Death Sentence (25 page)

I, however, had only one thing on my mind: finding Linda Hvilbjerg.

When I reached the restaurant, I nodded to the twenty or so people who were there. I didn’t know any of them so
I
didn’t have to chat to anyone and I proceeded straight to the bar. The beer kegs were as yet unmanned so I helped myself to a glass of white wine, set out as a welcome drink. I knocked it back in one go, took another glass and sat down near the bar where I could keep an eye on the entrance.

The guests started to arrive. Some would appear from behind the stands and head for the restaurant, others from the entrance where they crossed through the exhibition hall as if taking part in a parade. Soon so many people arrived that I could no longer make out who was there. I got up for a better look and took the opportunity to fetch another glass of wine at the same time.

Quite a few people I knew had arrived by now and I couldn’t get away with nodding, but was forced to have actual conversations. They were people I hadn’t seen for several years so we had very little to say. The exchanges were clumsy and only lasted until one of us could think of an excuse to move on.

I tried to keep moving – it was the best way to avoid small talk – so I only heard snippets of conversations around me, all about books and publications even though the speakers had done nothing all day but talk about the same subject.

‘Frank?’ I suddenly heard behind me. ‘What are you doing here?’ It was Finn. He stared at me in disbelief. ‘You’re the last person I expected to see here tonight.’

‘Yeah, I know.’ I headed for the bar with Finn on my heels. ‘Cheers, Finn,’ I said, having got hold of another glass of white wine.

‘Cheers,’ Finn said, sipping his welcome drink. ‘And
here
was I thinking you were out hunting criminals.’ He laughed out loud. ‘I tell you, you almost had me there.’

I had given up convincing him so I shrugged. ‘Well, you know me.’

Finn laughed again. ‘Good to see you, Frank. I think you need to get out more. Mingle with colleagues, network, show your face and all that.’

I nodded and swallowed the rest of my white wine.

Finn couldn’t think of anything else to say and pointed over my shoulder.

‘We’re sitting at one of the tables over there at the end. You’re welcome to join us.’

I mumbled a reply that could be taken either way, but Finn appeared satisfied and walked off in the direction he had pointed out.

There was no seating plan so people sat down wherever they wanted to. As a rule, editors would stay with their authors to look after them, but also to prevent other publishers from wooing them. It presented the editors with something of a dilemma because they all wanted to poach new writers as well. I imagine they got very little to eat, busy as they were running around trying to fit in everything they had to do.

In the bar, I finally managed to get a beer. I stayed there and scanned the hall. There had to be more than three hundred people present and I had lost track of things.

The organizer of the book fair, a short balding man with a small moustache and a tight-fitting suit, climbed up on a chair and welcomed us. He gave a speech that was far too long, praised all of us and eulogized literature. I could tell from people’s faces that all they cared about was eating
and
drinking, not listening to the pretentious rubbish he was spouting, but we had to wait like good little boys and girls, including the uniformed waiters with their hands behind their backs.

To my great surprise, I discovered I was hungry. A quick review of the day so far revealed that I hadn’t eaten since breakfast, unless I included alcohol, so when the introduction finally ended I was just as keen as everyone else to get to the buffet. I piled up a large plate of food and tried to spot a vacant chair. I wasn’t tempted by Finn’s offer. I didn’t feel like talking to him or anyone else from ZeitSign.

I sat down among a group of young bookshop assistants who let me eat in peace. They were more interested in getting drunk and telling jokes while I concentrated on clearing my plate. My hunger abated, but I felt I needed to eat more to cancel out the amount of alcohol I had consumed.

Back at the buffet, I picked more substantial foods, such as meat and potatoes, and was so preoccupied with my foraging that I didn’t notice the scent of sweet perfume slowly enveloping me.

‘I hear I might be in your next book?’

It was Linda Hvilbjerg.

I SPUN AROUND
and came face to face with Linda Hvilbjerg. She was holding a plate and had a small wry smile on her lips. Her slim body was poured into a long, black dress with thin shoulder straps. Her breasts pressed against the fabric as if they were part of the dress. Her dark hair had been curled since the interview and her lips glistened in a vibrant, traffic-light red. Her pupils revealed that she had recently applied her beauty powder.

I forgot all about what I wanted to tell her and simply stared at her.

‘I presume your message refers to your next book?’ She fluttered her eyelashes a couple of times and smiled. ‘Just between us, shouldn’t you try to keep work and reality apart?’ She laughed.

I still couldn’t think of anything appropriate to say.

Linda Hvilbjerg came up very close to me and made a point of looking around the room.

‘But could it be true? Am I really in danger?’ She giggled. ‘And are you the hero who’ll save me from the baddies?’

I decided to play along.

‘This ain’t no joke, ma’am,’ I said with the thickest American detective accent I could manage, possibly inspired by my recent encounter with the police. ‘Your life and honour are at stake and I’m the only man who can save them both.’

‘Oh,’ Linda Hvilbjerg exclaimed. ‘Is that really true, Mr …?’

‘Pinkerton’s the name. Dick Pinkerton, at your service.’ I tried to bow, but stopped just in time to prevent my food from sliding off the plate.

‘Oh, the great Dick Pinkerton. What an honour.’

‘The pleasure is entirely mine, ma’am.’

‘And what precisely is your mission?’

‘I’m afraid I’ll have to keep you under surveillance for the rest of the evening.’

‘Close?’

‘Very close.’

‘It sounds like I’m in very good hands, Mr Pinkerton.’

‘These hands will take good care of you, ma’am.’

Linda Hvilbjerg laughed and I laughed with her.

I don’t know how I was able to laugh or where the words came from, but I sensed I was on the right track. It seemed utterly impossible to explain the situation to her as we stood there, tipsy, by the buffet, and the next best thing was to make sure I was near her. This wasn’t only a gallant motive for protecting her from the killer. I have to admit that when I saw her in the black dress with her red lips, I was horny as hell.

However, it’s still beyond me what turned her on that night. I had been drinking heavily for several days and
I
think I was still wearing the same clothes as when she interviewed me the day before. All I can think is that she was so high that she overlooked my appearance or perhaps she saw something else, something her body demanded, like a fry-up for a hangover.

We continued our charade for most of the evening and I think we both enjoyed burying the hatchet for a while. We immersed ourselves completely in our little game and flirted with words, looks and light touches so at last it was only a question of where and when we finally lost our inhibitions.

Even though I carried on drinking and she had been out to ‘powder her nose’ a couple of times, I controlled myself and didn’t simply take her down the hall and screw her behind one of the stands while books cascaded around us. I restrained myself because it was my only chance to protect her, but also because I longed for the warmth of a woman.

Heavily intoxicated and exceedingly horny, we took a taxi back to Linda’s around midnight. I was enormously pleased with myself. Admittedly, I hadn’t told her that she was genuinely in danger, but I was with her and I imagined that in itself would deter the killer. In fact, I regarded myself as something of a saviour and felt so confident that I decided to relax and enjoy myself now that I was there. I deserved it, I convinced myself, and I surrendered to her increasingly intimate groping in the taxi. I noticed the taxi-driver’s eyes in the rear-view mirror, but decided to ignore him.

We carried on play-acting. She was the doe-eyed client and I was the hard-boiled detective who was there to
protect
her and tend to her needs in every way. To this end a thorough physical examination was required, I insisted, to determine what state she was in and also to check for possible wires or other electronic equipment she might be concealing about her person.

Linda giggled at my suggestions and wanted to hear more. Would I be devoting extra attention to certain areas of her anatomy? Did I have special equipment to explore her body? I readily confirmed this and demonstrated how I could examine her mouth most effectively with my tongue. While we kissed, she checked out the rest of my equipment and she was duly impressed at the erection she could feel through my trousers. I, too, was surprised. Despite drinking heavily all day, I still had a hard-on like a teenager.

We were so randy that I almost forgot to pay the driver when we finally reached her house, a two-storey villa in Valby. We spilled out of the taxi and headed for the front door where Linda rummaged through her handbag for the keys. I grabbed her buttocks and kneaded them. They were small and firm, like two balls, and she moaned tenderly and pushed them out towards me.

Finally, she managed to unlock the door and we tumbled into the hall. She didn’t switch on the light, but dropped her handbag and turned around to embrace me. We kissed again. In a thick voice, I suggested that she undressed.

Linda Hvilbjerg took one step back. Moonlight shone through a small window above the front door and on to her torso. She wriggled out of her shoes and reached around
to
her neck. The thin straps fell and with a snakelike movement the black dress slithered over her slim, white body. Her nipples were hard and bobbed up and down towards me like an invitation every time her breasts heaved and fell with her breathing. Her arms were still raised above her head and her back was arched. The skin on her belly was covered with goose pimples and her pubic hair was a close-cropped black rectangle that disappeared between her white thighs.

She asked if I could see anything and I replied that everything looked very, very good, but that I had better carry out a hands-on examination. I stepped towards her and unfairly blocked the moonlight. She let her arms fall around my neck, but I caught them and lifted them back over her head. She giggled, grabbed hold of the coat rack above her and pushed the rest of her body towards me. I kissed her nipples and her laughter was replaced by a small gasp followed by a low moaning. My hands caressed her arms, breasts and stomach. She quivered and the goose pimples rose prouder on her stomach. She sighed loudly and her body trembled as I touched her groin. She was warm and very wet.

I whispered softly that I might have found something and she whispered something affirmative. I took a step back to allow the moonlight to illuminate her body again. She stood with her eyes closed, squirming as if even the light tickled her. I expressed the opinion that it was necessary to use tools and she acquiesced with a sigh. I quickly undressed and left my clothes in a pile on the floor. I was fully erect and the blood was rushing around
my
body. My hands trembled as they seized her hips and turned her so she stood with her back to me. She pushed her arse towards me and spread her legs. I grabbed her buttocks, bent my knees slightly and entered her in one slow movement.

The word count has reached a critical mass. I wouldn’t be able to stop now even if I wanted to, and the sheer magnitude of the manuscript forces me to sleep less and less.

When I finally sleep, I dream about running, not away from something but towards a door or gate that is ajar. It closes just as I reach it, no matter how fast I run, and I wake up on sweaty sheets in the kind of silence that follows a scream. For a long time I lie there, listening, unable to fall asleep again.

It wears me out. I write in a haze. Sometimes I can’t even remember having written the sentence I have just concluded with a full stop. And, from time to time, I don’t recognize the tone that colours it. I take this as evidence that my project is succeeding, my filter has definitely gone, the words flow without being weighed or measured by my vanity or pride, as if they have been written by someone else – something inside me that urges me on and keeps me going.

I’m ready for the final sprint; this is it, from now on it’s going to get very difficult.

SOMETIMES WHEN YOU
wake up, you instantly know that something is wrong. When I started writing full-time I would often get this feeling. I would suddenly open my eyes, convinced I was late for work, until I remembered that I was master of my own fate and could turn over and go back to sleep if I wanted to. In the minutes that pass before you realize what sort of day it is and what plans you have for it, the slightest thing sends you into a flat spin because everything just feels wrong.

When I woke up in Linda Hvilbjerg’s bed, I knew straightaway that something was up. I had slept heavily, very heavily, but that wasn’t surprising. I hadn’t slept very much in the last few days and last night’s physical exertion had also taken its toll. I was sore all over. We had mated like wild animals. Made love in every single room and in every imaginable position. Even though I had been about to explode from lust, I had been able to last for what felt like hours and it wasn’t until we finally ended up in her bed that I surrendered to Linda’s ferocity and she rode us both to orgasm. I must have fallen asleep
shortly
afterwards because I don’t remember anything after that.

But it was neither the exhaustion nor the strange surroundings that explained the feeling in my body. It was something else I couldn’t put my finger on.