by Willow Rose
"We would just like an explanation of what is going on," the woman with the blowtorch voice said.
"Of course you all do," the officer said. He was a handsome man of about fifty. He had a deep, authoritative voice that made everybody feel comfortable and safe in his presence. He was extremely trustworthy.
"The thing is that a crime has been committed at this hotel and we have to do our duty to our hard-working taxpaying citizens and find out who did it and put him away so he won't bother anyone again. That's our job. All we ask is for you to bear with us and show us some patience while we work. This inn has many rooms that need to be searched for evidence. That’s why it is taking some time to complete. But it is necessary in order to find this criminal. Is that acceptable?"
The crowd had gone completely silent while he spoke. Someone nodded.
"Could we ask what kind of crime?" I asked.
The officer looked up into my eyes. "I see the press is here as well," he said with a forced smile. "Well I am very sorry, but I can't get into that yet," he said. "We will however have a press conference tomorrow for all members of the press."
"Should the guests at the inn be afraid?" I asked.
"I shouldn't think so," he replied. He was getting ready to leave.
"But maybe you could tell us why you have called in the forensic team from Copenhagen?"
The smile on the officer's face stiffened. "I can't go into details right now," he said to the crowd. "But rest assured that we will catch this criminal. Just give us a couple of hours more and we will be done. Then you'll be able to return to your rooms again. I think we have taken a statement from all of you by now and we will be in touch if needed.”
He pointed at me and signaled that I should follow him as he walked away. I grabbed Sune's arm and dragged him with me.
"Please don't scare people like that again," he said as we walked towards the stairs.
"I won't if you'll give me something to put in my paper," I said while Sune took pictures of us talking.
"What do you want?"
"I need details. What happened?" I asked.
The officer stopped and sighed. "I might as well tell you now. A woman was killed last night."
I froze and looked up from my pad. "Killed? How?"
"That I can't tell you. Not yet. We'll have to wait for the forensics report to state the exact cause of death."
"Was it murder? You could at least tell me that?"
He sighed again. "Yes."
"How can you be so certain?"
"Let's just say there is no doubt she was killed," he said.
"So what you're looking for in this hotel is a killer? That would be okay for me to write that?"
"Yes. Or evidence leading us to him."
"Anything so far?"
"No. And again ..."
"You can't tell me. I know."
"Has the family been informed yet?"
"Yes," he said heavily. "The victim's name is Susanne Larsen. She is from Naestved. She had a husband and two children. A son and a daughter, eight and eleven years old," he said.
I detected sadness in his voice. This case was really bad, I thought if it could shock an officer as experienced as him.
"Any descriptions, anyone you're looking for that I put in the paper? Any pictures of someone you need to talk to?"
He shook his head heavily.
"Nothing?"
"No," he repeated. "The room was booked in her name. She was seen having dinner with a man in the restaurant last night. We have found no trace of him anywhere in the room. No fingerprints, nothing. So naturally we are looking for him. He is described as tall, medium build and brown-haired."
"That's not much," I exclaimed. "So is it fair to say that the police are looking for a man who was seen having dinner with the deceased last night? Ask the public to bring in any information that they would think could lead to finding this guy?"
"That would be of great help, thank you."
"Well we have to help each other, right?" I said.
The officer nodded. "Now I need to get back," he said and started climbing the stairs. "I am afraid we still have a long way to go."
Chapter 5
Back at the office I called my editor Jens-Ole at the headquarters. My hands felt sweaty and my heart was beating fast. It had been quite a while since I last had an exclusive story to present to him. I had a feeling that this could be a big one, one I would have to follow up upon.
"I have a murder at the local inn. We're first with the story," I said.
"I'm listening," he answered.
"No other media was there. So it is ours exclusively," I repeated because I knew how important that was to an editor. That could make or break a story. If everybody else had it and had the same information it would be a small story in the back of the paper. But if it was our own we would make a big deal of it.
"Good, good, go on."
"A woman was found killed. They're certain it is a murder. No doubt about it they said. The guests at the inn were kept for hours in the lobby while they searched the place. We have interviews with guests and the police. Sune stayed behind to take more pictures and hopefully he will get one of the body leaving the place later today."
"That's great news," Jens-Ole said with enthusiasm.
That was one of the parts I really disliked about my job as a journalist. Someone's tragedy could be your happiness, your breakthrough, your exclusive. But that was just the way it was. You either learned to live with it or you couldn't be a journalist any longer. Editors like Jens-Ole loved murder stories especially if there were details and pictures.
"It’s been a slow day today so you'll get the front page with this one," he continued. "Full page picture if you get the one of the victim leaving in a body bag."
"Wow," I said a little startled. I was going for a small note on the front page with a bigger article in the middle.
"I need you to write a small story for the online edition that will be published immediately while telling the readers more details will be in tomorrow’s paper. Develop two larger big articles for the morning paper with more details. One about the killing for the front page and one about the frustrated guests at the inn on page three. Best spot in the paper. Happy?"
"Sure," I said.
"You should be. Get to work," he said and hung up.
I texted Sune: NEED PIX OF BODY LEAVING. CRUCIAL. STAY TILL YOU GET IT IF IT TAKES ALL DAY.
He texted back: 10-4.
Then I opened my laptop and started writing. The first one was about the woman who was murdered. I didn't have many details but what I had was enough to write a decent story. I sat back and reread the first draft once it was done. I was dissatisfied. What I had was all right but I wanted to know more. There were so many unanswered questions left and as an investigative reporter that didn't sit well with me. It was unsatisfying that I didn't even know how she had died. How was she killed? Was there a murder-weapon?
I looked at Sara who was still listening in on the police-scanner. Her eyes met mine and I signaled that she should take off the headset.
"Anything new?" I asked. "I’ve written the article and just want to be sure I have everything in it."
She shook her head. "They're all still at the inn."
"Okay. Thanks," I said.
Sara smiled and put her headset back on. I started writing the next article about the angry guests. This was more fun to write. I had several interviews with more angry guests after the officer left and their angry comments and demands made the article great. Less than two hours later I sent it all to Jens-Ole. I went for more coffee in the kitchen when he called me on my cell.
"Rebekka," I said answering it.
"Good job my girl. This is great. Good stuff. Just make sure we get that picture okay? It would really make this great. We need good pictures to sell papers. You know that."
I sipped my coffee and stared out the window. The editorial room was in the center of the town, on the main stre
et that was closed to cars and open only for pedestrians. Tourists were walking in the street eating ice-cream cones, chatting, talking, laughing, and shopping. They brought new life and lots of money to the town. Summer was the best time to be in Karrebaeksminde and this year the merchants were happy that the summer had stretched all the way into September.
"I know," I said. "Sune is on it. He'll get it. Don't worry."
"With you I never do," Jens-Ole said.
His confidence in me still surprised me. He had always had that. My guess was that that was what made him such a great leader. He trusted his employees. He made us feel proud of working for him. Come to think of it I don't think I had ever worked for a guy like him before, not even in my star-reporting days when I worked for the biggest national newspaper in Denmark. Not even back when I was a war-correspondent had I experienced such confidence in me and what I could do. It was a great feeling. It made me want to do my personal best all the time whether I was covering small town budget-negotiations or a serial killer's killing spree around this town. I wanted to do well. I wanted to make Jens-Ole happy. I had never disappointed him before.
"Have the picture in my mailbox no later than ten," he said and hung up.
I started to get nervous around nine in the evening. Sara had left at six and I ordered a pizza while I waited. I had called my dad and asked him to take care of Julie and put her to bed which he was more than happy to do, luckily for me. I hadn't heard from Sune in an hour and I really didn't want to bug him about it, but now I picked up the phone and called him again.
"Still no body?" I asked.
"Nope," he answered.
"And we're sure that it hadn’t already left the inn before we arrived this morning?" I asked while knocking my pen rhythmically into the edge of the table.
"I have no idea. I’ve talked to the personnel and they haven't seen it leave the building, so I assume that it is still in here."
"Could they have taken it out using another exit?"
Sune sighed. "Of course they could have. Maybe the owner of the inn wanted it that way since he didn't want to lose any more guests than necessary."
I exhaled deeply. "Of course," I said.
"So what do you want me to do?" Sune asked.
"Stay a few minutes more and then leave. Who's taking care of Tobias?"
"Your dad. He called me after he talked to you. He figured that we both had to work late so he wanted to know if he should pick up both kids now he was going that way anyway. He said he had a bunch of meatballs that needed to be eaten soon, so I was really helping him out by saying yes."
I laughed. "That sounds like my dad."
"He's one of a kind."
"See you back here then. We have to send the rest of the pictures for the articles."
"Damn it!" Sune exclaimed. "I really had my heart set on that front-page."
"So had I," I said.
Half an hour later Sune still hadn't arrived. I was beginning to get worried. Could he have been in an accident on his way back? I texted him but received no answer back. I didn't want to call him since I was afraid of sounding like a worried panic-stricken mother. But at the same time I couldn't escape the thought that there was a killer on the loose somewhere in our little town.
As I stared out the window into the black darkness only lit by the streetlamps and pictured Sune being stabbed by some brown-haired tall medium-build stranger I heard footsteps on the stairs. I gasped and looked at the door. My imagination had a way of running off with me and sometimes scaring me and it did at that moment. My heart was beating fast and I grabbed a stapler from the table and was holding it tight in my hand. The steps stopped outside the door and the handle moved slowly.
I breathed heavily as the door opened. It was Sune. I exhaled relieved.
"Why are you holding a stapler?" he asked with a grin.
"Where have you been?" I asked angrily. "I thought you were dead or killed."
"Ah. I get it. You thought someone had killed me and now they were coming for you? What were you going to do? Staple the guy to death?"
"Very funny. Seriously. I thought you'd been in a car-accident or something. It takes ten minutes to get here from the inn. Why did it take you so long?"
"You asked me to stay a little longer."
"A few minutes. Not half an hour. They need the pictures from earlier today at the headquarters. Jens-Ole is pissed that we didn't get the picture of the body leaving," I said.
Sune smiled widely. "But we did."
"What? Are you telling me ...?"
"Sure," he said with a self-satisfied grin. "I wasn't about to give up just yet so after I spoke to you I ran around the main building of the inn and luckily I spotted an ambulance that had just arrived."
"That was for the body?"
Sune nodded. “They must have been examining the room and the body all day for some reason since they waited to get it out until that late. But the pictures are great. Surrounded by the darkness and everything. The blue light from the ambulance is reflected in the windows of the inn. See for yourself," he said and handed me his camera.
I went through the pictures pressing the buttons on the camera frantically. He was right. They were perfect. Better than I could have hoped for. I jumped up and kissed Sune on the cheek. He blushed.
"I'm sorry," I said and pulled back realizing I had overstepped a line. "This is just really, really good. Thank you so much."
"It's my job, you know."
"I know. That's why I think you should call Jens-Ole and tell him about it. Make him happy. Let him know you were the one who saved the day. Take some credit for your work for once."
"Really? You mean it?" he asked.
"Sure."
Sune took out his phone and found the number. I heard him talk to Jens-Ole while he went out in the kitchen. I plugged the camera into my computer and started uploading the pictures. I drank my coffee very satisfied as I studied each and every one of them on my screen. When I got to the third one I put my cup down on the table. Something had caught my eye. I waited till all of the pictures were in my computer, then I opened them again and found that third one. I zoomed in to see up close what had caught my eye. Apparently the arrival of the ambulance had attracted a small crowd of what I guessed had to be neighbors or people coincidentally passing by the small street behind the inn. What caught my eye was standing right in the middle of that crowd. It was a woman. Her hair was blond and looked almost yellow in the light from the streetlamps. She was wearing a long blue gown, like an elegant evening dress for a cocktail party. It was sparkling, glittering, and reflecting the blinking light from the ambulance in front of her.
She was staring at the scene, her eyes fixated on the body bag leaving the inn on a stretcher.
It seemed that she was smiling.
Chapter 6
My dad had prepared breakfast for us when I came down the next morning. He had done that every morning since I had moved back in with him two years ago. I smiled when I heard him hum in the kitchen as I walked down the stairs. Julie was already sitting at the table fully dressed; eating her boiled egg and buttered toast contentedly.
Dad turned and looked at me as I entered the kitchen. He was leaning on his cane, wearing Mom's old apron. The smell of bacon coming from the stove was heavenly. I couldn't help smiling. If anyone had ever told me when I was younger that my dad was going to cook for me one day I would have laughed. That had always been Mom's thing. But ever since she died and we moved in with him after my break with my ex-husband Peter he had taken it as his responsibility that we would have something good to eat.
"If I left it up to your mother you would be eating all that Asian food or pizza all the time," he said once to Julie.
I guess he was right, I thought as I sat down on a chair next to Julie. I wasn't much of a cook and to be honest I really didn't want to be one of those moms who baked cookies and cooked homemade meals every day. I mean I had the deepest respect for those who could do such a thing
, but I think I just never had the patience for it. Everything always went wrong when I tried and I really, really hated it. Some people just weren't cut out to be great cooks, I kept telling myself.
"Eggs?" Dad asked.
"Sure," I said and handed him my plate. Several times I had asked if he wanted me to cook every now and then so he didn't have to do it all the time, but he had politely refused by telling me that I would only “mess the place up.” Little by little I had realized that he wasn't just being stubborn about it, cooking for us was actually good for him. Taking care of his family got him out of bed in the morning. It gave him a purpose. He seemed to be enjoying that a lot. I had even at one point suggested that Julie and I should get our own apartment so we wouldn't be a burden to him any longer, but I quickly regretted doing so. The expression on my dad's face said it all. The prospect of losing us, of us moving away from him, out of this house - was of catastrophic dimensions. He never said it in words, but I knew it once I saw that look in his eyes. If we moved out he would grow old in a heartbeat. He needed us as much as we needed him.
"There is coffee in the pot," he said and pointed at the machine in the corner.
"Thanks dad." I got up and poured myself a cup, sat back down and looked at Julie. She was reading a magazine about horses. I sipped my coffee and tasted the scrambled eggs he always made especially for me. Lots of butter in them, and whole milk the way Dad always made them. It was delicious.
"So horses, huh?" I asked Julie and looked at the magazine.
Julie smiled. "Yes. I really, really loves horses, mommy. I want to learn how to ride horses. Can I Mom?"
I exhaled and leaned back. "But I just paid for a whole year of gymnastics, and you love gymnastics. I don't know anything about horses. All I know is that it is extremely expensive, and I really don't think I can afford it."
"Come on, Mom. Please? I really want to ride horses."
I put my hand on top of hers. "And you really, really wanted to do gymnastics a couple of months ago and you would do anything if I would let you go, remember? I’ve paid for an entire year so you're sticking with it. Then maybe next year if you still want to learn how to ride horses I'll consider it."
