There's no place like HOME (Emma Frost Book 8) (5 page)

“They haven’t even found their bodies,” he said. “I don’t know why they think I killed them.”

“Why, this is outrageous,” Louise had said. “You can’t go to jail for something you didn’t do. It’s not fair.”

“Well, the world isn’t always fair, now is it?” Bjarke replied.

He was right, she thought. He was so smart, it startled her. “But they don’t even know if they’re dead or not,” she argued. “Maybe they just left the country, or maybe they’re hiding somewhere.”

“I don’t know where they are,” he answered. “And, to be honest, I don’t know what to do. They said they found blood in the house, but that could have been from one of the boys hurting themselves. That happened all the time. I loved them, Louise. You must know that. I really loved them.”

“I believe you. I believe you loved them.”

“I feel so alone. No one wants to hear my side of the story. It’s like they don’t even care.”

“I care. I want to hear it,” Louise said.

Bjarke took a deep breath. Louise felt like he was so close at that moment and held the phone tighter.

“I know you do. I’m so grateful for that. I can’t tell you how much it helps to know that I have you. Please, don’t leave me. Everybody leaves me. My mom, my girlfriend, my friends, everyone.”

“I won’t,” Louise said. She could feel his loneliness and it almost made her cry. How could they ever think that sweet man would kill anyone? Just from talking to him, she knew he could never have done any of all those horrible things they accused him of.

“You know they think I killed my mother as well, right? They just didn’t have enough evidence to convict me. That’s what they say…that they now, finally, have me.”

Louise bit her lip. She believed him. But the thing about the mother bothered her. “What…what happened to her, anyway?”

A deep sigh followed. Louise was afraid she had gone too far. “You don’t…you don’t have to answer that,” she continued.

“No, no. It’s okay,” he said.

Louise felt relieved. She didn’t want to lose him.

“To be perfectly honest with you, and I have a feeling that I can be perfectly honest, am I right?”

“Yes. Yes, you can. Of course. I’m here to listen,” Louise said, fearing slightly what would come next. She wanted him to be innocent. She believed he was. Of everything.

“I think she killed herself,” Bjarke said. “I mean, they never found her, but I think she might have walked down to the lake and drowned herself. She threatened to do so on several occasions when I was growing up. One day, she was simply gone. I came home from work…I was working at an auto shop at the time, learning to fix cars and thought that was what I was supposed to do with my life, you know? Then, bam, your life is changed forever. My mom wasn’t at the house and her sister accused me of having killed her. She never liked me much. She thought I was dangerous. I have no idea why she felt that way. I had never harmed a fly up until that point. But my aunt always thought I had ruined my mother’s life…that I was to blame for the way her life turned out or something. I don’t know. But she blamed it all on me and told the police I had threatened to kill my mom several times. Then they found the axe in the garage that had my fingerprints on it. But, of course, it had; I mean, I used it to chop wood for our fireplace. I helped my mom in every way I could, you know? There was some blood on the axe too, they claimed, but it was mine. They said I lucked out. They never believed for one second that I could be innocent. Can you imagine that? Can you imagine having to fight for people to believe you like that?”

Louise thought long and hard, but had to realize she had no idea how that felt. She had never been in a position like that. To her, Bjarke was so experienced in life; he was so smart…and so misunderstood. It was all just a series of very unfortunate events.

Now, she looked at the TV screen while the reporter told the viewers that Bjarke Lund had been sentenced to spend sixteen years behind bars.

He also said that Bjarke Lund immediately appealed the judgment to the Supreme Court, but there wasn’t much chance that they would accept the appeal.

“In my opinion, there’s no doubt about it,” the reporter finished his piece. “Bjarke Lund is going away for a very long time.”

12

July 2014

I
WAS DEVASTATED,
to put it mildly. Morten arrived at the house, and soon after, doctor Williamsen stormed into the bedroom, looking perplex and confused.

Morten was still looking at the victims as the doctor entered.

“Oh my,” the doctor exclaimed when he saw the bodies. He held his chest with his left hand and dropped the brown bag that had been in his right.

“You can say that again,” Morten said. I could tell he was holding back his desire to cry. He had seen several murder victims in his life, but I knew it hurt every time.

“This man is alive,” I said, and pointed at the curtain guy, who still had his head in my lap.

The doctor looked at me. He was sweating heavily. The curtain guy moaned.

“He fainted when he saw the bodies. I think he might have bumped his head on the bed or something when he fell,” I said. “There seem to be a bruise over here, but it’s hard to tell how bad it is with all the blood he has smeared on his face and in his hair. Most of it doesn’t belong to him.”

“I see,” Doctor Williamsen said. “Let me take a look.”

“I think I can sit up now,” the curtain guy, who had told me his name was Peter Wagn, said.

“It’s okay,” the doctor said.

Peter Wagn sat up. I got up on my feet and looked at Morten, while Doctor Williamsen took a look at Peter Wagn’s bruise.

“This isn’t too bad,” I heard the doctor say, then I walked closer to Morten. I wanted him to hold me, but I didn’t want to get too close to the bloody scene. All I really wanted was to get the heck out of there.

“What’s with the shoes?” I asked. “What do you make of that?”

Morten shrugged. “I have no idea. But be careful not to touch anything. I’ve called for the coroners. They’ll be here in a couple of hours, hopefully. They’ll tell us what we need to know.”

There was silence. The doctor told Peter Wagn to stand up and showed him three fingers and asked him how many he saw. Peter Wagn seemed to be better already, I thought. I couldn’t believe I had almost ignored the scream.

I looked at the woman on the bed. She was gorgeous. So young. Maybe in her twenties, I thought. She’d never experienced the joy of having children. I couldn’t imagine a worse fate. It took all I had to not cry…to not lose my grip. I threw a glance around the room and spotted a pair of gold earrings on the dresser, an iPad on a small end table, and the guy’s wallet next to it. It wasn’t a robbery gone wrong. This was a kill, a brutal and bloody kill, and my experience with killers told me that, whoever had done it, seemed to have enjoyed it.

The sparkling shoes gave me the chills. It told me it was planned. It was sick. These young innocent people had been in the prime of their lives.

“Let me take you home,” Morten said. “You need to get some rest.”

I nodded. He put his arm around me as we walked out. The smell of blood was still in my nostrils as we went outside. I took in a deep breath to try and remove it. Morten walked me back to the house and helped me inside. Victor and Maya were still in the kitchen.

“What was it, Mom?” Maya asked. Her eyes were wide and fearful. “What was the screaming?”

I looked at Victor, who was still staring at the table. I had no idea what to tell them. I didn’t want them to worry. They both had enough on their minds. Especially Victor, whose mind never seemed to take a break.

“The police are taking care of everything, kids,” Morten said. “No need to worry. We’ve got it under control. There’s nothing to be afraid of. The neighbors had a little accident, but it’s all taken care of.”

I stared at Morten and was surprised at his ability to lie like that. At first, I didn’t think they would buy it, but they did. Maya relaxed, and Victor got up and ran into the yard to play with his trees.

Morten kissed my forehead. “I better get back. Probably going to work on this all day. I’ll see if I can be here for dinner, alright?”

“Sounds good to me,” I said. “Maybe cooking will help take my mind off of this.”

Morten looked into my eyes. “Are you sure you’re alright? Do you want me to call for your parents?”

“They’re in Copenhagen for the week. A little romantic getaway, they called it.”

“Still madly in love, I take it?” Morten asked.

“You wouldn’t believe it.”

“Good for them.”

“Yeah. Guess so.” I looked into his eyes. I really loved him, but it had been awhile since I had felt madly in love with him. Right at this moment, I was too shocked to feel any other emotion than terror.

He kissed my forehead again. It made me feel like a child. “I better get back. Take care of yourself,” he said.

“You too. See you later.”

13

July 2014

I
TRIED HARD
not to, but couldn’t help crying. I sat in the kitchen with my coffee most of the morning, wondering about the nice couple I had met so briefly the day before. Victor was playing in the yard, while Maya had gone to her room to be on the computer. I told her to go through all her old pictures in the computer and on her phone and iPad. It was the first time in my life I had actually ordered my child to go on Facebook and Twitter. She hadn’t wanted to go out since we got back, nor had she texted any of her friends yet. But now that she suddenly remembered something from her childhood, she had gained new hope, and so had I.

Plus, it kept her busy, so she didn’t ask more questions about what was going on next door. The driveway and area in front of the neighbor’s house had turned into quite the scene.

The coroners had arrived from Copenhagen and parked their blue vans outside, and it had, little by little, gathered a crowd outside the police blockage. People were talking loudly, asking questions, and spreading rumors about what might be going on.

I heard someone walk past my window telling someone else that she had heard that there had been a fire in the house; the other replied that she heard it was a suicide. The island’s TV-station was present as well, the reporter and cameraman trying frantically to get a comment from one of the officers working the scene. I even saw a journalist and cameraman from the mainland, from one of the national newspapers. They knew it was something big. I had no idea how people like that always managed to know, but they did. Soon, it would make the headlines all over the country.

It didn’t take long before it did. Early in the afternoon, I grabbed my laptop and scrolled through some of the tabloid papers, and it was already plastered all over their front pages.

COUPLE SLAUGHTERED IN THEIR NEW HOME

A NIGHT OF JOY TURNED TO NIGHT OF TERROR

I sighed and scrolled through the articles. I hated this. Somewhere out there, the killer was probably doing the exact same thing…going through the articles about what he’d done, about his accomplishments, enjoying every word of it.

I had known my share of killers, and this one didn’t seem to be any different. The brutality was remarkable, though.

I poured myself another cup of coffee and was staring out the window at the scene, when I spotted Sophia. She was walking towards my house. A second later, she walked inside my front door.

“Have you heard about it?”

She took one glance at me, and then smiled compassionately. “Of course you have. Geez. What a show out there, huh? I can’t believe they’re dead. I mean they just moved in yesterday. It’s crazy.”

“I know. Coffee?”

“Definitely,” Sophia said and sat down. “Make it Irish. I need it. This affair creeps me out.”

I chuckled and found a bottle of whiskey. I poured some in both of our cups. I served it to her and sat down as well.

“Can you believe it?” Sophia said again, after sipping her coffee. “Right in there. Right next to your house, someone was brutally murdered. Probably while we were all asleep. What do you make of it, Emma?”

I shrugged and drank. “I have no idea. But, then again, we didn’t know these people. They might have owed money to someone, or maybe they were freaking drug dealers.”

“So, you think it was, like, a job? Like a hit man or something?” Sophia asked.

“I’m just saying we don’t know,” I said.

“Why didn’t he just shoot them, then? Don’t hit men have big guns that they run around scaring people with?”

“I don’t know, Sophia,” I said, smiling at her wonderful childish approach to things. Sophia did watch a lot of movies and TV shows. “Maybe someone was setting an example. Sending out a message of some sort. We don’t know. But, they did buy one of the most expensive houses on the island, and that’s a lot for such a young couple, don’t you think?”

“Yeah. You’re probably right. They have to have been drug dealers or something. Maybe the mob?” Sophia looked almost excited.

“Let’s not get carried away here. Maybe they just borrowed money from the wrong people.”

Sophia scoffed. “That would have had to have been some really wrong people if they ended up like this. I mean, a little punching them around might have done the trick.”

“Mmm…” I said pensively.

“I think I know what you’re thinking.” Sophia said. “You’re thinking, let’s find out, aren’t you?”

I shrugged again and sipped my coffee. “Maybe. But then again, maybe we should just leave it alone. It’s really none of our business.”

“The hell it isn’t,” Sophia said. “It’s all our business. This is our street. This is our island. This is where our children are going to grow up—and, hopefully, they will soon, ‘cause they’re driving me crazy these days. But anyway, I know for myself that I won’t be able to close an eye tonight. If I knew that this was just because these people messed with the wrong crowd, then I could sleep tight at night again, ‘cause then they had it coming, but, if not…then…”

“Then what? You’ll never sleep again?” I asked.