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  “Michael Oestergaard. You used to take dancing lessons at my aunt’s dance studio. Jazz ballet.”

  “Miss Lejrskov’s class. Michael. Oh yes, I do remember.”

  I really still didn’t, but I remembered my dance teacher. Michael looked to be at least eight or nine years older than me. How could I have remembered him?

  “Exactly. I used to hang out there with my brother and look at all the pretty girls. So you are a big-shot reporter now? I must admit I have been following your career. It has brought you around the world?”

  “Sort of.”

  “And now it has brought you to Karrebaeksminde. I heard from the old Miss Jensen in the tourist-information-desk down on Gl. Brovej that you had come back.”

  “And she was right.”

  That woman did a little more than informing the tourists around here.

  “So you work for the newspaper down here now?”

  “Yes, I do.”

  “And you probably want a comment for your article?”

  “I would love that.” I was stunned. I couldn’t believe his courtesy. Normally I wouldn’t get a single word out of the police until they had a press conference, and then I would only get what all the other reporters got.

  “Well, I can’t say much.” He lowered his voice and got closer. “But it ain’t pretty, I can tell you that.”

  “But what can you tell me about what happened here. Is it a murder?”

  “No doubt about it. Someone broke in through the back door and killed the guy.”

  “Do you have any suspects?”

  “No, but we might begin with his wife,” he laughed. “He wasn’t exactly known as one of God’s better children, if you know what I mean.”

  “I don’t, I’m sorry. So you will be questioning the wife in the near future?”

  “Sure, but don’t write that. That would be interfering with investigative information. You know that.”

  “Then please just tell me what I can write.”

  “Write that the victim has been identified as Didrik Rosenfeldt, CEO and owner of the world-known company Seabas Windmills, and known as a part of the famous and very wealthy Rosenfeldt family. He apparently was killed by an intruder in his summer residence, there is an ongoing investigation, and that … is it, I think.”

  I wrote everything he said in my notebook.

  “Why hasn’t the body been removed from the house yet?” I asked.

  The detective sighed deeply.

  ”I really can’t get into that.”

  Sune had probably been right.

  “How did he die?”

  The detective got an occupied look on his face.

  “We don’t know yet. That’s for the crime lab to figure out. I am sorry but I really have to get on with my job …”

  “But surely you must have an idea?”

  “We do, but we won’t share it with the public, yet.”

  I nodded. That’s what I expected. The crime scene must have been messy just as Sune said. I spotted Sune out of the corner of my eye. He took pictures of the body as it was finally removed from the house in a body bag and transported in an ambulance.

  “Who found the body?” I asked Detective Oestergaard.

  ”The housekeeper found him this morning, when she came to clean the house.”

  “At what time?”

  ”She called us at six.”

  “Can we talk to her?”

  “Well, I guess I can ask her.”

  I had to pinch my arm. I’d never met this kind of cooperation from the police. Were they always like this or was it because he knew me? Anyway, he left me for a second and came back with a small Philippine woman with an empty look in her eyes and an expression like she had seen the devil himself and lived to tell about it. It seemed she was still in shock and I knew I had to be careful.

  I greeted her with a handshake and introduced myself. The detective left us, his duty calling. I waved at Sune and signaled I wanted him to come and take her picture. He came right away.

  “So, that must have been real horrible for you,” I began.

  “I … I just walked in, like I normally do. Normally he isn’t in the house. I didn’t expect … I mean, how could I know?”

  “Of course you didn’t know. Can you tell me a little about what you saw?”

  She didn’t look at me but stared into open air.

  “He was dead. Blood everywhere. On all the floors in the living room. All over the parquet. It was like a slaughterhouse. He was shredded to pieces. Ripped apart like an animal would kill its prey. No man could have done this. Only a demon.”

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  Table of Contents

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  Rock-a-bye Baby

  Eenie, Meenie

  Nibble, Nibble, Crunch

  Humpty, Dumpty

  About the Author

  One, Two ... He is coming for you (Excerpt)

  http://www.amazon.com/Humpty, Dumpty

  http://www.amazon.com/Courageous

  http://www.amazon.com/THE WOLFBOY CHRONICLES

  http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/4804769.Willow_Rose