Cross your heart and hope to die (Emma Frost #4)
Page 17
Her father shakes his head. "No, what's new?"
"Someone was killed here in Karrebaeksminde."
My husband swallows loudly, then picks up his glass of wine I told him not to have on a weeknight, then gulps it down. "Really?"
"Yes a couple. They were stabbed in an alley in town. They think it was drug-related. They guy apparently owed a lot of money to some bad guys or something. But listen to this. They had a two-year-old with them when it happened, and apparently whoever did this dropped the child off at a day-care not far from there."
"Then they must have seen who it was?" Christian asked and drank again.
"No, apparently they didn't. They said he was left in a stroller outside the door and then whoever brought him there rang the doorbell of the day-care and then ran off. Weird, huh?"
My husband nods slowly while chewing. "That is very strange."
"A killer with a conscience, that's nice," I say and smile.
"They say the kid was full of old bruises on his body once the doctors examined him."
I clench the fork in my hand till my knuckles turn white. Then I drop it on the plate. "Anyone in the mood for seconds?" I ask smiling.
I watch the news with my husband after all the children are in bed, but soon I get bored and go to bed too. I sleep for a few hours before Josephine wakes me up by crying. I go to her and sit with her for a couple of hours to calm her down. I feed her and rock her until she falls asleep in my arms. I stay with her all night, afraid to wake her up if I get up from the chair. I fall asleep with her in my arms. She wakes me up at dawn and I change her diaper before anyone else is up.
I change her clothes and bring her downstairs where I let her lie on a blanket while I prepare breakfast for the entire family and pack the kid's lunches. Jacob looks sad when he comes down.
"What's wrong buddy?" I ask while serving him his oatmeal.
"I don't want to go to pre-school today," he says.
"Why not? You know you have to go if you want to be a big boy and go to kindergarten next year like all the other kids."
"I just don't want to."
"What's wrong? Did something happen yesterday?"
Jacob is not eating. He just scoops the spoon around in the porridge.
"You can tell me Jacob. You can tell me anything."
"It's just Oliver. He is so mean."
"Oliver Bille?"
Jacob nods. I lean over and kiss his forehead. "What did he do, huh?"
"He hit me. On the playground. I didn't want to give him the car I was playing with, so he hit me. "
"And what did you do?"
"I gave him the car and ran. Later when I was on the swing he came and said he wanted that too, then he pulled me off it so I scraped my knee." Jacob pulls up his pants to show me.
"How come you didn't show me this yesterday?" I ask startled.
"I thought you might be mad."
I caress his cheek gently, then lean over and kiss him again. "Oliver is the one being a bully. Why should I be mad at you, huh?"
Jacob shrugs and smiles when I tickle his stomach.
"Now eat," I say and push the bowl of oatmeal closer. "I'll drop you off today."
I gulp down my morning smoothie made from organic kiwis, honey, beet, ginger, and banana that according to the recipe is guaranteed to keep me satisfied until lunch and to keep me heart-healthy with its richness in polyphenols and vitamin C. Then I change Josephine again and put her in the car next to Jacob.
In the pre-school the staff greets me with gentle smiles and tells me it's so nice to finally see me again. I sign in Jacob and while I do I spot the boy Oliver saying goodbye to his father. After saying goodbye to Jacob, I decide to approach him. I run after him into the street carrying Josephine by the handle of her infant car seat where she has fallen asleep. He hurries to his car, a huge Mercedes. He is nicely dressed in an Armani suit when I poke his shoulder. He turns and looks at me annoyed.
"What?" he asks. "I'm kind of in a hurry to get to a meeting."
I smile, then put my baby down on the ground carefully, making sure she doesn't wake up. "I understand and acknowledge that completely," I say finding my very nice tone of voice. "But I need to talk to you about your son."
The father sighs, annoyed. Then he puts his arms up in front of him. "As I told you, I have a very busy day and this is not the time for this."
I grab his arm and hold on to it tight. "I'm sure you're a very, very important man, with many very, very important things to do, maybe even so important you hardly have time to talk to your son or even discipline him. But your son is a bully, and I'm beginning to see where he has got it from. Tell me, Mr. Bille, why are you in such a hurry? Is it because you're late for some big business meeting where you're planning on stepping on some innocent people on your way to the top? Or are you just late for your mistress who is waiting for you in the apartment you rented for your little love affair to take place in secrecy?"
Mr. Bille blushes and pulls his arm out of my grip. "What is this?" he asks. "Some kind of extortion? Who are you? How dare you to talk to me like this? Do you even know who I am?"
"No. I have a feeling you would love to tell me, but that's besides the point here."
Mr. Bille stares into my eyes, then blinks a couple of times, looking confused. "What is it you want?" He asks.
"What I WANT is for YOU to stop your SON from bullying other children," I say and poke him in the chest while speaking.
"You're insane," he says, shaking his head.
I stomp my feet in the pavement. "See that's exactly what I am talking about. You people bully anyone you get in contact with and you get away with it. Uh, I HATE that."
"Listen to me, woman. I don't know who you are or how you know about my affair, but I tell you to leave it alone, leave me alone now, or I swear I'll call the police."
I close my eyes and count to ten. The kitchen knife in the pocket of my jacket feels sharp against my thigh.
Mr. Bille opens the door to his car while mumbling. "Crazy bitch, I don't know why I ..."
I open my eyes, then pull out the knife and stab him in the lower part of the stomach. The stab hits him midsentence. Startled he stares at me in fear. I'm still holding the handle of the knife in my hand. I pull it out, then lift it and stab Mr. Bille again, this time in the chest. Mr. Bille's eyes look up at me, and then roll back in his head. He tries to scream, but his mouth is full of blood. Besides no one would hear it in the noise from the construction-workers nearby who by the way see nothing. His hands are trying to grab the handle of the knife, but the stab wounds have sapped his strength. His body is shaking now and I step backwards while Mr. Bille's blood is running into the road. Some of it has sprayed onto my jacket, I notice, annoyed. Now I have to stop by the cleaners on my way home. Today of all days!
I stay and watch as Mr. Bille falls into the street with a deep groan. His face is pale and blood is running out from the corners of his mouth. He is still alive and tries to speak, probably even to scream, but nothing but a twisted groan springs out of his throat. His fight for survival is pathetic. Makes me want to stab him again, but I decide he's not worth the effort. Will probably just bleed to death within the next five-six minutes. I lean over and pull out the knife from his chest. A river of blood flushes out from the wound. I wipe the knife in his Armani jacket, then put it in my purse. I pick up Josephine and start to walk back to my car.
There was another grammatical error in Rebekka Franck's article in today's paper about yesterday's killings in an alley downtown. Tonight I'll serve spaghetti and meat sauce.
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Table of Contents
Prologue
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Epilogue
Books by the author
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Rock-a-bye Baby
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