The Tenant
Page 31
“Honey? Are you okay?”
The voice reached him through layers of wool and warm porridge, distant and yet so safe.
“Jeppe, it’s past noon. Are you sick?”
He turned and looked up. His mother was standing over the bed, her face wrinkled and worried. The sight was so familiar from his childhood that he had to blink several times before he understood why her skinny form was suddenly stooped and old.
“Mom, what are you doing here?” He shook his brain into place and rubbed the sleep out of his eyes. “I’m not sick, just tired.”
She did not look convinced.
“I’ve called and called, but you never answer. I finally thought I’d better come see if you were still alive.”
Jeppe closed his eyes again. Her presence was unwelcome, irritating even, but he knew the reason for it was love—a love it would do him good to accept. He sat up, groggy, his head feeling hot.
“I’ll just take a shower, Mom. Would you make coffee?”
He stood for a long time under the running water trying to straighten his head out. When he finally walked into the kitchen, bleary-eyed, he saw that she had tidied up, removed the wine bottle and the ruined rug, and started a load of laundry with the bedding from the sofa. The table had been set with fresh rolls and black coffee.
“You do know that your fridge is completely bare, right? There is no butter and no milk for the coffee. And the floors are furry with dust bunnies. You’re usually such a tidy person. Well, come, have a sit. Eat!”
Jeppe forced down half a roll with jam. The coffee was good and strong. They ate in silence. His mother glanced out at the smashed nightstand on the lawn but didn’t say anything, just nibbled her roll diplomatically.
Jeppe had to give up on the second half of the roll. His body felt wrung out, jet-lagged, and he had no appetite.
“Come on,” he suggested. “Let’s go for a walk. I need some air.”
They walked through the residential neighborhood, past beech hedges and greenhouses, under train tracks and over crosswalks. Through the Carlsberg neighborhood and over the pedestrian overpass from the orangery, across the tracks to Vestre Cemetery. Everything about me is pointing down, Jeppe thought, down toward my grave. It had grown cloudy; he zipped up his windbreaker. Every once in a while he caught his mother looking at him, concerned. She looked away, embarrassed, clearly afraid to speak what was on her mind. Walked instead, her stride long and tough, the way it was in their family, bodies straight but minds heavy. He hadn’t gotten that from strangers. Her soul too was melancholy and prone to reflection, as his father’s had been.
“Could we sit down on that bench? Yesterday was a long day, I need to rest my legs a little.”
They sat and looked at the grassy hillside, which extended from their feet down toward the tree line. Jeppe would kill for a Ketogan—or really any other opioid—right now, a shortcut to a small helping of pleasurable indifference.
“I looked in your medicine cabinet while you were sleeping. Why are you still taking all those pills?” His mother did not sound accusatory, more sad. “You don’t actually have a prolapsed disc, so you shouldn’t need all those painkillers.”
“Stop trying to make me feel like a junkie!” He instantly regretted blurting that out.
His mother didn’t bat an eye. “Sometimes life hurts, but we just have to get through it and keep going.” She wasn’t going to let it go. “Aren’t there side effects?”
Jeppe put his face in his hands. The anxiety, the grinding soundtrack in his head, the feeling of being in some no-man’s-land between here and there. She was right.
“How many happy people do you know?” he asked, and got up, smiling wryly at her. The mantra was an old one, a frequently repeated family joke. This time his mother wasn’t laughing.
“Jeppe, I need to tell you something.”
“Can we walk a little more?” he asked, a cold hand grabbing his stomach, squeezing.
She stood up and they continued along the cracked gravel pathway through the cemetery. Jeppe wanted to run, just sprint as fast as he could off toward the horizon.
“I ran into Therese on the street the other day. She was with Niels.”
Jeppe breathed, walked, functioned as a machine running on a battery that wouldn’t die.
“They were shopping for a baby carriage. Oh, sweetie, I haven’t known how to tell you or even whether I should. But—”
“Was she happy? Did she look happy?” Jeppe was surprised at how calm his voice sounded.
His mother nodded.
“Good. She deserves that.”
Jeppe noticed that even in the midst of his grief and regrets, he really did mean that. He was glad Therese was happy, even if her happiness no longer included him.
Reluctantly, he let himself be pulled into a hug. She held him tight and patted his back, as if he were still a child. They stood like that for a moment. Then he started to cry.
THANK YOU!
Writing a book is not that lonely at all when an overwhelming number of talented people offer their assistance and inspiration. Any factual error in this work of fiction is due solely to my ignorance and not to the guidance of my many helpers.
My greatest gratitude goes to two of the most important women in my life: my mother, Sysse Engberg, and my friend, Anne Mette Hancock, for feedback, proofreading, and vital support throughout the entire writing process.
A huge thank-you to police officer and friend Jesper Arff Rimmen for teaching me about the police and providing important insights into how detectives work. Also, my most heartfelt gratitude to police officer Kim Juul Christensen for taking me out into the field with a bulletproof vest and blue lights flashing.
Thanks to dactyloscopy technician Kim Høltermand for essential inspiration and insights into the mysteries of the human fingerprint, and to the former head of NKC East Flemming Gabelgaard for important information on forensics.
Thank you to Hans Petter Hougen, professor at the Department of Forensic Medicine, for invaluable insight into forensic pathology, and to Dr. Signe Düring at the Copenhagen Psychiatric Center for guidance on painkillers and psychiatric medications.
Thank you to kind Lars Halby, you know more about the Royal Danish Theatre than anyone.
Eternal gratitude to my wonderful agents at Salomonsson Agency and a very warm thank-you to all at Scout Press at Gallery Books for welcoming me with open arms. I feel right at home already.
Thank you to editor Dorte Einarsson, who originally helped me give birth to this book, and to Birgitte Franch and Karin Linge Nordh for their help in the editing process. A very special thank-you to Jackie Cantor for lending her sharp eye and pen to this US edition of the book.
And most important, thanks to Timm for your unfailing support and altogether just for being the most wonderful man in the world.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
A former dancer and choreographer with a background in television and theater, KATRINE ENGBERG has launched a groundbreaking career as a novelist with the publication of The Tenant. She is now one of the most widely read and beloved crime writers in Denmark. The Tenant is her debut novel and the first in a series hailed for its freshness, vigor, and stunning sense of place.
FOR MORE ON THIS AUTHOR:
SimonandSchuster.com/Authors/Katrine-Engberg
SimonandSchuster.com
ScoutPressBooks.com
@ScoutPressBooks
@GalleryBooks
We hope you enjoyed reading this Simon & Schuster ebook.
Get a FREE ebook when you join our mailing list. Plus, get updates on new releases, deals, recommended reads, and more from Simon & Schuster. Click below to sign up and see terms and conditions.
CLICK HERE TO SIGN UP
Already a subscriber? Provide your email again so we can register this ebook and send you more of what you like to read. You will continue to receive exclusive offers in your inbox.
Scout Press
An Imprint of Simon & S
chuster, Inc.
1230 Avenue of the Americas
New York, NY 10020
www.SimonandSchuster.com
This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and events are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2016 by Katrine Engberg
Translation copyright © 2020 by Tara Chace
Originally published in 2016 in Denmark by Lindhardt og Ringhof Forlag
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever. For information, address Scout Press Subsidiary Rights Department, 1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York, NY 10020.
This Scout Press Canadian Export edition January 2020
SCOUT PRESS and colophon are registered trademarks of Simon & Schuster, Inc.
For information about special discounts for bulk purchases, please contact Simon & Schuster Special Sales at 1-866-506-1949 or business@simonandschuster.com.
The Simon & Schuster Speakers Bureau can bring authors to your live event. For more information or to book an event, contact the Simon & Schuster Speakers Bureau at 1-866-248-3049 or visit our website at www.simonspeakers.com.
Interior design by Jaime Putorti
Jacket design by Lisa Litwack
Jacket photography © Alex Berger
Author photograph by Les Kaner
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Names: Engberg, Katrine, 1975– author. | Chace, Tara, translator.
Title: The tenant / Katrine Engberg ; [translated by Tara Chace].
Other titles: Krokodillevogteren. English
Description: First Scout Press hardcover edition. | New York : Scout Press, 2020. | Originally published in 2016 in Denmark by Lindhardt og Ringhof Forlag as Krokodillevogteren. | Translated from the Danish.
Identifiers: LCCN 2019028450 (print) | LCCN 2019028451 (ebook) | ISBN 9781982127572 (hardcover) | ISBN 9781982127589 (trade paperback) | ISBN 9781982127596 (ebook)
Subjects: GSAFD: Mystery fiction.
Classification: LCC PT8177.15.N44 K7613 2020 (print) | LCC PT8177.15.N44 (ebook) | DDC 839.813/8—dc23
LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2019028450
LC ebook record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2019028451
ISBN 978-1-9821-4480-7
ISBN 978-1-9821-2759-6 (ebook)