Devil's Touch (16 page)

Chapter 15

The doors of the elevator close and Fredericsson looks down at his shoes.
”It’s as if I have just been in this very same elevator on the way down. That was last night and now it’s noon.”
Fredericsson thinks back to the night before when he had followed Eric to the elevator and had deliberately stared at him as the doors were closing.
”There’s something in his eyes that tells me that kid knows more than he’s saying.
”

Fredericsson’s phone is ringing. He sighs, but when it keeps ringing louder and louder he finally pulls it from his pocket.

"Fredericsson."

He puts his head back and stares at the ceiling, feeling all the while as if he’s moving downwards.

"Can’t you assign that case to someone else?"

He sighs deeply.

"Yes, sure I know who that is. But she says that she saw him yesterday afternoon. A few drops of blood isn’t exactly murder. When would that have happened?"

He swallows and nods.

"But we don’t know if it’s actually murder. The man just hasn’t come home."

Fredericsson laughs.

"Maybe he’s seeing someone that his secretary doesn’t know about."

His smile freezes.

"Yes, I know he’s a well-known figure. Yes, I know what the press would make of it if we don’t react at once. But still, can’t it wait until tomorrow?"

Fredericsson quickly looks at his watch and feels how tired he really is.

"Can’t you send someone else? I didn’t get much sleep last night."

He scratches his neck and it feels sore. The voice on the other end gets more insisting.

"OK, OK. I’ll go there right away."

The elevator doors slide open and he steps out and looks down the hall in front of him. He stops.

"Have you talked to Eric, the guy you didn’t question yesterday?"

He turns to face the elevator again.

"No? You have nothing on him? Just his false name…"

He snorts.

"He’s cooler than I thought he was. Find out who he is. Maybe the doorman knows, and if not, start with the tabloid magazines. He was in that building for a reason. I mean, not everybody gets past that doorman."

He shakes his head.

"Let me know as soon as you have something."

He nods.

"Yes, yes. Just keep me posted."

Evy tries to keep the sound of her crying down. As the tears stop, she’s feeling confused, empty and afraid. The nurse lets go of her shoulders.

"Go take a look in the mirror. It’s really not as bad as it sounds when we talk about it. You’ll get a scar, but I think you’ll be able to cover it with make-up. Go take a look."

Evy cautiously touches the bandages on her neck before slowly sitting up in the bed.

"Ouch, ouch, ouch!"

Her words are quiet as if she doesn’t want the nurse to notice, and finally she gets on her feet. She can feel every stroke that hit her yesterday. She breathes faster which triggers a pain in her chest that’s beyond words. She stands still and tries to get her breathing under control. She finally succeeds. Full of fear, she walks over to the sink, where the small mirror is. Already at a distance, she’s surprised and lets her hand stroke the bandages. Then she smiles and holds her head a little higher.

"It’s not that bad, is it?"

Evy shakes her head.

"But how does it look underneath the bandages?"

"You’ve had eight stitches. I’ll give you a mirror next time we change your bandages so you can see how it looks."

"Is there any blood?"

Evy suddenly thinks that she sounds like a little, scared child and smiles.

"I guess I’ll find out."

She laughs, hoping that the nurse won’t take her fears too seriously.

"No, we stopped the bleeding with the stitches."

"Now, lunch is ready."

She puts down the tray and leaves the room. Evy leans against the sink and stares at the bandages for a while. Then she closes the door and goes back to her bed with determined steps. She opens the small closet next to her bed and removes the magazines before carefully taking out the pink phone. She looks at it for a long time before switching it on. The battery is almost fully charged and she can see that nobody has tried to call her. She puts the phone down in her lap and reflects on the fact that no one has called her. Deep down she feels cold and the words resonate in her head.
”I have no family to worry about me.”
She puts her hand under the pillow and pulls out the business card. She taps it against the phone and then there’s the sound of her finger against the screen. She puts the phone to her ear.

"Hello?"

She pulls back her head a little.

"Did I wake you? Oh, I’m really sorry. I’ll keep it short."

She speaks rapidly and her words sometimes stumble over each other so she has to start over again.

"What do you mean, his name again?"

She listens silently.

"I won’t ask any more questions. I’ll text you my email address. Will you get back to me? Yes, of course you need to sleep. Goodbye."

Evy looks at the phone, feeling surprised. Then she puts it away.

Chapter 16

Fredericsson is tired as he parks his car in front of the house. He stays in the car for a while and slowly realizes how beautiful the park is. He gets out of the car with some effort, and he notices that the car is way beyond dirty. He senses the smell of the ground, of the trees and of autumn, and it’s as if he can see how the leaves are changing color. He breathes heavily and realizes that he’s now so tired it’s almost like a physical pain that has left its deep marks on his unshaven face.

"Fredericsson?"

An officer is standing next to him.

"I need a vacation."

"Sorry?"

The young officer looks surprised. Fredericsson looks at him. Smooth skin and an even tan with no apparent signs of age.
”Straight out of school.”

"Yes."

"Fredericsson?"

He repeats his question and Fredericsson smiles in resignation.

"Yes, I’m Fredericsson."

There’s no doubt that he’s irritated.

"We’ve spoken to her.”

"Who?"

"The secretary."

Fredericsson nods and tries to concentrate.

"And?"

"She’s seen..."

Fredericsson raises his hand and shakes his head.

"I’ll talk to her myself. And how do we know that a crime has happened? The man might be with his mistress for all we know."

The young man’s plucked eyebrows move upwards toward his forehead. Fredericsson waves his hand dismissively.

"Did... What’s his name?"

Fredericsson rubs his stubble. Full of disgust, the young man looks at his dirty fingernails.

"Nathan Wilkins."

"Right. Did he turn up?"

The officer shakes his head.

"Then we wouldn’t be here."

The face of the officer clearly reflects the insult.

“Someone called me specifically because of a name on a credit card. What’s with that credit card?"

Fredericsson scratches his neck again and his mouth forms an ouch that he never speaks out loud.

"Has it been sent in for analysis?"

The officer shakes his head again.

"No, we haven’t touched anything after we arrived. Nathan Wilkins..."

The young man’s voice is intense and Fredericsson smiles.
“Aha.”

”…is rich and famous, so we have to do everything by the book. I’ve made sure nothing has been touched or moved until you arrived."

”First time you’re in contact with the rich and famous, young man.”
Fredericsson is still smiling and nods.

"Thank you. I appreciate that."

He looks around the park one last time before following the officer who’s already on his way up to the house.

"How old is that guy?"

"Nathan Wilkins?"

"Yes, who else?"

Fredericsson is sounding annoyed again. The officer turns and looks back at him as he walks.

"Sorry."

Now Fredericsson just sounds tired.

"I can’t remember the last time I slept. But it’s a long time ago. Just as long ago as my last shave."

Fredericsson forces a little smile.

"You need one."

Fredericsson looks surprised.

"A shave."

Fredericsson wonders at the disgust in the officer’s voice.

"I know."

The officer turns to him again as he speaks.

"He’s 64."

"Wife?"

"She died three years ago."

"Girlfriend, mistress?"

Fredericsson walks a few steps before silently adding:

"Male lover?"

The officer looks at him for a long time. Fredericsson shrugs.

"I talk so I don’t fall asleep."

"Then you’re sure to stay awake."

The officer looks ahead again.

"The secretary wants to talk… a lot. She offered to make coffee, so if you’re lucky there’s some left. And the croissants, they’re…"

"Yes, yes, then let’s walk faster. I really need that coffee."

The officer enters the door before Fredericsson and they find themselves in an office where a woman dressed in a blue suit looks up from her desk. Fredericsson stops to look at her and a moment later she’s standing in front of him.

"My name is Petra Jennings. I’m Nathan Wilkins’ secretary."

Fredericsson nods and takes a step back.

"Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t realizes how close I was."

She takes a step back but keeps looking at him.

"Coffee?"

She gives him a kind smile.

"Oh, that would be wonderful."

Fredericsson sounds tired and his voice is muffled.

"That would be wonderful."

He repeats, this time with a more dynamic voice.

"He has been looking forward to it all the way from the car."

The officer laughs and follows Petra as she walks into the tiny kitchen. Fredericsson is surprised and follows him with his eyes. Suddenly he realizes that Petra is a beautiful woman in an elegant and discreet way. He watches her through the open door as she politely answers the good natured questions of the officer. Fredericsson shakes his head and wonders why he didn’t notice her beauty at once.
”I must be really tired.”
Fredericsson shrugs and enjoys watching how she keeps her distance to the officer at all times. She’s clearly not as interested in him as he is in her. There’s something sad about her movements and her face, but his many years on the force has taught him that she’s exactly the type that survives and isn’t easily broken.

"They’re always the ones that make it. They dig in and continue to fight."

His voice is only a whisper.

"Sorry, I didn’t hear you."

Fredericsson smiles in surprise.
”She has the hearing of a cat.”

"I understand that you haven’t had any breakfast today. I hope a croissant can help a little if you’re hungry."

Petra walks over to him with a mug of coffee and a plate with a croissant on it. She’s smiles at him with a very natural smile.

"I took the liberty of serving the coffee in a mug. That way you get more coffee. Here you go."

Fredericsson looks at her a little, but reacts fast when she hands him the plate and the mug. He takes the mug and the croissant, but lets her keep the plate. He’s still looking at her and she continues to smile. She touches her lips gently.

"I hope I don’t have lipstick on my teeth."

Once again, she surprises Fredericsson, and he notices with wonder how his voice is almost a whisper when he says:

"No. No, there’s nothing."

He turns away and drinks some coffee, and it burns his throat. The feeling makes him stop and his shoulders fall slightly forward.

"Did I mention that the coffee is very hot?"

He looks back just in time to see her smile and turn and walk into the kitchen with the empty plate. The officer is leaving the kitchen at the same time and steps aside to let her pass. Fredericsson looks at him and raises one eyebrow. He looks him calmly in the eye as he wipes his mouth clean and finishes chewing.

"Let’s get to work."

The officer nods and smacks his lips a couple of times.

”That was some great croissants."

He swallows one last time.

"Let’s get started."

"You haven’t even tasted yours yet."

The officer nods at the croissant in Fredericsson’s hand.

"I mean, if you don’t want it, you can give it to me."

Fredericsson’s eyebrows shoot upwards.

"Hmm."

He turns towards the office as he bites the croissant in half before swallowing it and stuffing the other half into his mouth.

"It’s too good for that."

The officer has stopped, and looks accusingly at Fredericsson.

"Taste it, will you?"

"Is that really necessary?"

Crumbs are shooting out from Fredericsson’s mouth as he talks.

"Yes. Take the time to chew it."

Fredericsson looks at him in despair while he chews. The officer stands in front of him, waiting and nodding.

"Good?"

Fredericsson smiles.

"Yes, and can we get to work now?"

"I saw some more in the kitchen. Do you want me to…?"

"No!"

Fredericsson walks over to the door of the office and stops while he brushes off the last crumps.

"Wow."

Fredericsson looks at the officer and waits until he gets eye contact with him.

"What did you say..?"

Fredericsson hesitates when the officer leans forward a little.

"What an office. It’s like a dream! He spent a lot of time with the decorator to get it exactly right."

"Who?"

The officer quickly looks at him.

"Nathan Wilkins."

Then he looks at the office again.

"How did you know that?"

"Because I told him."

Petra is suddenly standing beside them.

"Did the office live up to his expectations?"

Fredericsson’s question is automatic, the kind he always asks when he’s surprised. She looks up at him.

"Yes, that was my impression. He also used the same decorator for other rooms in the house."

"Hmm. Why did you call the police?"

Fredericsson turns to face Petra and watches her face.
”Actually, there’s not much professionalism in that look.”
The thought crosses his mind and he finds it difficult to hide his smile, but caution takes hold of him when he sees that she keeps looking him in the eye.

"When I arrived, there was no one here. I came in around lunch after driving by the court house and some of our business partners. The strange thing was that the front door was locked. It’s usually the first thing Nathan does in the morning. He walks straight to the front door and unlocks it. "The door needs to be open for our clients, otherwise we don’t make any money,” is what he usually says. But the door was locked when I arrived."

She swallows.

"Nathan wasn’t in his office, so I entered the private part of the house and called out for him. But there was no answer."

She stops.

"I guess that can be explained, but the blood on his desk. I find that strange."

She looks at Fredericsson for a while.

"And then of course there’s…"

She walks over to the desk, and returns with the broken credit card and hands it to Fredericsson.

"This was lying out by the door. I accidentally broke it when I stepped on it."

Fredericsson searches around in his pockets, looks at her and then back at the credit card.

"We need your fingerprints."

He pulls out a handkerchief and carefully takes the card from her hand.

"I didn’t realize... So I just picked it up. It was the sound of it breaking that made me look down. I…"

Fredericsson shakes his head.

"Do you know who it belongs to?"

He looks at her again, and she nods.

"Yes, I read the name on it when I picked it up. She was here yesterday."

"Do you know her?"

Petra shakes her head.

"I wouldn’t say that. Just another client."

Fredericsson looks at the name on the card and walks back to her desk where he carefully puts it down.

"Please, don’t touch it."

He looks at both Petra and the officer.

"We can send it to the lab later. Has anybody else touched it?"

Petra shakes her head. Fredericsson looks at the officer who also shakes his head.

"Good."

Fredericsson’s voice is a little deeper than before and he looks back at Petra.

"What do you know about this Evy Schmidt?"

Petra shakes her head.

"Well, she was a client, so I can’t talk about it."

Fredericsson shoots out his lower lip and looks down into his coffee mug before emptying it greedily.

"Oh, more coffee?"

Fredericsson looks up at her.

"Yes, thank you. I’ll go with you."

Fredericsson scowls at the officer and then follows Petra.

"Oh, it’s empty. I’ll just quickly make some."

"Thank you."

He looks at her for a little while.

"It seems like this Evy Schmidt might be interesting."