Easy as One Two Three (Emma Frost) (5 page)

Where did I find this guy? Did he eat something, a pill or something in childhood to make him always say and do the right things? How can he be so sensitive and understanding?

"Are you for real?" I asked.

Morten chuckled. "What do you mean?"

I shook my head. "Nothing. It's just that sometimes it's hard to believe in things that are too good to be true. That's all."

He looked confused. I realized I should just shut up now. "Thank you," I said. "Thank you for understanding me. And I promise I will try to be more open with you. It's just not something I'm very used to. I grew up drowning all my emotions with food. If my parents had a quarrel or even a disagreement, my mother would be in the kitchen all afternoon cooking all of my dad's favorites. By dinnertime, he would have forgotten all about it. We all would. We never liked to talk about things. We just ate till it went away on its own. I guess it means we had a lot of oppressed emotions, huh?"

"Sounds like it," Morten said and finished his coffee.

I looked at the croissant and put the rest back on my plate. I was stuffed anyway. There was no reason to finish it. I looked at Morten when my phone suddenly rang. I looked at the display and didn't recognize the number.

"Emma Frost."

"Rebekka Franck here."

"Good morning, Rebekka," I said, startled. She was the last person I had expected to call me.

"Well it might be morning to you, but I’ve been up for hours. That's just the way it is when you have a one-year old, huh?"

I could vaguely remember. I had hated that time with the little ones when you were up all night and had to get up early in the morning. All of a sudden, I missed it for some reason. I missed holding Maya in my arms and knowing that she was safe.

"What can I do for you Rebekka?"

"To tell you the truth, I didn't sleep at all last night after we got back from the scene at the harbor. Not because of the baby or the article, no it was something you said that got me thinking. Could you come by my office at the paper today?"

I looked at Morten. We hadn't decided what we would do today. We had discussed going back to Maya's school one more time to talk to her friend but we had already talked to her twice and I didn't think there was anymore to be gained from her.

"We'll be right there," I said and hung up.

12

April 2014

I
DID SOME RESEARCH
on Rebekka Franck in the car on our way to her office in Karrebaeksminde. To my surprise, she wasn't just some local reporter. She had made it big time once. She’d been a correspondent for the country's biggest newspaper and been to Iraq and Afghanistan. But that was all like ten years ago. Now, she had apparently given all that up and taken a job as a small-town reporter for a medium-sized newspaper that covered all of Zeeland, the island containing—among other things—our capitol of Copenhagen. Apparently, she had started out as a reporter only for the local news in Karrebaeksminde, but now she was covering all of the island. She was their star-reporter and often delivered the scoops that made the front cover. She’d had her share of strange cases and even several times solved mysteries that the police had given up on.

Her office was situated on the first floor of an old building in Karrebaeksminde. It was small, to my surprise. Only three desks. One for Rebekka, one for her photographer Sune and then a third for a secretary-type who greeted me and Morten and presented herself as Sara. I liked Sara right away. She was smiling and offered me a piece of cake. She went into a small kitchen and came back with coffee for all of us.

"Thank you Sara," Rebekka said to her co-worker, who went back to her desk and put on a set of headphones.

"Police scanner," Rebekka said and nodded in her direction. "Sara likes to listen in on the police's conversations. That way, we always know if something is going on and can be there on the spot. It's very effective."

"I see," I said and looked at Morten, who seemed slightly taken aback by the fact that someone might be listening in on him when he was at work.

"Morten is a police officer," I said.

"Well, it's not illegal," Rebekka said with a smile.

"That's true," Morten said and sipped his coffee. "But you won't be able to do it much longer. Most districts have started using new encrypted digital radios that you can't listen in on."

Rebekka chuckled and sipped her coffee. "True. They already have them in Aarhus where I used to work before I came here. But this is the countryside. It's going to take a while before the police get them out here."

I ate my chocolate cake while my thoughts wandered off. I really didn't care about police-scanners or whether they were digital or not. I couldn't stop worrying about Maya. A copy of today's paper was on the desk next to us. It had Maya's necklace and the car on the front cover. I felt a pinch in my heart thinking about my daughter. I never should have let her go live with her dad. I should have stopped her. I should have told her to stay with me. Then none of this would have happened.

"How are you, Emma?" Rebekka asked, all of a sudden.

I looked at her. I couldn't read her. Was she just being nice to me because there was a story for her to tell, or was she as sincere as she seemed? I didn't trust her. I never trusted journalists. I had worked on magazines myself and knew how driven they could be in getting their story, how heartless they could become in the chase. I had no idea if this woman was like that, but the fact that she had been the star reporter of the biggest newspaper in the country told me she had the sharp elbows and the drive. I never cared much for that. Plus, she was way too skinny for someone who just had a baby a year ago. I couldn't believe it. She looked great.

"I'm okay, I guess," I said. "I mean it isn't easy…Well, you know."

"That's why I thought that I might be able to help you," Rebekka said. "I have some experience in strange cases like this that the police have given up on or think they’ve already figured out. To me, there is something definitely wrong with this."

I was intrigued. Finally, someone who wanted to listen. "Yes? How do you figure that?"

"Like I said on the phone, it was something you said when I met you at the hospital that got me thinking. You told me your daughter said on the phone that the guy jumped out in front of the car. Were those the words she used? That he jumped?"

"Yes. She told me it wasn't her fault and that
someone jumped right out in front of the car
. There was nothing she could do. Those were her words."

Rebekka looked pensive. "Hm," she said.

"What are you thinking?"

"Well, I read the police report of the accident…Sune found it. He does things like that." Rebekka looked at Morten. "Maybe you shouldn't hear this."

Morten shook his head. "I'm here as a private person, not a police officer."

The photographer looked like he wasn't sure he believed him. Rebekka touched his hand. "Tell him what you saw, sweetie. It's okay."

The tall guy nodded. "Well, I read the entire report through, all the details, and what puzzled me…well, us…was the fact that there were no skid marks on the asphalt at the site."

"Really?" Morten asked.

"No," Rebekka said. "That can only mean one thing. Your daughter never saw what was coming or she would have tried to hit the brakes, right?"

"Naturally. She was so upset afterwards. I fear she might have gone into some type of shock. That has so far been my only explanation as to why she would have driven off. But I just don't understand why she hasn't called since, after the shock subsided. Why hasn't she come back? That's what scares me."

"That's understandable," Rebekka continued.

"So, what do you suggest we do?" I asked, hoping desperately she had some idea because I had none.

Rebekka leaned in over the table. "I was thinking that maybe we should look a little into that Mads Schou fellow."

"The guy in the coma?" Morten asked.

I was beginning to see what Rebekka was getting at.

"Who is he?" she asked. "And, more importantly, what was he doing jumping out in the street in front of a car like that? We can all agree he must have come suddenly, like out of the blue, right? Or else Maya would have hit the brakes. So, whether he jumped or walked is still unknown, but we can also agree that he can't have looked at where he was walking or maybe running. Why wasn't he paying attention to where he was walking before crossing the street? It was broad daylight. The car Maya drove was an SUV. It was big and noisy. What was this guy doing out there all alone? He could have been on his way to somewhere, he could have been out on a stroll. We don't know. But something is definitely off and I say we take a look at him and figure out what he was doing before he was hit by the car. It might be a long shot and we might not get anywhere with it, but I think it is worth a try, don't you?"

I looked at Rebekka Franck, feeling a slight ray of hope grow inside of me. "I'm in," I said. "I think it is a great idea."

"Good," Sune said. "I think I might be able to hack his social security number and get to know a lot about this guy. You know, if he was ever arrested, if he’s been receiving social welfare, etc."

Rebekka looked at Morten, who tried hard not to be upset. "Still here as a private person," he said and held his hands resignedly in the air.

Rebekka laughed. "Good to hear. Well Sune is good with stuff like that. But he can't get caught, it's very important."

"I know a little myself," I said. "I can get pretty handy on a computer and have hacked into the police database several times as well."

Sune smiled. "I think I'm in love. Rebekka, move over, we have a winner," he said, laughing. He had a sweet and gentle laughter. I liked Sune right away and Rebekka was beginning to grow on me as well.

"Perfect. You two hit the computers. Morten, you work with me. I can use your expertise and contacts in the real world. Let's get to work."

13

April 2014

T
HE NUMEROLOGIST HAD PUT
Zelllena in the back of her car and was now driving her to her new home. The numerologist was whistling while driving. Her iPod played the Jackson Five song ABC. She had always loved that song and played it over and over again.

"…A, B, C…It's easy as one, two, three," the numerologist mumbled. "As simple as do, re, mi, A, B, C, one, two, three."

She looked at Zelllena in the back seat. She was still heavily sedated. The poor girl had messed up her life. The numerologist was going to give her a new life, a fresh start in a place where the numerologist knew she would be able to keep a close eye on her. It was perfect.

The numerologist giggled at her own plan. It was so perfect, so flawless. She looked at the girl in the rear-view mirror again.

"Yes Zelllena, this is perfect for you. Where I’m taking you, you'll never be able to run away again. You'll never defy your parents again and hit someone with a car again. You know the police are looking for you, don't you? I saw your picture in the paper this morning. If I don't help you, you'll end up in jail and I really don't think you deserve that. I think I can help you. I can give you a new start, a BRAND new life."

She had cut the girl's hair short and colored it blonde so no one would recognize her. She couldn't have the police finding her. She had also put new clothes on her…some things that were just lying around the house anyway. They fit her perfectly.

"It'll be our secret what you’ve done, won't it?" she asked and turned the car into a parking lot. She turned the engine off. The numerologist drew in a deep sigh of satisfaction. She looked at herself in the mirror and put on some red lipstick.

"You're a hero," she whispered to her own reflection. "Saving this girl from a life as a criminal is by far the best thing you have ever done. You know what happens to them once they are put in those awful prisons, don't you? Yes you do. You know better than anyone how they're treated and how their lives are destroyed. You know how she would meet bad, bad people in there who would teach her bad things. You know…You know…how they come at night…how they…how they…You know she’s innocent. You saw what happened. You know it was an accident, but no one will ever believe you or the girl. Giving her a new life is the best thing you can do. You're her savior. You're a hero and should be celebrated as one. But they'll never know. They can never know. You have to hide her away. Yes, you do."

The numerologist froze at the memories in her mind. Pictures of nightly abuse and endless pain she couldn't escape. She shook her head and swallowed her tears. No, this certainly wasn't the time for self-pity. This was a happy moment. Saving this girl from a destiny worse than death, a destiny similar to the one she had suffered herself, was the best thing she could do. It was her mission. The numbers had told her so. It was written all over them.

"Threes. You're a three, remember?" she told her reflection and closed her eyes. "Threes are joyous people. They are people that others are drawn to. They're creative, they're fun to be with. You're a three, remember."

The numerologist clenched her fists till it hurt and repeated the number. "Three, three, three."

Who are you trying to fool? You're a seven, remember? You can't run from that.

"No. No. No, it's not true. I'm not anymore. I don't like sevens. They're shy and introverted. I'm nothing like that!"

The numerologist held her hands to her face, pulling her hair. "No," she said sobbing slightly. "I'm not a seven."

She pulled herself together and looked at the girl again. She looked so peaceful while sleeping. The numerologist heard voices outside her car as four men came running out of the building. She forced a smile as they opened the door. A man looked inside.

"Is this her?"

"It is. She’s sedated, so she shouldn't cause much trouble."

"We'll take care of her from here on out," the man said and grabbed Zelllena by her arms and hands. He pulled her out of the car where the other three men helped him carry her inside. The numerologist watched with a tear in the corner of her eye as Zelllena disappeared into the building.