by Willow Rose
“You must be Sune,” I said when I approached him.
He didn’t look down at me, just kept on taking pictures non-stop.
“Mmm …”
“I’m Rebekka Franck. Did you see anything yet?”
“Nope.”
“Has the body been taken out yet?”
“Nope.”
Great, I thought. Then there was a chance we could get a picture of the covered body on the way into the ambulance. That was always a good shot for an article of this kind.
“Don’t you think it’s weird, since the body was found at six o’clock this morning?” Sune asked me.
Now that he said it, I did. It was three in the afternoon. Weren’t they in a hurry to get the body to the lab right away and find the cause of death?
“Yeah, what does that mean?”
“That the body has been hard to get out. Maybe it was lying under something or was tied to something.”
I nodded. This guy knew how to use his head. Not many could do that these days without getting hurt.
“Sounds likely.”
“It must at least be a messy crime scene since it has taken them so long. There are a lot of people in there.”
I nodded again. This guy had been at a crime scene before. And it probably wasn’t here in Karrebaeksminde where he got that kind of experience.
“You’re not from around here, are you?” I asked.
“Nope.”
”Copenhagen?”
”Christiania. Have been and always will be a Christianite.”
Ah, a free spirit from Christiania. Also known as “fristaden,” the free-state. It was an area in Copenhagen that had around a thousand inhabitants. They lived by what they liked to call a collectivistic anarchy. Some called it a socialist anarchy. It meant that everybody living there got to take part in all the decisions. To the Christianites, as they called themselves, it meant they were different from the rest of the society and that they lived by their own rules. To the rest of the world it meant that this was a place you could go and buy pot on the streets of Christiania where they sold it out in the open even if it was illegal in the rest of the country. They were a state within the state that the police didn’t touch. They even had their own flag, red with three yellow dots. Today things had changed though. The liberal government had sent in the police and tried to fight the illegal drug trade, and they wanted to remove all the houses that the Christianites had build themselves.
My guess was that Sune wasn’t too thrilled about the police in general. I guessed right.
I kept a close eye on the activities behind the crime-scene tape and soon I spotted the detective who seemed to be in charge. He came out of the house and headed towards one of the police cars, and I yelled at him.
“Excuse me. Rebekka Franck, reporter at Zeeland Times.”
He stopped and stared at me. He then approached.
“Rebekka Franck?”
“Yes.”
Surprisingly he smiled at me.
“You don’t remember me?”
I really didn’t but wouldn’t disappoint him. Besides, I really needed his comment for my article.
“Well, of course I do,” I lied.
“Michael Oestergaard. You used to take dancing lessons at my aunt’s dance studio. Jazz ballet.”
“Miss Lejrskov’s class. Michael. Oh yes, I do remember.”
I really still didn’t, but I remembered my dance teacher. Michael looked to be at least eight or nine years older than me. How could I have remembered him?
“Exactly. I used to hang out there with my brother and look at all the pretty girls. So you are a big-shot reporter now? I must admit I have been following your career. It has brought you around the world?”
“Sort of.”
“And now it has brought you to Karrebaeksminde. I heard from the old Miss Jensen in the tourist-information-desk down on Gl. Brovej that you had come back.”
“And she was right.”
That woman did a little more than informing the tourists around here.
“So you work for the newspaper down here now?”
“Yes, I do.”
“And you probably want a comment for your article?”
“I would love that.” I was stunned. I couldn’t believe his courtesy. Normally I wouldn’t get a single word out of the police until they had a press conference, and then I would only get what all the other reporters got.
“Well, I can’t say much.” He lowered his voice and got closer. “But it ain’t pretty, I can tell you that.”
“But what can you tell me about what happened here. Is it a murder?”
“No doubt about it. Someone broke in through the back door and killed the guy.”
“Do you have any suspects?”
“No, but we might begin with his wife,” he laughed. “He wasn’t exactly known as one of God’s better children, if you know what I mean.”
“I don’t, I’m sorry. So you will be questioning the wife in the near future?”
“Sure, but don’t write that. That would be interfering with investigative information. You know that.”
“Then please just tell me what I can write.”
“Write that the victim has been identified as Didrik Rosenfeldt, CEO and owner of the world-known company Seabas Windmills, and known as a part of the famous and very wealthy Rosenfeldt family. He apparently was killed by an intruder in his summer residence, there is an ongoing investigation, and that … is it, I think.”
I wrote everything he said in my notebook.
“Why hasn’t the body been removed from the house yet?” I asked.
The detective sighed deeply.
”I really can’t get into that.”
Sune had probably been right.
“How did he die?”
The detective got an occupied look on his face.
“We don’t know yet. That’s for the crime lab to figure out. I am sorry but I really have to get on with my job …”
“But surely you must have an idea?”
“We do, but we won’t share it with the public, yet.”
I nodded. That’s what I expected. The crime scene must have been messy just as Sune said. I spotted Sune out of the corner of my eye. He took pictures of the body as it was finally removed from the house in a body bag and transported in an ambulance.
“Who found the body?” I asked Detective Oestergaard.
”The housekeeper found him this morning, when she came to clean the house.”
“At what time?”
”She called us at six.”
“Can we talk to her?”
“Well, I guess I can ask her.”
I had to pinch my arm. I’d never met this kind of cooperation from the police. Were they always like this or was it because he knew me? Anyway, he left me for a second and came back with a small Philippine woman with an empty look in her eyes and an expression like she had seen the devil himself and lived to tell about it. It seemed she was still in shock and I knew I had to be careful.
I greeted her with a handshake and introduced myself. The detective left us, his duty calling. I waved at Sune and signaled I wanted him to come and take her picture. He came right away.
“So, that must have been real horrible for you,” I began.
“I … I just walked in, like I normally do. Normally he isn’t in the house. I didn’t expect … I mean, how could I know?”
“Of course you didn’t know. Can you tell me a little about what you saw?”
She didn’t look at me but stared into open air.
“He was dead. Blood everywhere. On all the floors in the living room. All over the parquet. It was like a slaughterhouse. He was shredded to pieces. Ripped apart like an animal would kill its prey. No man could have done this. Only a demon.”
Get One, Two ... He is coming for you (Rebekka Frank #1) here:
http://www.amazon.com/One, two ...
Table of Content
Prologue
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
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20
21
22
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57
Epilogue
Other books by the author
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
One, Two ... He is coming for you
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Table of Content