Emma Frost Mystery Series Vol 7-9 Read online

  "We don't need no stinking house," Signe said.

  15

  April 2014

  REBEKKA LET ME USE her computer. I stared into the screen, not knowing where to start. I had no idea who this guy was. All I knew was that his name was Mads Schou and, as far as Rebekka had told me, he belonged to a very wealthy family who lived in Karrebaeksminde in one of the old villas by the sea.

  Sune was going to take care of all the official stuff, like searching for him in the police database, so where did that leave me?

  Well I started out by finding him on Facebook. I searched his name and found several by that name, but only one located in this area. I opened his profile. A nice picture of him from his wedding day was the first thing I saw. It was his cover photo. His profile picture showed a close-up of his face, smiling and looking nothing at all like the guy I had seen in the hospital every day since my daughter disappeared.

  He was young and quite handsome. I scrolled and saw posts by others stating they heard about the accident and how sorry they were for what had happened to him and that they hoped he would be okay. His settings were very private so I couldn't see any of his other pictures unless I became Facebook friends with him. I scrolled through his profile again and tried to go into previous posts, but couldn't do that either. Not knowing what else to do, I decided to try and log into his account. I couldn't guess his password, so I used my hacking skills that I had learned from an old boyfriend and got access to his account. It was surprisingly easy.

  I looked up from the screen and my eyes met Morten's. He was on the phone talking to someone from the police. Rebekka was right next to him. I really hoped they were getting somewhere. I didn't feel like I was.

  I scrolled his page and looked at all his posts. He wasn't one to post a lot of stuff. Mostly his posts were about his favorite soccer team—Liverpool. I looked through his pictures and saw lots of pictures from his wedding. Signe Schou was his wife's name. Why hadn't I met her in the hospital? It was always the sister and the mother who were there. I didn't understand that. On his profile, it said they were still married, so it wasn't like they had divorced. Besides, they had only been married two years. Where was she?

  I wrote her name, followed by a question mark on a piece of paper next to me, then continued through his profile. I would check her out later. Now I was looking for anything that could tell me what he was doing on the day he was hit by the car.

  The latest post he had made was the day before the accident. It simply said YNWA. It was posted on Signe Schou's wall. Apparently, she had posted the same on his the next day. I looked at it, then at Sune.

  "Do you know what YNWA means?"

  "You'll never walk alone," he answered. "It's a signature for Liverpool fans. You know, the English soccer team?"

  "I know," I said disappointed. I had hoped it meant something important. "It was Mads Schou's last post on Facebook on the day before the accident."

  Sune nodded. "So he’s a Liverpool fan, huh?"

  "Guess so. Seems to be all he posts about. That and pictures from his wedding two years ago."

  "Interesting," Sune said and returned to his screen. His fingers were dancing rapidly across the keyboard. I looked at it, impressed. I had never seen anything like it. I stared at the profile picture and suddenly felt like I was wasting my time. I should be out there in the world looking for Maya instead of going through this guy's private stuff.

  I went back to the front page and looked at it. I leaned back wondering what it was about this guy and his pictures that annoyed me.

  Then, something caught my eye. I leaned forward and clicked on "Events." Maybe twenty events showed up…birthday parties, weddings, cocktail parties and so on. But one in particular caught my eye.

  "Bingo," I said.

  Sune looked up again. Rebekka came towards me. Morten followed her.

  "You got something?" Rebekka asked.

  "Look at this. This event is dated for the day when he was hit by the car."

  Rebekka came closer, then read the invitation out loud:

  "Murder Party?"

  "That's what it says," I said.

  Rebekka continued to read: "Only for the invited. A murder will take place on April 19th 2014 at noon in the old theater in Karrebaeksminde."

  Rebekka looked at me. "What the hell is a murder party?"

  I shrugged. "Maybe it's like those murder game parties. They're often used as fundraisers. They turn off the lights and then someone is tapped on the shoulder and has to fall to the ground and then when the light is turned back on the others are supposed to guess who did it. Something like that," I said. "There’s an old novel written about it too…an old Miss Marple mystery."

  "Whatever it is, it looks like it is where Mads Schou might have spent his last hours on Saturday the 19th," Rebekka said. "If you look here, he accepted the invitation and said he was going to participate."

  16

  April 2014

  THEY WERE RUNNING TESTS on him. Mads could feel it when they stuck their needles in his skin and took blood samples; he could hear them talking amongst each other, some of the nurses were even making jokes while taking samples from his body.

  And he couldn't do a damn thing about it. He was stuck inside of his own body and couldn't tell a soul he was still alive. Still, Mads was clinging to a tiny ray of hope. Mads had moved his pinky. He was certain he had. It had felt different than when he tried to move anything else and it didn't react. The pinky reacted. It really did. It might not have been much motion, since no one seemed to notice, but it was something. Now he only wondered if he would be able to get them to notice before they cut him open and took his organs.

  His mother and sister hadn't come yet. Mads had no idea of time or date. He only knew it was daytime, since the room was constantly filled with nurses and doctors and it was never like that at night when everything went frighteningly quiet and all he could hear was his own thoughts.

  Now he heard a nurse come in the room and he listened to her clogs as she walked across the linoleum floor. Mads had learned the sounds pretty well by now. He knew the difference between them in the way they walked. He used the rhythm in their steps, the sound of their shoes, things rattling in their pockets, humming voices or whistling, or just the way someone cleared his throat to distinguish between them. That's how he knew the person approaching now was a woman. By the sound of her clogs. She was very tall, he guessed. Her steps were far apart and he guessed she had very long legs. Mads focused all of his strength on moving his pinky again and, this time, he was determined that she should see it. She just had to.

  She was almost by his bedside now. She stopped and he guessed she was checking his monitor and the fluid next to him. She changed the bag of fluids that kept him hydrated, then pressed a button on the monitor to make sure his heart rate was okay. Mads knew her every move. Six times a day they did the same routine. Then she wrote the numbers down on his chart and hung it on his bed. Mads moved his pinky all he could to signal her that he was awake. Usually when they were done with the chart, the nurses left and it would be hours before anyone came back, unless they were doing more tests. Mads tried all he knew how to. He was certain the finger had to be flipping in the air by now, with all the strength he was putting into it. Then something extraordinary happened. While Mads was expecting to hear the steps of her leaving the room to attend other patients, she didn't. Instead, she paused. He listened carefully, but heard no steps, no movement whatsoever. Could it really be? Was she looking at him?

  Please see it. Look at my finger. Please see me!

  More steps. They weren't walking away. They were approaching. Mads couldn't believe it. She was coming closer. With great excitement, he listened to her steps while moving the fingertip as much as he could. He was getting tired now, but the desperation kept him going.

  Please just see it. Please?

  The nurse stopped. She was being very quiet now. He sensed that she was close. He could feel her warmth. He c
ould hear her breathing. Was the sound coming closer? Was her breathing coming closer to him? Was she leaning down towards him?

  She’s seen it. She must have seen it!

  Mads felt her warm breath on his skin. She was close to his ear now. Was she examining him? Was she going to say something? Had she realized he was awake and now was checking him out closely? What was she doing?

  Suddenly, a voice rung in his head. One that filled him with such a horror his heart almost stopped.

  "A, B, C…It's easy as one, two, three…"

  Then he screamed. Inside of the prison that was his own body, Mads started screaming with utter terror.

  17

  April 2014

  "SO WHAT DO WE do next?" Sune asked.

  "We know the guy probably went to a murder party game or fundraiser at noon on the Saturday that Maya disappeared," I said. "Maya hit him with the car at two o'clock, not far from the theater." Rebekka had found a map of the town and we were now looking at how far away from the theater the accident took place. It was very close. "So, we must assume he was on his way home from this party? And that was when he stepped out in front of the car without looking. Right?"

  The others nodded.

  "So, I'm thinking it’s a good idea to find out who else was at this party," I continued. "Maybe someone else left the party at the same time he did. Maybe they saw Maya…." I paused. It was really far-fetched. There was already a guy that had seen her drive off. Maybe it was about time I just admitted that she had run off? "No. It's no use," I said resigned.

  "Why?" Rebekka asked. "I think it’s a great idea. I mean, what harm can it do to check it out, huh? So what if we don't learn anything about where Maya is? At least we will have tried. It's better than just sitting here and waiting, right?"

  I looked at her. She was a very pretty woman. And she was so right. I couldn't stand just sitting and waiting anymore. I needed to act. I needed to at least do something. I didn't feel like the police were doing anything at all to help me out. It was brutal to have to just wait for her to show up on her own.

  "You're right," I said. "At least we're doing something here. Let's find these people. As far as I can see, twenty-two people other than Mads Schou were supposed to attend this party. I say we contact every one of them and ask about what went on and if they saw Mads leave."

  "We'll say it’s for an article," Rebekka said. "Sune can give Morten one of his cameras to make him look like a photographer. Tell them it’s only research so far, no interviews yet. That'll make them talk. People say more if they're not held accountable afterwards. That's why people would rather speak to a journalist than the police. As long as you promise not to quote them for anything."

  "Sounds like a plan to me," I said and looked at Morten.

  Sune handed him one of his cameras.

  "Anything for you," Morten said to me, as he took the camera.

  I looked through the Facebook invitation and found the list of people who had stated that they would participate. "Look," I said and pointed at a name. "Signe Schou. That's his wife. She was also going to be there."

  "Good," Rebekka said. "Why haven't we heard about her before? I didn't see her at the hospital."

  "That's what I've been wondering about," I said. "I’ve been at the hospital to visit Mads every day since we got back and I haven't seen her once or heard them mention her name."

  "That's a little strange, isn't it?" Morten asked.

  "It's very strange," I said pensively. I scrolled through Signe Schou's profile to see if anything jumped out at me, but nothing really did. Only the fact that the last time she had updated her profile was on the day of the accident. At nine in the morning she had written the letters: YNWA on Mads' wall. Just like her husband had posted on hers the day before. Were they just very big soccer fans? Signe didn't appear to be according to her profile. There were no updates about Liverpool, or any other team, for that matter. She hadn't even put them under interests or groups and she hadn't liked their fan page. Why would she write something like this? Just because her husband was into this?

  "So how do you suggest we go about this? There are no numbers or addresses of these people who were at the party. All we know are their names and their Facebook profiles."

  I looked at Rebekka. I had a good feeling about this. I couldn't put my finger on it, but something about this direction we were about to take made sense. It simply felt right.

  "I suggest we just write a message to these people one after another, explaining to them who we are, that we work for the newspaper and that we're doing a story about Mads and we're going to write about him, a nice portrait about the person he was before the accident and then wait for them to take the bait."

  18

  April 2012

  THEY GOT A SUITE at one of the many five-star resorts stretching along Alanya's silky sand beaches on the southern coast of Turkey. Mads and Signe soon visited all the attractions, sun-bathed during the day and partied well into the night. They took a Dolmuş to visit the Alanya castle and saw the Red tower on one day, on another they took a boat trip and saw all the caves, then they went scuba diving, and later on a Jeep Safari and even rode a donkey one day. They rented scooters or walked and soon they had seen everything. Signe had gotten a nice tan and was bored with lying on the beach, trying to sleep away her hangovers. Mads was getting more and more dull again and she was tired of the way he constantly jumped around and served her, like he was her little monkey. He made sure she had everything she needed and it annoyed her more than ever. They went shopping excessively to make Signe happy, but the joy didn't last long. Spending money like they didn't care was fun at first, but soon became dull. There were no more dresses she wanted to buy and no more shoes or souvenirs she desired. After a week and a half, Signe believed she had seen it all and she was starting to lose interest. In both the town and in him.

  "So what do you want to do today?" Mads asked over breakfast.

  A small part of the omelet was stuck in his beard as he spoke. He was beginning to look like a bush-man, Signe thought, and felt like shaving him, but even that thought bored her.

  "I got another e-mail from my mom," Mads continued.

  Signe didn't even bother to look at him. She scrolled her news feed on Facebook. No one at home seemed to be doing anything interesting either. It was still boringly cold in Denmark and they were—as usual—expecting spring to come right around the corner. One of her friends had posted a picture of her and her boyfriend sitting outside in their yard enjoying the sun wearing big winter jackets and beanies. That was Denmark in the spring for you, Signe thought to herself. Who needed that?

  "What does she want?" Signe asked without caring about the answer.

  "She’s asking us when we're coming home. She found a house that she thinks will be perfect for us."

  "She has now, has she?" Signe answered without interest.

  "Yeah. So what do you want me to tell her?"

  Signe shrugged and finished her coffee. "I don't know. Tell her we don't know. What do I care? She's your mother."

  "Yes, but when are we coming home?" Mads asked. "We have to get back at some point. I'm supposed to start in my dad's firm as soon as we do. We should at least give them something to work with, don't you think we owe that to them?"

  Signe looked at her husband. She hated that he always wanted to be so sensible. She didn't enjoy that side of him. She liked his adventurous side. She liked it when he went crazy with jealousy or with rage or passion. Oh, how she longed for passion, some sort of spark in him and in her life as well. Something to let her know that they were still alive and not just another dead couple, just waiting for life to be over.

  She wanted more out of her time here on this boring earth.

  "We don't owe them anything," she said with a grin.

  "We are, after all, living off the money they gave us." Mads sighed and rubbed his forehead. "I don't know what we were thinking. I mean, it’s been fun and all, but how are we going to
explain it to my parents?"

  Signe shrugged with a light grin. "We don't."

  "Don't what?"

  "Don't explain it," she said and took another bite of the sugary croissant that she had pushed into the middle of the table because she thought was done.

  Mads wrinkled his forehead. Signe hated when he did that. It was something a father or an old teacher would do. It was so…bourgeois. So incredibly boring.

  "I don't understand."

  Of course you don't. It doesn't fit with your desperate need to please your parents, does it?

  "Don't answer the e-mail, don't call them. Don't talk to them at all. Then you don't have to explain anything, see?"

  Signe leaned forward and grabbed his hand in hers. "Let's see where life takes us. We can't go back. I don't want to go back to that boring old country and sit in some house from the eighties and spit out kids that will ruin my body and then bother me till I die. I want to live, Mads. I want to really live."

  She paused and waited for him to fully understand what she was saying. She’d had this feeling ever since they were in that restroom in Egypt looking at the bartender lying on the tiles bleeding from his head. The adrenalin, the excitement, she needed it. She craved it. And she knew she could never get it back in boring old Denmark. Somehow, she sensed that she was never going home again. There was no way she could go back.

  "But…but…our families?"

  "What families? I only have my mother and I'm not missing her, to be honest. Think about it Mads. With what happened in Egypt, I don't think it is even smart for us to go back. They might come looking for us. It's better to lay low for a little while."