take someone’s life, I could never do. I swear on everything dear to me; I could never do such a thing. Never. Can’t you see how easy it would be for someone to plant that hair at the scene of crime? I did an interview many years ago, painted as the Wicked Witch; I do love The Wizard of Oz, it’s one of my all-time favorite movies, and I’ve never tried to hide that. Everyone knows it. Anyone who knows me, knows it. Even people who don’t know me. It would be so easy to make it look like it was me who did this. And the girl from my wall? Everyone who has ever been to my house has seen that picture. I bring all of my classes inside to look at the wall. To tell them they could have a life as great as mine. That if they belived in the power of their cock, they could conquer as many women as I have.”

  “But, I saw you,” I snapped at him. I couldn’t believe how much this guy was annoying me right now. The power of their cock? Who said a thing like that? “I saw you there. You looked at me from the red car. Standing under the streetlights, I saw your face.”

  “Did you? Or did you see someone dressed like me? You dressed up when you came to my home the other day. It would be very easy to wear a wig with a ponytail and a leather vest like I usually wear when I’m in public. Wouldn’t it?”