by Willow Rose
"Are you sure? I still have a few minutes left."
"Just go. I’m fine. I want to do this."
Svend hesitated. Then he got up. "As you wish," he said.
He grabbed his backpack from the floor and swung it over his shoulder. "See you next Sunday, then?"
Fat Linda nodded and Svend left her in the bathtub. She felt at once humiliated and liberated. It had to stop now; she thought and stared down at her body. The bubbles were gone and now she saw the brutal reality of her own oversized flesh. It was time for a change. It was now or never.
Fat Linda closed her eyes one last time before she would try and get out of the tub on her own. She was gathering her strength thinking about herself losing all that weight and being able to do even ordinary things like go for a walk or maybe even ride on her bike again? She opened her eyes and smiled at the thought. Could she have a normal life again? Was it possible? Had she suffered long enough to finally be forgiven?
Maybe she had, she thought as her eyes glanced upon someone standing in the bathroom. A woman, dressed in a sparkling blue evening gown. Fat Linda's heart dropped. Those eyes, she thought to herself. She had seen them before. She had seen them in that operating room staring at her. Those were the eyes she had tried so hard to forget all of those years.
When the woman came closer and lifted the scalpel Fat Linda suddenly remembered everything. She relived it like a flash in her mind. The pain, the torment of knowing.
She also knew that she was going to die.
"I know why you're here," Fat Linda whispered with a shivering voice. Then she felt the sensation of plastic from the gloves around her neck holding her down while the scalpel came closer to her eyes.
Blood soon colored the bathwater and not long after Fat Linda finally reached her goal of twenty years. She became numb and would never feel anything again.
CHAPTER 21
ABDUL HUSSEIN HATED TO deliver pizzas. He hated everything about it. The driving around on his small scooter with all the stickers advertising "Pizza Mamma Mia", the stench from the boxes that was always in his clothes and hair, the customers who were always dissatisfied and thought he was too late, too slow and too stupid. The remarks, the scolding and yelling, the old women trying to seduce him. He loathed everything about it. He especially hated his father for forcing him to work every day after school and every weekend when Abdul would much rather hang out with his friends and go to the arcade or look at girls at the marina. Abdul really wanted a life like all of his Danish friends, but his father never understood that.
"When I was your age I worked at my dad's farm every day. I didn't even have the privilege of going to school," he said.
Abdul wanted to tell him that that was in another time in another country. A country Abdul felt in no way connected to anymore not since they fled and moved to Denmark to begin a new life in this cold but secure part of the world. Times change, he wanted to tell him. But how could he? After all his father had gone through to create a new life for them here? He gave up being a doctor for the safety of his family and moved to this country where his papers and diplomas were worth nothing, a country that had kept them in a camp for seven years before they had given them permission to finally move into their own apartment. His father who opened a pizzeria and worked all hours of the day to support his family. How could Abdul say no to him when he asked him for a little help every afternoon? Abdul would never do that. Delivering pizzas was something he had to do even if his Danish friends didn't understand. They told him to just say no to his father and come with them to drink beer in the marina or behind the Youth Club and then trash the place later when they were wasted enough.
Abdul had obligations. He had a family that depended on him. He couldn't let them down like that. Even if he sometimes wanted to.
Abdul Hussein thought about just taking off sometimes when he drove on his scooter with the stinking pizzas on the back. He was considering the possibility again on this day when he rode through the darkness while the cold rain hit his face. He could just keep going. They wouldn't know until later tonight when they realized that he hadn't returned. They would be worried, of course, especially his mother. They would call him on his cell phone but he wouldn't pick it up. Maybe he would even throw it away so they couldn't track him down. Then he would just keep going. Out of Karrebaeksminde, out on the long lonely roads leading to the vast country with only fields and cows and a farm now and then. He would keep going to see how far his scooter could take him. He could sleep in a barn and then just go on from there. Walk, when he ran out of gas. Just keep going. Where to, he didn't care. Just away from here. Away from this small town, away from his parents, away from the work, away from school where they always treated him like an imbecile even though he was better than most kids at math, the teachers just assumed he didn't understand because he had an accent when he spoke. All he wanted was to get away - and to never see a pizza again.
Abdul Hussein laughed as he turned the scooter into a small community of townhouses that the city had build for elderly and severely handicapped people. They were cheap houses to live in because the city paid some of the rent, someone had told Abdul once. He didn't understand where the Danish government got all the money from to take such good care of its citizens but he did know that the houses were much nicer than anything he had ever seen in his home country Syria and he also knew that he wouldn't mind living there and having the city pay some of his rent. But it was only for disabled or old people, he had been told.
Abdul came there a lot since he had a pretty steady costumer who sometimes ordered in several times a day. From what he knew about her she was neither old nor disabled. In Abdul Hussein's old country they would have simply called her lazy. All he knew about her was that she sat all day and just ate in her big chair in the living room. She didn't even care to get up when he arrived any more. She just left the door unlocked so he could go right in. He always knocked first though. He was scared to death of one day finding her naked.
Abdul Hussein took the two pizzas she had ordered and brought them to the door. Then he knocked just before he opened the door.
"Miss Linda?" he said and went in even if she didn't answer. Probably just asleep, he thought and put the pizzas on the table next to her recliner. He turned and was just about to walk out, when he saw the water red as blood leaking from under the door to the bathroom. Abdul Hussein's heart started racing as he walked closer and pushed the door open.
Abdul Hussein really hated delivering pizza for all kinds of reasons but what he saw on the other side of the door made him realize that he was never going to be able to deliver another one again.
CHAPTER 22
"I WANT TO FIND that medical historian and talk to him," I said. "I really think there is a huge story hidden in this somewhere."
It was still Sunday evening and I was arguing with my editor Jens-Ole on the phone. He wanted me to keep on the lobotomy murder case the next couple of days and try and find Brian Poulsen and talk to him instead.
"I know it’s not easy, but think about it," he said. "Think if we could get an eye-witness description of what he saw in the shower at the club."
"But the police are looking for him too and they don't seem to be able to track him down so how do you suppose I should do that?" I said.
"I don't know, honey. That's why I pay you those big bucks to be my star reporter," he said.
"But I really want to pursue this other lead I have. Dr. Irene Hoeg is hiding something. There was something she was withholding for me, I could tell. I want to know what made him take back the book."
"Maybe it was a hoax. What do we care? It's just a man with a stupid book. I need something slightly more alive, something people can relate to, people in our area."
"I know, but I just think that there is something bigger there. I can't say what it is, it's just a feeling," I said.
"I'm sorry," Jens-Ole said. "A feeling doesn't sell newspapers. Nor does it give me an article I can put on t
he front page. I can't have you waste time on this. What about finding the first guy, the one who found Susanne Larsen's body? That should be easier."
I exhaled. "All right. I'll come up with something for you."
"Great. Can't wait to see it."
Jens-Ole hung up. I looked at Sune. He was messing around in Brian Poulsen's computer. So far he hadn't found anything connecting him to Susanne Larsen. No visits to S&M sex-pages or chats with strangers. Not so far. I still wanted Sune to continue. If there was something in there we could use, I wanted to be the first to know. I turned my head and stared at Sara who was typing on her keyboard with her headset on listening in on the police scanner. It seemed to be quiet. Sara always worked Sunday evening since it was her busiest time of the week. She was responsible for the personal stuff in the paper, like obituaries and so on and on Mondays there was always more of that stuff in the paper. She looked busy.
"What?" she asked when she noticed I was looking at her.
"Could you help me out?"
She took off the headset. "Sure." She pushed the pile of letters from people wanting their stuff in the paper aside. "I'm almost done anyway."
I smiled. She was beginning to enjoy being a part of the investigating team, helping me with the research, I could tell. "I want you to find a man for me. It doesn't have to be right now, though. It can wait till the morning if you're busy with your other stuff."
"What kind of man?"
I wrote a name on a yellow note and handed it to her. She read it. "Mogens Holst?"
"He is a medical historian. He wrote a book two years ago stating that there had been cases of use of lobotomy in this country up until 1993. He later withdrew the book and his statements in it. Since then no one has heard from him. I can't find anything about him anywhere. I want to find him and talk to him. Let him know that I am on his side, when you get in contact with him."
"You seem pretty sure that I can find him?" she asked.
"I know you will, I said and sat behind my desk again. I glanced at Sara who didn't seem the least bit discouraged by her task. I was lucky to have her, I thought. She had to be the best researcher I had encountered even when I worked for the big national newspapers where they had loads of researchers working for them. None of them could do what Sara could. She could find anybody.
I grabbed the phone and called Astrupgaard Inn. I knew from the police report that the body of Susanne Larsen had been found by someone cleaning the room. All I needed now was to know who did their cleaning.
"I'm sorry. But we cannot give that kind of information out to journalists," the man answering said unfortunately. "I made the mistake of doing it once and I'm not going to do that again. It almost cost me my job."
"Let me guess, the Express?" I said and threw my pen on the desk.
"How did you know?" the man asked.
"Occupational hazard I guess."
I hung up. I leaned back in my chair with my arms behind my neck. It felt sore. I hadn't slept well the night before. Julie had climbed into my bed crying because she missed Tobias terribly and now she had dreamt that he was killed by that stupid killer that everybody was talking about in the news.
"Don't watch the news anymore," I had whispered. Then I had hugged her until she fell asleep. The rest of the night we had shared a pillow with the end result of a severe pain in my neck that just wouldn't go away.
I lifted my head and realized that Sune was staring at me. His eyes dropped when I looked up. I had to find a way to get him to stop longing for me somehow. It was destroying us both. I had to make it final somehow that we were never going to be together no matter what happened. There was only one way that could happen. I had to find another man.
"This Brian-guy seems to be pretty boring and pretty ordinary," Sune said. "He likes to play computer games, and it seems that the bloodier the better, but that's about all I could find. No girlfriends or secret lovers on the chat. He did watch a lot of porn, though, but that's hardly illegal."
"Some of it is. But why would he protect his computer like this if he didn't have anything to hide? Why would he run from the police?" I said. "I think he is hiding something. So keep looking."
"Okay. You're the boss."
I burst into laughter while I went for coffee in the kitchen. I brought back coffee and cake for everybody. Sara had brought a homemade cinnamon stick which was among my favorites and even if I already had a piece earlier that evening I just had to have one more. Since I hated eating alone I brought cake for everybody.
Sune smiled when I placed his in front of him. Cinnamon was among his favorites too. But that wasn't why he was smiling. "I think I might have something," he said.
"Yes?" I walked behind him and looked at the screen. A series of pictures was in front of me. "What am I looking at?"
"Ultimate violence," Sune said. "These are all thumbnails from videos that the boring Brian Poulsen has made. This is what he tried to hide from the police. This is why he’s run away. He knew that when the police found these videos they would arrest him. And they will. They'll suspect him for murdering Anders Hoejmark and they'll nail him for making these and selling them on the Internet to the entire world."
"But what are they?"
"Videos of him beating up homeless people too drunk or too weak to defend themselves. Look," he said and started a video.
The camera was swinging from side to side, shaking, there were muffled voices, feet were kicking, hitting some poor defenseless man, a baseball bat was swinging and a deep moaning from someone too weak to speak filled the room.
I felt disgusted. "I don't want to watch that," I said. "Please shut it off."
Sune stopped it. Then he found some documents. "Look he even wrote stories about it. He details how they screamed for help. Quite a creative boy. He published them on the Internet on his web-page and people downloaded them for ninety-nine cents. He made quite a lot of money from it."
"That's disgusting," I said. "Do you think he killed Susanne Larsen and Anders Hoejmark?"
"I don't know," Sune said. "But he is one sick bastard that's for sure."
I exhaled and went back toward my own desk. Maybe it was about time to go home to my family; I thought when I suddenly noticed that Sara was frozen. She was wearing her headset, her body completely stiff and her eyes stared into thin air with an empty look in them. I swallowed hard. I knew exactly what that meant. I turned and looked at Sune. He had seen it too. His eyes wore the same frightened look as mine.
"Let's get ready," he said and grabbed his camera. "I'll start the car while you get the details."
CHAPTER 23
THEY WERE STILL PUTTING up crime tape when we arrived at the scene. Three police cars were parked in front of the building. I looked for the blue van from the Forensic department but couldn't see it anywhere. We were early. An officer was talking to a young boy in a baseball cap, clearly taking his statement for the report. The boy was crying and kept covering his face with his hands.
Sune started taking pictures of the scene. I spotted Johannes Lindstroem inside the townhouse. It was pitch dark outside and the light from all the police cars were reflected in the windows of the neighbors. A small crowd of curious people was gathered not far from me. Most of them were elderly people, some walked with great difficulty with a walker others sat in wheelchairs. They were shaking their heads, whispering. They were clearly shocked and scared. This was a quiet neighborhood; this was a place where the residents normally felt safe. This was a place for those who were old but could still take care of most things themselves, and only needed someone to help every once in a while. This was better than a nursing home because the residents still had their own house, but it was a protected environment. They weren't alone. This was a safe place to be. Until now.
Sune's flash lit up the night every now and then. I walked toward the crowd to take some statements when I realized that there was more than one camera flash in the night. I turned and spotted Christian Lonstedt. He too was busy
getting the best shot for the front page. I had never worked both as the journalist and photographer but wondered how he got both done. I sure didn't hope that was the future for journalists. I liked being a team, I liked working with someone, I liked having someone to talk to about the story, someone who could also contribute with his take on it, and I liked having a companion. I liked Sune.
Johannes Lindstroem exited the front door of the house. I looked at Christian. He didn't seem to see the police officer, so I hurried up and ran toward him.
"Officer Lindstroem," I said.
He turned and looked at me. "You again," he said. He smiled gently.
"What are we looking at here? Who's the victim?"
"Her name is Linda Nielsen. She was forty-six. Leaves no family behind," he said.
"Forty-six? But I thought these townhouses were supposed to be for elderly people?"
"Mostly they are. But also handicapped and people severely disabled."
"Was she handicapped or disabled?"
Johannes Lindstroem sighed deeply. "In a way she was, yes."
"How so?"
"She was big. Too big to be able to take care of herself. So the city put her here," he said. "The poor woman could hardly move on her own."
"She was so big it disabled her?" I swallowed hard. That sounded like such a waste of life.
"Yes."
"So how was she killed?" I asked. I looked into the brown eyes of Johannes Lindstroem. He didn't have to answer.
"The same," he groaned.
"Was it in the shower like the others?"
"Bathtub, but yes. Circumstances were the same. Exactly the same."
I swallowed again. He didn't have to go into details. She had been lobotomized just like the two others. Like Susanne Larsen and Anders Hoejmark.
Johannes Lindstroem's eyes seemed pensive. "I don't think I've ever encountered anything this cruel in my professional career in the force," he said. His voice was thick. This case was getting to him. It scared me to see him like that. He was the only one who could never lose it. He had to stay stable for the rest of us. If he lost it panic would surely erupt. I stared at him, waiting for him to get it together again. It was creeping me out. This whole case was.