Emma Frost Mystery Series Vol 7-9 Read online

  There was a silence and I suspected that Morten had handed Paul Beckman the printout. I would kill to be able to see his face right now, but I didn’t dare to look.

  “I…I’m sorry, Officer. The e-mail was written in anger. I…I never meant anything by it. A harmless joke.”

  Morten cleared his throat. “Well, not as harmless as you might think. I take it you haven’t heard what happened to Jonas Boegh and his wife?”

  Hadn’t heard it? It was all over the news? If he pretended to not have heard it, he had to be lying.

  “Heard what?”

  “It’s been in the news all day yesterday and this morning,” Morten said.

  “I’m sorry. I’m a truck driver. I haven’t been in the country the past week. Just got back from a trip to Poland this morning. I’ve been sleeping all day, since I had to drive all night.”

  “Do you have anyone who can confirm that?” Morten asked.

  “Sure. My boss can tell you I was there. The company I delivered the goods to can as well. I can have them contact you, if you like.”

  “Probably going to need that.”

  “So, what happened to them?” Paul Beckman asked.

  “They were murdered in their home while they were in their bed.”

  There was a pause. I wanted so badly to look up, but did I dare to? I wanted to see if this guy was a liar or not. I lifted my head slowly and peeked inside. There he was…slightly overweight, red beard, bald. He was shaking his head slowly while looking at the photograph Morten had brought.

  “I…I don’t know what to say,” he murmured. “I guess I can understand why you’d come to me…you know, after that e-mail I sent.”

  “You did tell him to sleep with one eye open.”

  Paul Beckman sighed. “I was angry. I have issues with anger, okay? She was my daughter…he got the creep off. I was frustrated. Helpless. I let the anger get the best of me. What would you have done?”

  “Probably not have written a threatening e-mail,” Morten said, with his calm voice.

  “Okay, so I was mad at the guy. I get it. I have a motive. I might want to hurt him, but killing him? Killing him and his wife? Don’t you think I would have chosen to kill the kid instead? To hurt the one who actually hurt my daughter?”

  He made a good point. Didn’t sound like he was lying either. Either he was innocent, or a really good actor. Plus, he had the alibi.

  He could have done it anyway. Who would notice if he made a stop on the way?

  “Okay, Mr. Beckman. I’ll leave you for now, but you should stay in the country, in case we need to talk to you again,” Morten said.

  “I can’t do that. I drive a truck!” Paul Beckman said, raising his voice. “It’s my entire life. I need to make money. I have to pay alimony. My ex and her new husband insisted on putting my daughter in that boarding school, and that I have to pay half of it. It’s ruining me! If you ask me to stay in the country, I’ll make no money!”

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Beckman, but you’ll have to stay here until I tell you otherwise. I can’t have you suddenly disappearing on me.”

  “That’s BS and you know it.” Paul Beckman was yelling now.

  Uh oh.

  I felt my heart rate go up, but Morten remained calm. He was very good in situations like this. “Mr. Beckman, you have to calm down, or I’ll have to take you in. Do you hear me?”

  I could hear Mr. Beckman snort aggressively. “Please, leave my house. I need to get some sleep,” he said, growling.

  I could hear them walking towards the door. I crawled along the house wall, hoping and praying I would make it to the car before Morten got out. I could hear them by the front door, and I stormed towards the car, opened the door and crept inside, then took my laptop back on my knees, just as I saw Morten walking towards me. I smiled and waved. He got inside and started the car.

  I was out of breath, but managed to hide it. I tapped on the computer.

  “So, how did it go?” I asked.

  “Fine,” he said with a grin.

  “What?”

  “Did you get those green marks on your knees while sitting in the car?”

  I looked down and saw very visible grass stains from crawling across the grass. Then I blushed.

  Morten laughed and shook his head. “Is there any more chocolate cake left?”

  24

  May 2009

  LOUISE WAS SMILING while putting on lipstick. She watched her face in the mirror. It had changed. She had changed. Ever since her visit to the prison, everything inside of her had changed. At first, she had been a little taken aback, a little scared when he had taken her like that in the visiting room, but after a little while, she had learned to enjoy it. He had been rough. His hands had hurt her, but she had kind of liked it. She had liked the way it made her feel.

  Like a real woman.

  For the first time in her thirty-eight years on this earth, she felt loved. For the first time, she felt like she was worth something. She had even cooked, for once. She had made lasagna, and the smell was intoxicating. She was going to cook for herself from now on, and not just eat microwave dishes or her mom’s food that she always stuffed in her freezer every time they came by. No, Louise had realized that she was actually capable of doing things herself, of taking care of herself. Bjarke Lund had taught her that. During her visit, after they had sex, they had talked. He had told her she could do anything she wanted to in life.

  “Anything?” she said. “But…but I have a disease? I have a mental illness,” she said. No one had ever talked to her like he did…like she was an equal.

  “So what?” he said. “Everybody goes a little crazy now and then. Lots of people have mental illnesses, yet still do big things.”

  “Really?”

  “Sure. Besides, I don’t think you’re so different. You seem pretty normal to me. Believe me, you can do a lot more than you give yourself credit for.”

  So, Louise had started doing things she had never dared before…and with great success. She was determined to be able to take care of herself and not depend so much on her parents anymore. Up until now, they had done everything for her. They had washed her clothes, they had cooked for her, and they even took care of her finances. But that was about to change. Louise wanted to take control of her own life. She had already done so by visiting Bjarke Lund without her parents knowing it. And she was going to visit him again, next week, and probably the week after that again.

  Her parents noticed the change when they came to visit later that evening. As usual, her mother had brought a casserole, assuming that Louise had no food in the house.

  “You look different,” she said, as she air-kissed Louise’s cheek. “Did you do something to your hair?” She gasped. “Are you wearing lipstick?”

  Louise’s dad smiled and held her tight when he hugged her. “You smell good,” he said.

  Louise smiled and closed the door behind them. “Come in.”

  “What’s going on with you?” her mother asked. “I don’t like this, Hans.” She looked at Louise’s dad.

  “I think it’s fine, Marlene,” he whispered back. “She seems to be doing well. She looks happy.”

  “Get that lipstick off, honey. It looks hideous.” Louise’s mom reached out a hand and smeared the lipstick with her thumb. She held Louise’s head hard with the other hand. Louise tried to protest, but it was always hard when it came to her mother. It was like she possessed this power over her, like she could make her into a small child with just a look or a word.

  “Mooom…please, don’t.”

  “It won’t come off,” she said. Louise’s mom then spat on her thumb and tried again.

  Louise moaned in humiliation.

  Her mom finally looked at her and smiled. “There. It’s off. Looks much better like this.”

  Then she let go of Louise, who cried and pulled away.

  “Oh, don’t be such a baby,” her mother said. “You look much prettier this way. You looked like a whore with
that on. And you’re not a whore, are you Louise?”

  Louise bent her head and shook it. “N…No.”

  Her mother patted her on the shoulder. “Good. I didn’t think so. I didn’t raise you to be one either. It’s a good thing you have us to guide you. I know you’re not well, honey. I know your disease makes you like this. That’s why your mom and dad are here to help you. You don’t know any better.”

  Louise’s mom went into the kitchen and her dad followed her a few steps behind. He didn’t even look at Louise as he passed her, holding the casserole.

  “Come on, let’s get something to eat,” Louise heard her mother chirp from the kitchen. “I’m starving. Oh, you cooked, did you? Well, that was very nice of you, dear, but we can’t eat that. Let’s have the casserole. At least we know what’s in that, right?”

  Louise sniffled, and then took in a deep breath. She looked at herself in the mirror in the hallway. The change was gone. The light in her bright blue eyes that had been there since her visit to the prison was gone. In a matter of seconds, her mother had managed to slap her right back to where she came from. Louise stared at her smeared lipstick, and touched her lips gently in the same way Bjarke Lund had done it. She felt anger rise inside of her. She had often felt angry when her mother humiliated her, but never like this. Bjarke had talked to her about anger. He had told her that anger was good for you. It wasn’t supposed to be bottled up inside of you. It was a healthy feeling. It had to come out somehow, or something inside of you would break.

  His words had stirred up something inside of Louise, and she realized that years of bottled up anger were about to erupt, and she wasn’t sure she would be able to control it when it did.

  She wasn’t sure she wanted to.

  25

  July 2014

  IT ALL WENT really fast. Once they put the offer down that afternoon, after visiting the house, the realtor called that night and told them that the owner had accepted. Now, all that was left was the paperwork.

  In two days, it was all done, and they signed the papers. Friday, they were handed the keys, and started to move in. It was the fastest take-over this realtor could remember, she told them, as she shook their hands goodbye.

  It suited Christine perfectly that it had gone so fast, since she was ready to start decorating and wanted it done while she still had the energy and strength. Once her stomach got bigger, she knew it would be too hard.

  Jacob smiled and kissed her cheek as he moved a box into the kitchen.

  “I can’t believe this is actually ours. Finally, our own house,” she said.

  They had been looking for what felt like ages for the right house, and she had been on the verge of giving up…until Jacob and asked if she wanted to go live on Fanoe Island. Since his offices were in Esbjerg, they might as well live out there as in some house north of the city. As soon as they started looking out there, Christine knew they were in the right place. She just felt it. It was so perfect for her. Especially now that she was about to become a mother.

  “Emil is going to love it here,” Jacob said, as he carried another box inside.

  Christine had wanted to move the kitchen in first, since they were going to need that the most. That, and a bed to sleep in, naturally. He was going to get that next. Jacob had wanted to stay in their rented house a couple of nights more, since they had it until the end of the month, but Christine was so excited about the new house that she wanted to sleep there from the first night.

  “Sure…he will,” she said.

  She watched Jacob as he carried the heavy box inside the kitchen. They were so happy at this moment. It was like nothing could come between them.

  But you’re deceiving him. You have to tell him at some point. You can’t keep it a secret forever.

  Christine sighed. No, not now. Not today. She didn’t want to ruin their happiness and joy right now. Maybe tomorrow. Or some time next week when they were all settled in. Jacob had enough on his plate right now. The old house needed to be fixed up before they handed back the keys, and he didn’t want Christine to lift a finger. He would let her unpack a few boxes, but other than that, he had told her to relax and just focus on growing our little Emil.

  How could she break his heart and let him know? Would he be angry? Would he resent the baby? Would he resent her for it?

  “There. That should be all the boxes for the kitchen,” he said with a wide smile, as he came back into the living room where Christine was sitting on a chair Jacob had moved in as the first thing, so she wouldn’t have to stand up. Her legs had been quite swollen lately.

  “Amazing,” she said and got up. “Let me start unpacking.”

  “Now, remember to take breaks, darling. And don’t forget to eat. Emil needs to grow, remember?”

  Christine exhaled with a soft smile. “Of course.”

  “The movers will be here later. I have to go to the office for a few hours, then I’ll be back, but you can tell them where to put our furniture, right? Just don’t lift anything. Promise me that?”

  Christine chuckled. Jacob had been so sweet and protective ever since she announced the pregnancy.

  “I’ll be fine. Just go.”

  “Are you sure? I have a meeting, but I could reschedule if you need me to?” he said.

  “There’s no need for that. I’m fine here. I’m more than fine. I love this house. I love spending time here. I can’t wait to get everything into place. I feel so good about this house. I feel so safe here.”

  Jacob smiled gently. Then he leaned over and kissed her. He opened the front door and stepped outside. Then he turned and looked at his wife again.

  “I’m glad you like it. It’s going to be a wonderful life for us here. Just you, me and Emil. I can just feel how perfect it’s going to be.”

  Sitting in his car on the street, watching Christine kiss her husband goodbye in the doorway, Jesper Melander couldn’t agree more.

  “It is going to be perfect,” he whispered.

  26

  July 2014

  THE NEWSPAPERS WERE all over the story about the angry father in the days after our visit to his house. They still were on it the following Friday morning when I sat in my kitchen going through the headlines.

  The story about Jonas Boegh, who defended a rapist and got him free, seemed to be their favorite. Their next favorite was the story about the father allegedly avenging the daughter by killing Jonas. They were all theories, of course, but all the articles stated that the police were seriously looking into the matter. I had no idea how they knew about Paul Beckman. Neither did Morten, and it annoyed him immensely. He had been in a bad mood for days now, and I was getting a little annoyed with him. Especially the night before when he came to dinner. Once the kids finished eating, I started asking about the investigation.

  “What about the shoes?” I asked. “Has anyone looked into that?”

  “Enough with those shoes. What is it with you and the shoes?” he snapped at me.

  It was unusual for me to hear him talk in a tone like that. He was always so calm and gentle.

  “I just think it might be a good clue, that’s all. If you can find where the killer bought them, then maybe they can describe him, or even tell you who he is.”

  “It’s a pair of shoes,” Morten said. “There are a lot of shoe stores in this country. Do you seriously suggest that I contact all of them and ask about the shoes? I’m sorry. But I don’t have time for that. It has been mentioned in all the papers, and on TV, and that has to do for now.”

  I sensed that he wanted me to leave it alone, so I did. I couldn’t stop thinking about Paul Beckman and his bad temper. I had been digging a little into his background, and knew he had been arrested more than once in bar-fights, and he had beaten his ex-wife’s new husband with a baseball bat once. I had my serious doubts about his alibi as well. It was a little too easy, I thought, and kept arguing with Morten about it.

  “He could have done it anyway,” I said.

  “That
might be, Morten argued. “But I have to stay with the facts, and there is nothing linking him to the killings. No blood, no DNA, no fingerprints, not even a shoeprint. Nothing places him at the scene of crime. Plus, his boss tells me he was on the road at the time of the killings.”

  “But he has a very good motive,” I grunted.

  “He does. But he is right. It doesn’t make sense to kill the lawyer. He would have killed the boy instead.”

  I shrugged. It was a good point, but it had been his point and maybe just a clever excuse. “Maybe he’s next? Maybe he’s just waiting for everything to calm down a little, and then he can go after the kid. Get them both while he’s at it.”

  Morten didn’t want to discuss it anymore, so I left it alone. The atmosphere after that was tense and bad. We hardly spoke the rest of the dinner, and afterwards, Morten left, telling me he had promised to come home to Jytte right after work.

  My guess was that he didn’t tell her he came here to dinner. Probably so he wouldn’t have to argue with her about it. It was getting more and more ridiculous.

  As I sat in my kitchen Friday morning and enjoyed my morning coffee, Sophia stopped by, and we talked for an hour or so. I told her about my troubles with Morten. It felt good to get it off my chest. I needed to talk to someone about it.

  “I’m sorry, sweetie,” she said. “Stepchildren can be so much trouble. I went through that same thing with a guy I dated. He was, like, obsessed with keeping her happy, and she did not like me, so needless to say, we had to split up.”

  I stared at her. I really didn’t want to have to split up. I hadn’t really thought it would go that far, but now I was starting to.

  “I’m sorry, sweetie,” she said. “I’m sure you guys will figure it out. I mean, come on. It’s Morten and Emma, right? They always figure things out.”

  “I hope so. I really do. Tonight he’s going to her birthday party, and I’m not invited.”