by Willow Rose
“Don’t you recognize her? It’s Camilla Hermansen. Well, you’ve only seen her half dead, lying on the bed. Plus, it’s at least five years old. She’s a teenager.”
“So, Jesper Melander, or Steffen Carlsen, or whatever his name is, knew her!” Sophia said.
“Yes, he did. I believe the wall is a wall of conquests he has made over the years. Girls he has been with.”
“They are awfully lightly dressed,” Sophia said.
“If you look at them, you’ll see that some of them have whips in their hands and leather straps around their necks,” I said, and showed her some of the pictures.
Sophia looked appalled.
“It would be like him to have a wall like that to brag about all his conquests,” Sophia said. “I feel bad for that wife of his. Having to look at that every day. What a life.”
I shrugged. “She chose it. She knew she married a psychopath. I’m more worried that he might kill her.”
“So, now we know he knew one of the girls, what else?” she asked.
I clicked on another picture from the folder. “I had to zoom in a lot, but here it is. Look what movie he watched recently.”
Sophia studied the picture, showing an open DVD box. “The Wizard of Oz.”
“Who owns that if they don’t have any children?” I asked.
Sophia nodded pensively. “Only someone truly obsessed with the movie, I guess.”
“Like our killer. Add those two things to the drawing, and the fact that I’m certain I saw him, I think there’s at least enough to take him in for further questioning.”
Sophia gave me a high-five. “Guess it’s time to call Morten, then.”
I paused. Sophia saw it. She could tell by my face that I was having trouble calling him.
“You want me to do it?” she asked.
I didn’t know. On the one hand, it would be great if I didn’t have to call him; I would like to save myself the embarrassment. I was still licking my wounds, trying to get over him. The last thing I needed right now was to have him back in my life, even if it was to nail a killer. On the other hand, he would know I had made Sophia call; she would have to tell him that I was a part of it all, and he would only think it was strange that I didn’t call myself. He might even get hurt or think I was a baby for acting like this.
“I think I’d better do it myself,” I said, and grabbed the phone. “But thanks.”
“No problem. Good luck.”
I called his cellphone, but he didn’t answer. It made me angry. He always answered his phone. He was probably screening his calls. It could only be because he didn’t want to talk to me. Who was being the baby now, huh?
I called the police station instead, and Morten picked up.
“This is Emma. This is not a private call. I have something for you,” I said, leaving no room for him to talk. “Two things. First, Jesper Melander, who now calls himself Steffen Carlsen, knew Camilla Hermansen. He has her picture on his wall in his living room. Second, he has The Wizard of Oz on DVD, and has been watching it recently. The empty cover was right next to his TV. Plus, I have now been face-to-face with him, and there’s no doubt it was him I saw from the window as he jumped into a small red car. I will even agree to testify to that if you need it.”
“I know, Emma. I know all of what you just told me.”
“What?”
“We brought him in this morning. The hair found at the scene of crime matched his. He’s going in for a lot of years. It’s over, Emma. We got him.”
61
August 2014
SO, THEY HAD finally nailed the bastard. I felt a glimpse of satisfaction, knowing he was behind bars and about to be put away for many years. There was something so deeply gratifying about this fact.
He was going to get what he deserved. Finally.
For a couple of days, I managed to let go of the case and take care of my family. I was licking my wounds too, after the break-up with Morten, but the more time that passed, the more I became certain it had been the right thing to do. I couldn’t stay in a relationship where I was third wheel. I simply couldn’t. I missed Morten every day, and especially at night, but I stood by my decision. It had to be this way.
Three days after the arrest, I invited my parents over for dinner and spent time with the people who mattered the most to me. My family.
Just as we had eaten the main course and my dad and I both leaned back in our chairs and opened the top button of our jeans, my phone rang.
A woman presented herself. “My name is Dina Wangede. I’m an attorney. I represent Steffen Carlsen.”
My eyes grew wide. What was this? Why was she calling me, of all people? If anything, I was only going to testify against him. I had no business talking to anyone who wanted to defend the bastard.
“Okay,” I said, shaking my head in disbelief. “What can I do for you?”
“He wants to see you.”
I burst into laughter. “Like that’s ever going to happen.”
“He said it was very urgent. He asked me to beg if I had to. He believes he has something important to tell you.”
I shook my head with a grimace. Who did this bastard think he was? Why would I want to visit him?
“Oh, yeah. And what might that be?” I asked.
“He wouldn’t tell me, but he said to tell you that he would give you exclusive rights to tell his story.”
I paused. This just got interesting. “Tell his story, huh? And he’ll let me interview him and get all the details? I mean everything? He’ll tell me everything, and be completely honest with me?”
“Yes. That’s what he said. It’s quite the deal, Mrs. Frost.”
“Tell him I’ll stop by tomorrow.”
I hung up with a smile across my lips. It wasn’t the prospect of having to spend time with this asshole again, but the thought of being the one to finally tell his story, the real deal, which excited me immensely.
It was going to be a story everybody would want to read.
“Good news?” my dad asked with a deep sigh. He was holding my mother’s hand. They were still like newlyweds. It was kind of cute, I guess. Gave me hope that it was never too late.
“Yes,” I said. “Very good news, indeed. I feel a new book might be coming up soon.”
“That’s excellent, Emma,” my mom said. “Gotta keep writing them, so people don’t forget you.”
I stared at her. What was that supposed to mean? I had written so many books the last couple of years. Was she implying that I wasn’t working hard enough? I knew I was behind with the book that was supposed to be published this fall, but there was still time. I worked hard when I needed to.
I shook the thought. This was not the time to start arguing with her. I was way too happy for that. If I landed this story, my editor would be ecstatic. Several journalists over the years had tried to tell the story of Bjarke Lund, the country’s biggest psychopath. I mean, with the latest killings, he could go down in the history books as the sickest killer in Danish history. If only I could get him to talk about the other killings that he was acquitted for too. I mean, even if he was cleared of all of those killings, I had to assume that he had done those as well, right? I had to assume he stood behind his mother’s death, his ex-girlfriend’s, and her sons’ deaths. I would have to make sure it was mentioned in the contract that he had to talk about all of that as well, and be completely honest.
If I succeeded with this, it was going to be big. Like, really big.
62
August 2014
“I’M INNOCENT.”
The sentence hit me like a blow in the stomach. Was that why he had asked me to come? So he could keep claiming his innocence? I stared at him with an open mouth. I couldn’t believe it. I had taken the ferry to the mainland to visit the guy in prison because he had promised me his story, and this was the first thing he said to me when I sat down across from him?
“I’m sorry, what?”
This wasn’t at all what I had
expected to hear. He wasn’t at all the person I had expected. I had thought he would show just some small portion of humility, but he was still wearing that confident and condescending look in his eyes. Like the fact that I was a woman made me somehow automatically inferior to him. It pissed me off, to put it mildly. His entire attitude made me resent him even more.
“I was framed,” he continued.
Oh, my God. He continues!
I leaned in over the table between us. “Listen, buddy. I was promised your story. I’m not writing a book about a guy claiming he’s innocent, ‘cause the prisons are filled with them. I thought you were ready to tell the truth…the honest truth.”
Steffen Carlsen slammed his handcuffed fists onto the table. “Goddammit! Why won’t anyone ever listen?”
I exhaled. “Come on! You’re claiming you were framed? How do you explain the picture of one of the victims in your living room? How do you explain the fact that I saw you there on the night you killed that couple in Sonderho? How do you explain the hair they found? The red slippers, the movie next to your TV? I mean, you painted your face green like the Wicked Witch of the West during an interview, for Christ’s sake. You’re obviously obsessed with The Wizard of Oz. You like to dress the dead women in the ruby slippers, for some strange sick reason. The way I see it, there really is no way anyone will believe your innocence.”
Steffen Carlsen’s smile had disappeared. His eyes were flickering. He was slowly realizing the seriousness of the situation. “But I am! I am innocent. I didn’t kill any of these people. I need you to help me prove it. No one will believe me. Not even my own attorney.”
My blood was boiling. I couldn’t believe the nerve that this guy had. Did he really think I was that stupid?
“Well, maybe that’s because you have the words guilty written all over your face. Everything points to you. Even the drawing made by the one victim that survived. There really isn’t much anyone can do for you anymore. It’s over. Finished. You’re done.”
Steffen Carlsen looked intensely into my eyes. He looked scared. I saw deep fear in them. “I can’t go back to prison again. I just can’t. It’s just like the other times. People want me convicted, and there’s nothing I can do about it. I swear to you, Emma, I didn’t kill anyone. I never killed anyone. I might have been a bastard for most of my time on this earth, but take someone’s life, I could never do. I swear on everything dear to me; I could never do such a thing. Never. Can’t you see how easy it would be for someone to plant that hair at the scene of crime? I did an interview many years ago, painted as the Wicked Witch; I do love The Wizard of Oz, it’s one of my all-time favorite movies, and I’ve never tried to hide that. Everyone knows it. Anyone who knows me, knows it. Even people who don’t know me. It would be so easy to make it look like it was me who did this. And the girl from my wall? Everyone who has ever been to my house has seen that picture. I bring all of my classes inside to look at the wall. To tell them they could have a life as great as mine. That if they belived in the power of their cock, they could conquer as many women as I have.”
“But, I saw you,” I snapped at him. I couldn’t believe how much this guy was annoying me right now. The power of their cock? Who said a thing like that? “I saw you there. You looked at me from the red car. Standing under the streetlights, I saw your face.”
“Did you? Or did you see someone dressed like me? You dressed up when you came to my home the other day. It would be very easy to wear a wig with a ponytail and a leather vest like I usually wear when I’m in public. Wouldn’t it?”
I hated to admit it, but he made a fair point. He had worn sunglasses when I saw him in the street, so I had no chance of recognizing the eyes. It could have been a disguise. It could.
Everything inside of me screamed that he was guilty. I had no doubt in my mind. He was just playing me. But, with my heart, it was different. A small seed of doubt had been planted, and I had no idea what to do with it.
63
August 2014
HE HAD TO be so angry. He had to be so frustrated, so scared sitting alone in that cell, trying to convince the world that he had been framed, yelling at them that he hadn’t killed all those people.
Jesper Melander couldn’t stop giggling, thinking about it, and about the plan. He sat in front of the mirror while putting his long brown hair in a ponytail. With a pair of tweezers, the beard was carefully placed on the smooth skin on the chin, beginning to look like a goatee. It felt uncomfortable, and he wondered why anyone would ever decide willingly to have a beard.
“So, how does it feel to be back in prison, huh?” he said to his own reflection. “Made any new friends yet?”
He found the leather vest and put it on, then tucked the white shirt into the jeans, so the shape of the breasts wouldn’t be seen.
Yes, Louise thought to herself. Now she looked just like the Jesper Melander she had known, who had moved into to her apartment after his release and raped her night after night. The same Jesper Melander that had told her he owned her from now on. This was how she got to know him. He could change his name all he wanted to, but he was still the same to her.
For years, she had been Mrs. Melander. For years, she had been watching him bringing young girls home with him, taking their pictures, taking them to the basement where he could spend hours with them, while she was left in her room with nothing but her jealousy for companionship.
“Bet there aren’t any girls where you’re at now, huh baby? Guess you’ll have to settle for me for a little while. Poor baby.”
Louise stood in front of the mirror and looked at Jesper Melander. It was amazing how much she looked like him. Especially after she had started working out. The cross fitness had given her the broader shoulders, the wider chest that she needed to look like a man. It was all part of it.
Louise grabbed the gas can and matches, and headed out the door. The small red car that Louise’s parents had once bought for her was in one of the barns, hidden under a cover. The police had told her the house would get searched sometime soon, and had told her to stay in a hotel, and Louise had played along. She had thrown the act of her life, being all surprised by what her husband had been up to when they came to arrest him.
But, on the inside, she had been laughing her heart out. Didn’t they know it was all just a part of the plan? Didn’t they know they had been lead along all the way? Pulled by the nose? They had been given the clues they needed to bring him down. Oh, how well she was playing her cards. It was a masterpiece.
She had told them she thought she knew her husband, that she had no idea what he had been up to. She had told them, with tears in her eyes, that she had been such an idiot for marrying him when everyone told her he was scum…that she was so glad they had figured it out and taken him in before he killed her as well. She had told them how he had often beaten her, and that she was afraid of him. Then she had shown them her latest bruises from the night in the basement. Then, she had told the officers she would pack a bag and stay in a hotel in downtown Nordby. She had cried and told them she could never set foot in this house again.
But, in reality, she had just stayed at the house on the farm. She knew it would take days before the forensic department from Copenhagen would come to search the house. And, by then, she would be long gone.
It was all a part of the beautiful master plan. But, there was still one thing missing, one mission she needed to do first.
Louise started whistling in the car and continued as she parked it in front of Emma Frost’s old house by the beach. She grabbed the gas can, and while pouring the gasoline on her house, she was singing out loud,
I'd be brave as a blizzard…
I'd be gentle as a lizard…
I'd be clever as a gizzard…
If the Wizard is a Wizard who will serve.
Then I'm sure to get a brain, a heart, a home, the nerve!
64
August 2014
THE FOLLOWING NIGHT, I couldn’t stop thinking about m
y visit to the prison. I couldn’t believe it. Could the guy really be innocent? Had we made a mistake?
Don’t be a fool. He’s just playing you. He’s just good at manipulating people. Don’t fall for it, Emma. Don’t. He did it. He killed those people in cold blood. It all fits.
I tossed and turned for an hour or so, then looked at my phone. It was almost midnight. I went on Facebook to get my mind on something else. I scrolled through my friend’s statuses and read an article that stated it contained ten tips to get in shape fast.
I wasn’t interested in doing any of them, so I went out of Facebook, and put my head on the pillow again. Thoughts flickered through my mind and wouldn’t leave me alone.
In the distance, I thought I could hear someone singing, but realized it had to be in my head. It was that song from the movie that Sophia and I had sung the other day. I opened my eyes, wondering about the lyrics.
“…Then I'm sure to get a brain, a heart, a home, the nerve…”
It had been my theory that the killer had taken those same things that they wanted in the movie, right? He had taken the brain, the heart and cut out the nerve from someone. But he hadn’t taken a home, had he?
Was that going to be his next move? Did they arrest him before he could finish?
“How do you take a home from someone?” I asked into the darkness.
What if it isn’t Steffen Carlsen? What if he is as innocent as he claims to be? Is there someone else out there, right now, getting ready to kill again?
I shook the thought. That was just silly. I closed my eyes and tried to go back to sleep, when suddenly, the door to my room opened.
It was Victor. My heart dropped.
“What’s up, buddy? Having another bad dream?”
“I'm not afraid of a witch. I'm not afraid of anything - except a lighted match.”
