Rebekka Franck Series Box Set vol 1-5

by Willow Rose

  Troels started off by slapping her across the face once they had entered the hotel room. He then kicked her in the back and threw her on the bed. She screamed but enjoyed it very much. The slapping around, the pulling of her hair was just like her father had done.

  "Tell me I'm a little whore," she said. "Tell me what you'll do to me now."

  "You little dirty whore," he said with a harsh voice.

  Oh boy that turned her on. Those words really did it for her. Just like her father had always said when he climbed into her bed. "More, more," she begged.

  "You dirty little slut. I am going to make you pay for all you've done. When I'm done with you, you won't be able to walk for two weeks. I am going to beat all those naughty things out of you. And then I 'm going to use you. You'll be my toy, you'll be my slave."

  "Oh yes, master. Use me. Make me your slave," she groaned.

  Then he pulled her by the hair off the bed and into the bathroom where he pushed her against the shower door. That was a new one; she thought and smiled while he cuffed her hands. Then he hit her again. He entered her from behind with the scream of a wild beast before he beat her with his belt. She screamed in pain. Her secret lover told her he had more toys in his bag in the car and he was going to get them. He told her to stay put. Then he laughed as he left her in the shower. Beaten, broken, bleeding. Left to the mercy of a stranger.

  This was what she wanted, she thought to herself while waiting for his return, wondering with a shiver what kind of toys he had brought. This was what she longed for but could never get with her husband who thought she was nothing but an ordinary woman, wife, mother and nurse. She could never share this with him. She could never tell him her dirty little secret, could she?

  She didn't finish the thought before the frosted door to the shower opened and a face was revealed. Panic arose inside of her as she stared into the eyes of a woman in a long blue dress. Frantically she pulled her hands but they remained stuck in the handcuffs. The woman in the elegant blue evening dress smiled and stared at her with wild manic eyes that seemed to enjoy the fear in hers. She lifted her hand and showed a small scalpel much like the ones doctors at the hospital used.

  Yes, Susanne Larsen had tried almost everything sexually over the last many years living her secret double-life, but she could say for certain that she had never done this.

  CHAPTER 3

  KENNETH JUHLERSEN WAS having a bad day.

  He lost his job during the recession and then started a cleaning business on his own, working hard the last three years. He built it all up so he and his wife would have a decent retirement, something to look forward to, travel a little, and see the world.

  Being fired was the worst thing to ever happen to him at the time. It had almost destroyed him. He was so close to retirement. Who would hire a car salesman who was almost sixty years old and whose biggest accomplishment was selling seven Toyotas on the same day once back in the early nineties? They had named him "The brave tailor" since he had struck seven in one day like the little tailor in the fairy-tale who had killed seven flies. They removed the "little" since Kenneth was big like a Viking and calling him "the brave little tailor" would just be strange. But what good did that do him when he was fired due to cut-backs? All he had left after twenty-five years selling cars was his nickname. What was he supposed to do two years before his retirement?

  At the same time his wife Bettina was constantly bothering him about the winter garden that she had wanted for ten years, which he had once promised her. Being a man of his word he wanted to keep his promise to her. That was when he decided to take fate into his own hand. He grabbed his wife's cleaning equipment, the bucket, the mop, the vacuum cleaner and put it all in the back of the car. Then he started going door to door asking if anyone needed his service. At first his wife was terrified since he had been all over their own neighborhood and she did not care for the neighbors to know that her husband had to stoop this low. But once the money started coming in she suddenly saw the possibility of finally getting her winter garden and they had agreed that Kenneth Juhlersen was allowed to go door to door in any neighborhood other than their own.

  Today, three years later, he had three employees working for him. The order with the local inn was one he recently landed so it was of the utmost importance that nothing went wrong. It was the order that could finally put him over the top. If he kept this client satisfied he didn't have to take others any longer. He no longer had to clean people's houses, and Bettina would get her winter garden.

  So when they had called from the inn this same morning and told him that his employee Annette hadn't shown up Kenneth Juhlersen knew had to go himself. It was like he had always said: if you want something done right you have to do it yourself.

  Kenneth Juhlersen had cleaned four rooms by nine thirty and now he walked down the hallway pushing his wagon. He stopped in front of a door and pulled out the key from his pocket. It was an old inn and they had kept the old-fashioned keys instead of replacing them with the key-card system that so many hotels used these days. This place was different. They wanted to keep everything in that old style making people think they had found a piece of the old fashioned Denmark that was charming and romantic. Kenneth Juhlersen knocked first like he had trained his employees to always do.

  "Cleaning-service."

  No one answered. Since there was no “do not disturb” sign on the door he put the key in the door. That was when he realized that it was already open.

  "Hello? Cleaning service," he said again while slowly pushing the door open.

  Still no answer.

  Kenneth Juhlersen shrugged and entered by pushing his wagon through the old white-painted door with golden handles. He sighed and plugged in the vacuum cleaner. This was not how he had pictured his life at sixty-three. He was supposed to have retired by now and travel the world with his wife of nearly forty years. But fate had another opinion apparently. Not only had he lost his well-paid job at the Toyota dealer and lost his retirement bonus at fifty-nine, but last night he had also discovered that his wife in fact hadn't gone to Alanya in Turkey with her best friend Lisbeth for a 'girl's week out.' She was there with another man.

  Kenneth Juhlersen pushed the vacuum cleaner across the carpet aggressively hitting table corners and chairs on the way. He thought about the night before when he was sitting in his living room watching the news when the phone rang. He picked it up and to his surprise talked to a woman he had never heard about before.

  "My name is Lone Bendner," she said. "You don't know me, but I know you. I need to talk to you."

  At first he had thought it was a wrong number or a clever phone sales trick. But it wasn't.

  "I am calling you because I have information about your wife that I think you'd like to know. See she knows my husband Ole from work. They both work at TDC - the phone company. They met at a conference last year in Naksskov. They've been seeing each other since at hotels, telling us they were going to conferences and so on. I know this because I checked his e-mails today and found a bunch coming from your wife where they planned all this. If you know her e-mail and password maybe you can log in and see for yourself. I know this is probably a lot to take in, I know it was for me, but I thought you should know. I know I would want you to tell me if it was the other way around."

  Kenneth Juhlersen gasped for air. His heart was beating fatally fast in his chest. His hands felt sweaty and couldn't hold on to the phone right. He was certain he was about to have another heart attack like the one he had three years ago just after he was fired. But it wasn't a heart attack. This was how it felt to be hit by reality. A reality so hard to comprehend that it made him feel sick.

  "Hello. Mr. Juhlersen? Are you still there?" The voice of Lone Bendner sounded distant, as if it was coming from another world. The world where wives cheated on their husbands and lied to them about where they were.

  "Are ... are you telling me that ..." Kenneth Juhlersen stuttered.

  "Yes, Mr. Juhlerse
n. Your wife is with my husband in Alanya."

  That was when he dropped the phone to the ground. He heard Lone Bendner's voice fade away while he walked towards the kitchen. In the cabinet above the fridge he grabbed the thirteen year old scotch that he had gotten as a farewell gift from the Toyota-dealer three years ago. He didn't even bother to find a glass. He just opened the bottle and started pouring the liquor into his mouth until he couldn't hear Lone Bendner's annoying voice anymore.

  Kenneth Juhlersen turned off the vacuum cleaner and picked up a dress from the floor. He found a hanger and put it nicely in the closet. His head hurt like hell when he bent over. But the hangover wasn’t the worst part. He was mad. Angry, almost furious. He would most definitely fire Annette after all this. No doubt about it.

  "Not showing up for the most important client," he mumbled while picking up a stiletto from the floor and putting it in the corner of the room. "What do I care if she has three kids? If you don't show up you get fired. That's just the way it is."

  Kenneth Juhlersen sighed when he found the other stiletto. He knew perfectly well he could never fire anyone. Nor could he stay mad long at his wife for cheating on him. Who could blame her? he thought, glancing at his reflection in the mirror across from the bed. He was bald and fat. Kenneth Juhlersen sighed again. He always thought that he could keep his wife happy if he made sure she had everything. Apparently that wasn't enough. He grabbed his bucket and put on his rubber gloves.

  Kenneth Juhlersen was indeed having a very bad day and when he went into the bathroom of room 445 and saw the blood smeared on the frosted glass in the shower, he knew it was about to get much worse.

  CHAPTER 4

  THE INTERVIEW WITH THE mayor went smoothly as expected. He was happy naturally and the opposition wasn't. Sune took pictures while I interviewed them both at city hall and then we left. We bought Smoerrebroed on our way home, a Danish specialty, a kind of open sandwich on rye-bread that everybody eats for lunch.

  Sara hadn't moved since we left. She was still sitting at her desk staring into the computer-screen when we entered the editorial room. She didn't react when I lifted the bag with the food and yelled “Lunch is here!'

  That was when I knew that something was up. Sara was scribbling on a notepad next to her while listening intently to the scanner. I shrugged and looked at Sune. He went into the kitchen and brought out plates. Sara was still extremely focused while we ate.

  "It's not like her to be that engrossed," Sune said. He plugged his camera into the computer and began uploading the pictures.

  "You think it is important?" I asked.

  It had been awhile since I last had a really big story to put in the papers. Actually come to think of it, it had been almost two years since Karrebaeksminde had been the scene of the first serial killer in Denmark. I was deeply involved in solving that mystery and earned a lot of credit from my editor. But since then I hadn't had any great stories, so I was feeling a little excited as I watched Sara jotting notes on her pad. Maybe this was finally something I could put in the paper; maybe this could be a cover story? Oh how I wished it was so. I needed it. I had felt so stuck lately. Karrebaeksminde was so drowsy I was afraid it was going to drag me down with it. I was after all still a reporter always on the lookout for a great story to tell.

  Sara finally looked at me as she took off the headset.

  "So what have you got for me?" I asked and wiped my mouth with a napkin. The taste of fish and remoulade sauce remained in my mouth. I drank some orange soda.

  "Something is definitely going on," she said. "You have to move fast."

  My eyes met with Sune's. He signaled that he was ready and hurried up eating the rest of his lunch. I leaned over my desk. "What is it?"

  "I don't know but they've called all officers to report at Astrupgaard, the local inn just outside of town."

  "What happened?" Sune asked.

  "I don't know. They've called for backup from all police stations nearby. That's all I know."

  I looked at Sara. "Do you think we should check it out? It doesn't sound like much of a story."

  "I think it is. Something huge is going on down there. I received a call earlier from someone telling me that they had blocked the building with crime tape and just a minute ago I heard them calling for the forensic team from Copenhagen over the scanner," Sara said. "I think this might interest you."

  I got up from my chair and grabbed my jacket. "That sounds like something worth checking out," I said and looked at Sune.

  He swallowed the last bite of his lunch and grabbed his camera.

  "We're out of here," I said to Sara. "Lunch is in the kitchen."

  Astrupgaard Inn was one of those old-fashioned inns found in most small cities in Denmark. It was romantic and old and had very low ceilings since people were so much smaller back when it was built. It was very charming with its wooden floors and thatched roof. It was perfect for a romantic getaway or for the tourist who wanted to see some of small town Denmark and stay in a place that had good food.

  Today however the tourists found it everything but charming, though. People had been asked to leave their rooms and stay in the lobby while the police searched the entire inn. One by one the guests were interrogated and reports were taken of their whereabouts the last twenty-four hours and if they had heard or saw anything suspicious around.

  The atmosphere was intense when we arrived, to put it mildly. Through the windows I could see people sitting everywhere in the lobby, on the chairs, the table and even some on the floor. Some were talking amongst themselves, shaking their heads not knowing what was going on or wondering why their vacation was ruined like this. Some were crying, others laughing at the ridiculous situation, but common for everybody was that they couldn't go anywhere. They couldn't go back to their room and they couldn't leave the hotel. Police orders, they were told.

  The police had blocked the entrance with crime-tape and two officers were standing by the entrance doors to keep anyone from leaving or entering.

  "I'm sorry. You can't enter," the officer said to me as I tried to walk in. "There is an investigation going on and I cannot allow you to enter."

  I showed him my press-badge. "Rebekka Franck, Zeeland Times," I said.

  The officer sighed. Then he nodded and opened the door so we could walk in. "Okay. But stay in the lobby with the rest. We don't want to have anyone touching anything that might be important evidence."

  "Could I talk to a spokesman from the police?"

  "I'll make sure to find someone. But don't expect it to be quick. We're pretty busy as you can tell. All officers are working."

  "Of course. Maybe you could tell me a little about what is going on?" I asked.

  Sune started taking pictures of the lobby with all the people and the officers.

  "I am afraid, I can't. I'll make sure to find someone who can," the officer said.

  "Thanks."

  I turned and looked at the many guests stuck in this small lobby. There was my story already, I thought to myself. Tourists trapped for hours while a crime was investigated by the police. I spotted an elderly woman sitting in a rococo chair. She was shaking her head in anger. Perfect I thought and approached her.

  "Hello. Rebekka Franck, Zeeland Times," I said and held out my hand.

  She looked at me a little perplexed.

  "Now the media is here too?" she asked.

  "Well I am. I'm from the local paper. Do you mind if I ask you some questions?"

  The lady shook her head and her poodle hair moved along with it. "Do I look like I have anything else to do?"

  I smiled. "Could you start by telling me what is going on? What have they told you?" I asked, turning to a blank page on my notepad.

  "Nothing. Nothing is what they've told us. The police came banging at our door this morning when my husband and I were getting ready to leave for our trip to Gavnoe Castle and see the wonderful flower garden of tulips that I have been so looking forward to. They told us to walk down to
the lobby without touching anything and without taking any of our possessions with us. Now all of my jewelry is in my bag up there and my husband’s expensive watch and laptop and we don't know if we will see it all again. At first I thought ‘Well this must be some kind of fire drill or something.’ Now we have been here for almost three hours and still nothing. They haven't told us anything about what is going on or what they are looking for. There are rumors of course, but I don't know if any of that could be true."

  "What kind of rumors?" I asked while my eye caught Sune's. I signaled that we needed pictures of the lady while she spoke. He approached quickly.

  "Well some say that they had a bomb threat this morning, but wouldn't they have us outside the building instead of inside if that was the case?"

  "I guess they would," I agreed.

  "Others say that they're looking for some terrorist that is hiding at the inn. They're searching all the rooms to see if he is in there."

  "That sounds plausible. It could be some criminal trying to hide from the police," I said and noted the rumor. No matter what it turned out to be it was a great story that they kept the guests uninformed for hours. Plus it had to be more than just a small time criminal since they went to so much trouble and pulled people out of their rooms. This would eventually hurt the inn's image and reputation of a quiet romantic place to spend a vacation. The owners couldn't be happy about that.

  "Then I heard a third rumor that they've found someone dead in one of the rooms," the lady continued.

  I stopped writing and looked at her. "A guest?" I asked.

  "I don't know," she said with speculative eyes. "I guess. Maybe they think that one of us did it? Maybe they'll come down in a little while and point at someone and tell everybody why and how he did it?"

  Maybe someone was watching too many crime-shows on TV, I thought chuckling to myself.