Miss Polly had a Dolly (Emma Frost #2) (21 page)

It had gone
wrong,
terribly wrong. Patrick felt like a failure
when he drove towards the port where tonight's big show was going to take
place. They were building the stage now and Patrick was supposed to have been
at the noon briefing several minutes ago.

But somehow he just wasn't quite in the mood for
it. Not for any of it. It wasn't like a catastrophe, he had managed to hurt the
red-haired woman like he wanted to and she had even looked at him and known at
that instant that it was revenge, that it was her past coming back to haunt
her. But he hadn't managed to kill her or leave his mark, his brand behind.
Someone had interrupted him and he'd had to run.

"Damn it," he mumbled and hit his fist
on the leather seat.

Hanne, sitting next to him in the island's only
limousine which they had rented for the day, looked at him. "What's up
with you today?" she asked.

Patrick pulled out one of his famous smiles.
"Nothing. Just excited about the show," he said emotionlessly.

Patrick had heard about the woman on the radio
in the morning while he was in the shower. They had said that a woman was found
yesterday in her own shop where someone had attempted to murder her, but
apparently the killer was interrupted and ran off.

Attempted?

Yes, that meant she was still alive in the
hospital on the mainland. Yes, that meant the doctors believed she was going to
survive, the speaker said.

"It's the first time a victim has survived
an encounter with the bowtie killer," were the last words Patrick heard
before he threw the radio against the mirror and broke both.

Survived? The fucking bitch
was still alive?

Patrick clenched his fist and fantasized about
knocking Hanne out while in the car. He restrained himself. At least the woman
wasn't awake yet and couldn't speak. The speaker on the radio had said so. She
was still unconscious. That meant she couldn't spill the beans on Patrick just
yet. That meant he still had time to finish his project, to finish what he'd
come back for. That, at least, was something. Patrick burst into laughter
thinking about what he had planned for later today, this afternoon before the
big show. They always gave him a couple of hours to rest and get himself all
psyched up for the big show. Oh, he was going to get psyched up alright. No
doubt about that.

Patrick laughed again. Hanne stared at him
again. He smiled crazily. She looked confused. Then she shook her head.

"You sure are something, Patrick." The
limo entered the area in front of the stage next to the port. Screaming fans
approached the windows and started knocking while pressing their breasts
against the car.

"Patrick, Patrick,
Patrick."

Hanne scoffed. "I still don't get it. Maybe
I never will. But they do love you. So do the producers. But only as long as
you bring home the ratings, you understand that? One bad move that makes people
switch the channel or turn off the TV, and you're out of here. That's the way
it works, okay, baby doll?"

 Patrick turned his head and looked at her.
For years he had looked for a good reason to kill Hanne other than her being a
complete pain in the neck. He had been going back and forth on the subject not
knowing if he wanted to or not, waiting for the perfect time, the perfect
excuse.

And here she was handing it to him on a silver
platter.

"Why are you looking at me like that,
Patrick?" she asked and pulled away from him.

He laughed manically. Then he leaned over and
pressed his lips against hers. She protested heavily but Patrick grabbed her
around the neck and started to squeeze it holding her down with the weight of
his body so she couldn't move. He forced his tongue into her mouth while she
fought to get him off. As soon as he let go of her lips she started screaming,
but his grip on her throat was too tight for much other than spurting sounds to
emerge. Patrick smiled and stroked her gently across her face before he knocked
her out with a head-butt. After that she didn't fight much as he strangled her,
once again feeling the almighty thrill of power and control. He panted and
leaned back in the leather seat finally feeling like his good old self again.

 The driver forced the limo through the
crowd of screaming fans and drove to the back of the stage where Patrick took
Hanne in his arms and carried her into his dressing room telling people on the
way how she had fallen asleep in the car.

"I think she drank a little heavily last
night if you ask me," he said and laughed to one of the security guys
guarding the door to his room.

Much to his surprise, the guy laughed back.

When we arrived
at the
hospital it was packed with police cars outside
the front entrance. We walked in but were stopped in the main hall by a man in
uniform.

"Listen. My girlfriend is in there down
that hall…" my dad started.

"I'm sorry," the police officer said.
"I have been told to let no one through."

"You can let these two come in," a
voice behind him said. It was Officer Morten. I smiled when I saw him.
"They're okay," he said to the officer who backed down and stepped
out of the way.

"What's with all the police?" my dad
said as Officer Morten showed us down the hallway towards Helle's room.

"Protection in case the killer tries to
finish Helle off. She is after all the first to have ever survived an encounter
with the bowtie killer. He has reason to want to keep her quiet. Plus, she is
awake now so we're questioning her to get more details about the killer."

"She is awake?" my dad almost yelled.

"Yes," Officer Morten said with a big
smile until he noticed my dad's angry red face.

"Why haven't they called me? I was told
they would call me first thing when she woke up!" he said.

"She has just woken up like half an hour
ago, I think. I'm pretty sure the investigators wanted to have her a little to
themselves, too. You know, to get all the information they need to catch the
killer."

"Have they gotten anything yet?" I
asked when we stopped outside a door. Four police officers were guarding it. We
heard voices from inside the room.

"Not as far as I know. But they haven't
been in there for long. The doctor had to check that she was up for it
first."

We waited at least twenty minutes outside her
room before an officer finally came out. Officer Morten looked at him
expectantly. He shrugged and shook his head. "She won't talk," he
said.

"Doesn't she say anything?" I asked.

The officer looked at me questioningly.

"They're family," Officer Morten said.
"This is Officer Nyberg, he's on the case investigating the bowtie
killer," he said to us.

"All she says is she can't remember
anything. She can't remember who attacked her or even how," Officer Nyberg
said with a tired sigh.

Officer Morten nodded. "Well, it's not
unusual after being unconscious for this long, I guess."

"No, it's not. But I have a feeling that
she's lying. She does remember but she's scared or something. It's just a
hunch, but a pretty strong one."

Officer Morten nodded.

"Why don't you let us talk to her?" I
asked.

Both policemen stared at me.

"My dad is dating her and I've gotten quite
close to her lately, as well. Maybe she'll talk to us?"

Officer Morten shrugged and looked at the other
guy. "Guess it's at least worth a try."

Officer Nyberg looked at me. "This might
not be such a bad idea. Are you up for it? It might be ugly. I mean if she
starts talking she might tell you details that can be tough to handle. Can you
deal with that? All you have to do is to get her to open up to you. We'll take
over as soon as possible. All we need is for her to describe the damn killer
for us so we can nail the bastard. Just make her talk, could you do that?"

I looked at my dad. "We can do this,"
I said and grabbed his hand. "Right, Dad?"

"I already
told the police
I don't remember anything. Nothing at
all," Helle said. She looked horrible. Pale and in obvious pain when she
tried to talk.

"Just tell us what you do remember,"
my dad said. "We need to help them catch the guy. I want to put him away
for a long time." My dad held Helle's hand in his. I could hear anger in
his voice. "We need to help them stop him before he does this to someone
else."

"Didn't you see anything?" I asked.
"Maybe his hair or eyes?"

Helle turned her face away. "I told you I
don't remember anything about him. All I remember is pouring myself some coffee
while he entered the store, then walking out there and asking him if he needed
any help. Then it all went black after that."

"Didn't you catch a glimpse of him before
it went black?" I asked.

"I couldn't see properly. It was dark, he
was standing behind the shelves wearing a hood over his head. You know one of
those sweaters with a hood on. I remember the sweater was dark blue, that's
all. I already told this to the police."

"Did it say anything on his sweater?"
I asked.

She shook her head. I could tell it hurt.

"Maybe we should stop," my dad said.
"She needs her rest."

I exhaled and nodded. "I think you're
right."

"I mean there was something about him that
felt awfully familiar," Helle said all of a sudden.

"Yes? Like what?" my dad asked.

She shook her head again. It hurt and she closed
her eyes to the pain. "I don't know…maybe it was his eyes, maybe I did
catch a glimpse of them after all. I remember thinking I knew them from
somewhere but I couldn't quite understand where from. Then there was his voice.
I think I heard it somewhere before. I don't know. It's all very blurry."

"Could you think of any reason why anyone
would attack you like that?" I asked.

"No," she answered promptly. "The
police asked the same question."

"Maybe it was your money," my dad
blurted out. He looked at me like he had regretted he said it.

Helle turned her head and looked directly at
him. "That was also what the police said," she answered.

I sighed relieved. If the police already asked
her this it wasn't strange that we did as well.

"They also asked me where I had gotten all
that money from," she continued.

"What did you tell them?" my dad
asked.

She looked at my dad then pulled her hand out of
his. "You know what? I don't owe you two anything. I don't have to explain
myself to you. You come here and ask me all these questions like I am some kind
of criminal here, but I'm not alright? I'm not the criminal. I'm the victim. I
was the one who was attacked. I'm in pain here and I'd really appreciate it if
you two would just leave."

My dad looked perplexed. "But, Helle. We're
just trying to help out here. The police wanted us to try and see if we could
help you remember more."

"The police?" Helle almost yelled but
it was too painful. She completely lost the little bit of color she had
regained in her face. "You work for the police now, questioning me? How
could you do this to me?"

"But we're just trying to help," my
dad said.

"Well you're not helping me. Who says I
want your help anyway? Who says I even want you here?"

"But… But, Helle?"

"You know what? I'm sick of you. Sick and
tired of you and your ridiculous family snooping around in my business. Sick of
your daughter's problems that always have to become your problems, too I don't
care about her and all her crap. I don't understand why I have to be dragged
into all your problems again and again. She's a grown woman, for Christ sake.
Let her handle her stuff on her own. It's sick that she still needs her daddy
to help her out constantly and do everything for her. You people make me
sick."

"Helle, my dad's only trying…"

Before I could finish the sentence, she hissed
at the both of us:

"Get out. Get out of here now. Get out of
my life."