He looked at her, first with an expression on his face that suggested he had fallen for her act, but suddenly it changed and for the first time she saw hatred. Quickly he hit her in the face again, twice more and then put a stranglehold on her neck. He gripped her so hard that she thought he might even mean to kill as he lifted her up and she had to stand on her tiptoes to avoid the pain.
“You’re not fooling me; I saw it in your eyes. You think you’re something special, but you’re just a common little slut; my little slut.”
He stuck his tongue back into her ear and licked her, bit her earlobe and then let his tongue follow her jaw line, up to her mouth and he nipped at her lips. She made some noises that would draw his attention to the fact that she was choking and he relaxed his grip a little. Then he stopped what he was doing.
He looked appraisingly at her and she tried to guess what he had in mind; she was surprised by what he said; again it was if he had read her mind.
“You know what I want and you also know that it goes faster if you play along; you’ve done it before. If I let you go and you do what I want I will not hurt you. If you shout for help or resist, I’ll kill you. I do not care about you. It’s not the first time for me either. Do you understand?”
10
Despite the fact that Verner Damgaard had probably died of natural causes, Peter Hansen was still not satisfied. The matter was quickly closed, and then he had been busy with a serious fraud case requiring many people to review vast amounts of potential evidence; but now he had little time to spare. He sat at his computer at the police station, most of his colleagues had gone home, and he stared at the blank screen. He still had a strange gnawing feeling in his stomach that did not come from the very spicy kebab he had eaten earlier; this feeling was about something else entirely.
It was a feeling he had been waiting for throughout his time with the police. Now it was finally here, an intuitive sense deep in his stomach. Here was the case which could be used, at long last, to show his bosses and all his detractors the real Peter Hansen. He was not, as many took him to be, just a hardworking but quite unimaginative detective, someone who should always be bypassed when promotions were awarded.
He raised his arm to scratch his armpit and felt the moisture of sweat while the smell hit his nose. There was something affirmative in the smell of sweat, a confirmation that he worked hard. Or perhaps that his deodorant was working overtime because his obesity caused him to sweat more than he would have done if he had lived a healthily life. He chose the first reason - real people who work, sweat. That’s the way it is. You have to be a fashion model or reality star to be a person who neither farts nor sweats.
Hansen clearly remembered Verner Damgaard from his reality program on TV. He was an arrogant and smug bastard, tall, charming, outgoing; a particular type who spewed his evils through so-called ‘funny’ comments.
“Well, you have sent the comb on holiday!” he would say when he really meant: “You look like shit.”
He had a charming but cool dismissive smile that made people uncertain as to whether it was in fact they who were too sensitive. Everyone talked about him behind his back, but no one had the courage to directly tell him that he lacked self-awareness. So poor was his tact that he had refined what it means to be a bastard to an entire art form in itself. It would not have surprised Hansen if someone had wanted to kill Damgaard, but on the other hand one cannot kill people just because they are a bastard who thinks they are really funny when they’re not.
Actually, there was not really anything wrong about this case and his superiors would be angry if they knew he was wasting time on it - especially several months after the case was closed; nevertheless had Peter Hansen his suspicions. He made himself comfortable at the keyboard and carefully entered the search criteria the records system required. He clicked slowly and with a certain pressure on the mouse button, and waited for the results appeared on the screen. He leaned forward slightly in his chair to read it and while he did he began to do something he rarely did - he smiled.
“Bingo!” he said quietly to himself.
He thought it sounded good to say ‘Bingo’ when the system gave the desired result; it was what a detective in a movie might say. It gave him a real buzz that the system produced exactly the result he had hoped for.
There it was; the same name in an almost fifteen year old case. Apparently there was nothing suspicious in the matter – how could a rich old man’s disappearance on a cruise to Alaska not be suspicious? His body was never found and it had been suspected that he just had fallen overboard. Perhaps it was just an accident, or he been taken ill or had a heart attack, maybe he had even suddenly committed suicide. He had not travelled alone since he was married and had his wife - Marie Tofte-Nielsen – with him. She had kept her maiden name, even though she was married to a very wealthy man. It had to be unusual.
Now he had his big break; he was convinced and the anticipation of him cracking both cases was almost too much. He found a picture of the woman on Google from the time she became a very wealthy widow, and considered it thoroughly; she looked a little different now. In the picture, she was not in the foreground, she was standing right behind another at the funeral, and she was a little grainy, but there was no doubt that it was her.
She had the same dark hair, but it was a bit shorter now. She had sunglasses and a hat on as she had for Damgaard’s funeral and rather full lips. There was something in her radiance, something indefinable that both repelled and attracted him. He could not quite put his finger on what it was, but as he looked at the picture, he was completely and absolutely sure of two things: Marie Tofte-Nielsen had killed her husband, Mikael Tuksen, and now she had killed Verner Damgaard.
The first murder, if it was murder - and it was Hansen sure - had left her with so much money that she could live a life of luxury and ease, just on the interest...so what was she doing with a second-rate TV ‘star’ called Damgaard? He looked up her name in Google, but there were only individual results from newspaper articles on the latest death. She apparently liked a low profile, and it only contributed further to increase his suspicions. Most women who marry for money and fame try to grab the lime-light so why not her?
While he sat and looked at the picture of her, and again read about the case with her rich husband an idea began taking shape in his brain; he was amazed that it had never occurred to him before. Either it was really stupid, or simply brilliant, but he thought it was the latter; he fervently hoped so at least. If he should actively pursue the idea, he would do so with great caution and shrewd talent, just the characteristics that most doubted he possessed.
He had a lot of overtime hours from the fraud case and he had not cashed them in yet. It was always preferred, in the interests of keeping costs low, that overtime was taken as extra leave as opposed to additional salary, irrespective of whether the general public suffered from the shortages of manpower. So he’d been thinking he could take a long vacation to Thailand and find himself a willing woman for a while, maybe even longer; he’d given up trying to attract a Danish woman unless she was even uglier than he was.
But instead of going on an extended date with some nubile twenty year old Thai girl, he would nail Marie Tofte-Nielsen and win the lottery. He had a feeling inside that was almost orgasmic and it was nothing to do with images of naked Asian girls, it was an exceedingly rare sense of triumph; he was most surely going to win.
Once his master plan had come to its perfect conclusion, then he would go to Thailand, but for good. He’d build a luxurious house next to the beach and find a wife or maybe just a few live in friends. And if he got bored he could maybe do a little private investigation work from time to time.
With his hands crossed behind his head, he leaned back in his chair and imagined what it would all be like, sipping cold beer by his own pool as two or three naked girls frolicked and giggled in the water. As he fiddled with the front
of his trousers to accommodate the growing presence inside them, that rarely seen smile visited his face once again and revealed a set of misshapen and discolored teeth.
11
“Excuse me?
I lifted my head to see a woman standing at my table, her coffee cup balanced in one hand and a plate with a pastry in the other. At first she just looked like any other woman and I presumed that she simply wanted to ask if she could share my table. But then I saw something in her eyes. I hadn’t seen anything like that for a long time; maybe never. Her eyes were full of trust and a gullible kind of courtesy. I had a vague feeling that even I might have looked like this when I was just a few years old. The look in her bright blue eyes almost sucked me in, as if she were a child and wanted to ask me to play. Her smile was warm, but with a hint of nervousness, as if she was unsure of herself and why she had spoken. I could not resist smiling back at her and it made her look a little more confident.
“It’s just…I saw your scarf when I came in. It’s breath-taking. I’m really sorry to bother you…I’m sure you must think I’m some kind of weirdo for asking you this, but where did you buy it? I didn’t even know I wanted one like that until I saw it. Now it’s almost as I couldn’t live without it!”
She paused and gave me another awkward smile.
“It’s just stunning and makes you look like you should be on the cover of Vogue and I’ve always wanted to look that, but never thought I could, but with a scarf like that…but it’s not that you wouldn’t always look like you should be in Vogue since you’re very beautiful and your hair is stunning and…”
She laughed nervously as she paused for breath:
“…and you must think I’m making a pass at you and in a minute I’ll be thrown out of here for bothering customers and…and…I’m going to shut up now because I’m rambling like fool! Sorry!”
She laughed a little again, but now with a questioning if not concerned look in her eyes. She was really not quite sure how I was going to react to her rambling. My first thought was to simply tell her I bought it in Hong Kong, in a little shop near Hollywood Road and I had been thrilled because there really was only one of its kind. It was an expensive, but a rare find and the woman didn’t look like she could have afforded it. But there was still this unavoidable enthusiasm in her eyes and it made talking to her almost irresistible.
“Please…have a seat,” I said.
“Oh thank you,” she replied and she quickly placed her things on the table.
At one point I feared her coffee was going to go everywhere. But she recovered it and settled down into the chair opposite me.
“I bought it in Hong Kong on one of my travels,” I told her as she picked up her coffee cup in two hands and took a first sip.
“It’s quite a rare and expensive scarf, but honestly I am tired of it. Do you want it?”
She almost dropped her cup she looked so shocked at my offer, but I think I was in an even worse state. I felt confusion; almost panic. What on earth had I done? I, who always considered myself to be very calm and calculating, was giving away one of my favorite scarfs to a complete stranger. She could have no idea how precious the scarf was. Making sure my movements were not rushed, I took a deep breath and picked up my own cup. I have learned that giving into panic is a sure way to expose your weaknesses. Better to compose yourself and consider the situation carefully to see where things might be going. She now looked mortified.
“Oh no! No! Please; I didn’t ask you to take advantage of you. And you shouldn’t give me the scarf just because you want to get rid of me. I am so sorry I bothered you…”
She moved as if to stand up again and I held a placatory hand over hers, but didn’t quite touch her.
“No it’s fine, please…”
As she settled back in her chair I took the scarf off and handed it to her. She didn’t reach for it at first and there was a vulnerable look in her eyes. She looked like part of her wanted to turn me down out of courtesy, but the other part just had to have that scarf.
“Take the scarf!”
I almost sounded like I was giving her an order, but at the same time, I had humour in my voice and a smile on my face.
She took it and her jaw dropped a little as she felt the thick, soft silk between her hands; her eyes now filled with wonder.
“But it’s magnificent. One of the most beautiful things I have seen in my life and its touch is like heaven.”
“It will look good on you. Not with what you’re wearing now, but if you have something with a tighter cut, it will make you look stunning.”
I must have sounded like a saleswoman in a department store. When I saw the hurt look in her eyes, I realised that my remark about her style of clothes had hit a nerve; as if she knew herself she was wearing the wrong clothes.
“Sorry, my big mouth; I didn’t mean to offend you. I have a lot on my plate at the moment and I’m a bit tired.”
“Oh don’t worry; I’d love to change my whole wardrobe. I live with my ex and he scrounges off me, leaves me with all the bills. You have a problem with a guy as well? Sorry. Now I got too personal.”
“No, actually I just got rid of my problem. I’m single.”
I saw myself stretching my arm out to shake hands and was flabbergasted by it. Why was I doing this? It was like I was reacting spontaneously without my brain’s permission; I was actually acting on impulse.
“My name is Marie,” I said.
“Oh I’m Lotte; lovely to meet you. And are you really sure about the scarf?”
“Absolutely! You must have it. I’m sure I would have added it to the pile the next time I cleared my wardrobe. I’d have given it away to a charity shop.
“Well I’d love to know what else would be in that pile!” she said with a grin. “You look stunning and I’m sure we’re about the same size… Oh sorry! Here I am being too pushy again; I really don’t know what’s come over me. But thank you so much for the scarf. I don’t know if I have anything like you suggested I should wear with it though. I haven’t bought any new clothes for about a year because of The Ruminant!”
I must have looked puzzled and she burst out laughing.
“Oh I’m sorry. It’s my nickname for my ex. He has this way of chewing food that makes him look like a camel or a cow.”
“Well I once had a boyfriend who looked like a sheep giving birth when he came - totally blank.”
We both burst out laughing now and the rest of my afternoon was suddenly filled with Lotte and me comparing the idiotic people who had been in our lives.
***
The next morning Lotte wandered into the kitchen to get a coffee and there was a text message from Marie on her phone:
‘Wear black today and put on the scarf – that’s an order! Sincerely, your new stylist’
Lotte grinned as she felt that inner warmth you get when you make a new friend; especially one who makes you laugh so much.
Dressing as instructed, she threw her bag over her shoulder and wrapped her coat around her. It was a cold winter’s day even though there wasn’t a lot of snow. Lotte thought that in a country where the weather is the main topic of conversation people even end up talking to themselves about it. She took the metro into the Amagerbro and walked the rest of the way to the office where she worked.
One of her colleagues, Anna, was just coming out the coffee shop near to their building and they walked together. Lotte noticed Anna give an admiring look at her scarf.
“So how was yesterday?” asked Anna, “I don’t know how Morten talked you into it, but that man can sell sand in the Sahara! Actually I think he’s got a crush on you and wants to get you transferred to his department!”
“I’ll never agree to that!” Lotte replied, shuddering at the thought. “I’d never be any good there anyway; I can’t sell anything, it’s not me. I’m fine where I am and Morten is defi
nitely not my type.”
“So what is your type?” asked Anna.
“Anything that’s the opposite of Morten!” said Lotte and Anna almost dropped her coffee.
Morten came to see her just before lunch and asked how the networking meeting had gone and she replied somewhat evasively that it had been alright. He asked her who she’d met, if she’d exchanged business cards with anyone and if the lecturer was good. She answered vaguely that there wasn’t really anyone of great interest there and that the speaker was okay, but said nothing really new. Morten had encouraged her to go to a meeting for new salespeople because he wanted to encourage her to change jobs; he liked her ‘positive outlook and charisma’. She knew that because he had said so when he tried to convince her to go. And she couldn’t say no. Just like now when she had trouble telling him that she hadn’t gone to the meeting, but had spent the afternoon with a really funny new friend instead.
He ended the conversation by asking whether she would want to go to other similar events and she couldn’t really say no. He was so persuasive and insistent and this was clearly very important to him. Maybe she owed him now as well since she had lied; perhaps she’d go to the next one and try and be more enthusiastic. She simply told him “maybe.”
“Oh great! Good! Fantastic! I am sure we’ll get you to come around to the idea. You’ll love it. Maybe we can meet after work someday and I can tell you all about my selling techniques?”
“Maybe.”
Lotte was trying to appear busy to make him go away. She clenched her teeth a little and plucked up the courage to tell him she had to work to do. For a moment it looked like she’d hit him, but he gave her his ‘sales manager’ smile and wished her a good day. Before he turned away, he winked and pointed at her with one finger as if to say “someday, you’ll say yes” and went on his way. Never in a million years thought Lotte.
Dead Men (Marie and Lotte Book 1) Page 8
