Nine, Ten ... Never Sleep Again (15 page)

I was both
frustrated
and angry as I drove across the countryside
towards Silkeborg. I kept calling Sune, but he still didn't pick up. I had no
idea what to think. On the radio, they talked about the third case of organ
theft in the area and interviewed a police officer about how people should
approach this, asking him if they should be scared.

"No I don't think that they should. So far,
the victims have all been white males and all have been staying in hotels.
There is no reason that normal people should be afraid in their homes."

"But maybe if they're staying the night at a
hotel?" The journalist asked.

The policeman sighed. "I don't want to
spread panic or ruin the hotel business so, no, you're not going to get me to
say it is dangerous to stay in a hotel."

I turned the volume down when there was a
commercial break and drove on. It was raining now and the winds had picked up a
lot. When the commercials were done on the radio, the presenter talked about a
storm that was on its way. I tried calling Sune again, but still no answer. I
called Jens-Ole instead and told him I had received his messages and was on my
way to the hotel in Silkeborg. Then I asked him if he had heard anything from
Sune.

"Not since last night when he sent me the
pictures for today's story. Great article by the way."

"Thanks."

"I thought you were with him. Didn't you
stay at the same hotel?" He asked.

"No. I went home to be with my
family."

"Too bad. I thought I had you on the
inside. That would have been a great story," he said.

Yeah, then we could both have
been victims and made the front cover,
I thought,
sarcastically.

"You're not thinking something might have
happened to him?" Jens-Ole asked.

"I don't know what I’m thinking. All I know
is, he spent the night there at the same hotel and there weren't that many
other guests. Is there any news about the identity of the victim?"

"Not yet. My guess is they are looking to
inform the relatives first," Jens-Ole said. "I'm sure he is fine,
Rebekka."

"I really hope so."

"Call me when you find him." I
detected a slight concern in Jens-Ole's voice.

"I will."

I hung up and continued through the many hills
and forests thinking of nothing else but Sune and all the fun times we had had
together. I thought about Tobias back at home in Karrebaeksminde. Who was going
to tell him?

You're being ridiculous,
Rebekka. Of course he is fine. You're overreacting. Calm down, for Pete's sake.

I felt tears pressing my eyes again and speeded
up, hoping that there were no police in sight. Luckily, they were all at the
hotel, parked by the front entrance, where they had put up a roadblock to keep
curious passersby out. I parked down the street, then ran towards the crowd. I
held up my press card and elbowed my way through the crowd. I spotted officer
Jansson, who I had talked to the day before on the phone about the organ
thefts. He was walking behind the roadblock. I called out to him. I knew him
from way back, when I worked at a big national newspaper in Aarhus.

"Rebekka Franck?" He said and
approached me. He signaled that I could come behind the police strip. "It
happened again, huh?" I asked. "Any ID on the victim?"

The officer shook his head. "I haven't been
up there yet. I just came in from Aarhus, so I don't know much. As far as I
know, he is still on the operating table."

"But he must have had personal items like a
wallet or something, right? They must have found his stuff in his room?"

"Probably. But you know how it is. They
need to inform the relatives first, before they can tell the media."

"Naturally."

"You look worried." He suddenly said.

"I know someone who spent the night here last
night. I guess I am just scared …" I could hardly hold the tears back now.
Officer Janssen saw it.

"My God, Rebekka. Are you alright?"

"I don't know. I just need to make sure it
wasn't him. What room was the victim staying in?"

"Room 237."

"Who are you?"

The woman Henrik guessed was Barbara Rasmussen
stared at him. "How did you get inside the building?"

Henrik grinned. "You don't know me, but I
know a lot about you."

Barbara closed the door a little. "I'm not
interested in buying anything."

"Oh, I'm not here to sell anything."

"So what do you want? Say, haven't I seen
you somewhere before? Yes, I have. On TV. You're that kidney-guy. The guy who
had his kidney stolen?"

"Guess I have become quite the celebrity,
well we don't need any further introductions, then."

Barbara's eyes softened. She opened the door a
little more. "I'm so sorry for what happened to you. Is that why you're
here? Because you heard I was with Martin Damsgaard that night before …"

Save the drama, bitch. It
doesn't work on me. I see right through that little act of yours.

Henrik smiled compassionately and nodded.
"Yes. That is exactly why I'm here. I wanted to talk to you about that
night."

Barbara shrugged and opened the door completely
so Henrik could step inside her apartment. "I don't have much to tell, but
if it'll bring you any comfort, then you're welcome."

Henrik put a hand to his chest. "Thank you
so much. It means a lot to me. I have so many unanswered questions and no one
to talk to about it." Henrik walked through the hallway and into the
living room.

"Oh, I can understand how that must be
hard," Barbara said behind him. "I feel like such a victim in this
too. I'm so confused and I’m having a hard time sleeping at night since this
happened. I mean, it was a close one for me too. I could as easily have been
killed as well if I hadn't left during the night. I know I was lucky, but it
still lingers with you, you know? Well, I guess you do know more than anyone,
right? You must be frightened to death of going to sleep after this. Oh where
are my manners? Do sit down in any of the chairs or on the couch. I'll make us
some coffee. How do you take it?"

"Black." Henrik said and found an
armchair to sit in.
As black as my soul.

"Be right back. Make yourself at
home," Barbara said and disappeared. Henrik could hear her rummaging in
the kitchen. He looked at the paintings on the wall. Modern art had never been
his thing. All just a lot of random strokes with the brush in different colors
and then they dared to call it art. In Henrik's mind, artists had always been a
bunch of freeloaders and parasites. It always enraged him when he read about
the artists who received lifelong support from the Danish government. Was he
really the only one who could see them for what they really were? Was he the
only one to figure them out? It was so obvious that they simply just didn't
want to work. They were lazy and didn't want to contribute to society, so now
he had to pay for them through his taxes? Henrik had tried to write letters to
the minister of culture and open letters to the newspapers about it, but no one
seemed to care.

Henrik clenched his fist and hit the armrest of
the chair. He restrained his anger and closed his eyes.

"Here we are," Barbara said and
entered the living room.

Henrik opened his eyes and looked at her. She
was quite beautiful even for a feminist.
Freaking
man-hater, tell me why you still want your man to pay for dinner, huh? Why do
you want him to hold the door for you if you're so freaking equal, huh? Let me
show you who's in charge, I'll hold you down and fuck you back into your place.
Treat you like a real woman.

"I brought a little brandy to spice up the
coffee," Barbara said with a smile. "It's not too early in the day
for a little brandy, is it?"

"To hell with that," Henrik said and
poured himself a big glass of brandy.

Barbara stared at his almost full glass, then
poured herself a little on the bottom of hers. Henrik lifted his and spilled a
little when it ran over the edge.

"To new beginnings," he said and their
glasses clinked. Then he gulped down the entire glass.

Barbara stared at him and he could tell she was
getting uncomfortable, when he put the empty glass down on the table and wiped
his mouth with the back of his hand. Henrik smiled. "That hit the
spot," he said. Then he leaned over and smashed his clenched fist into
Barbra's face. "So did this."

The punch threw her backwards. Her nose was
bleeding and she was staring at him with great confusion. "What?" she
mumbled and spat out a tooth.

"Now we can talk properly," Henrik
said. "How many of you are there out there? Who is in charge?"

Barbara's eyes rolled in her head as she was
trying to understand what Henrik had said. "What? What are you talking
about? Why the hell did you hit me?" She tried to get up from the chair,
but was too dizzy and fell backwards.

Henrik tried hard to relax, to hold back his
anger. He felt like the paintings were staring at him, laughing at him,
reminding him what a sucker he had been all of his life, working so hard paying
his taxes and for what? So these talentless freeloaders could throw a few
strokes with a brush on a canvas and call it art? Was that what they paid them
to do?

"Please leave," Barbara stuttered. Her
voice was shaking with fear. It annoyed Henrik even more. He tried to think of
something nice. Like his third grade teacher had told him to when he felt that
anger rise inside of him.
Just think of a
beautiful meadow, think of the ocean, think of flowers, or your mom and dad.
Whatever calms you down. Then count backwards from one hundred.

Henrik did all of that right now. He saw the
beautiful meadow, he pictured a waterfall in Hawaii, he imagined he was on a
boat in the ocean fishing and drinking beer, he pictured the most gorgeous
woman dancing in front of him wearing absolutely nothing at all. But still, he
couldn't calm himself down.

"You need to leave now," Barbara said.

"I'm afraid I can't do that." Henrik
said through gritted teeth. He poured some coffee from the pot and slurped it
loudly.

"What … What do you want from me? Why have
you even come here?" Barbara asked.

"I want to know who you are working for.
I've had my kidney stolen and I want to know what happened to it. Who has
it?"

"I …" Barbara tried to talk, but her
mouth hurt. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Come ON! Don't you think I know? How
stupid do you think I am? I know you're all working together. Don't take me for
a FOOL. I know how it works. I have figured ALL of you out. All I want to know
is what you have done with my stolen kidney. Where is it?"

Barbara was trying to get up from her chair
again and this time she succeeded, holding on to the back of her chair. She
reached out for the phone. Henrik watched her while laughing. Finally she
managed to get the phone in her hand, when Henrik kicked it out of her hand and
slammed his fist into her face once again. Barbara fell backwards, her head
hitting the tiles so hard it sounded like a melon cracking. Henrik walked
closer and looked at the blood that was running from the back of her head onto
the white tiles.

What a mess
.