Peek A Boo I See You (Emma Frost #5) (9 page)

"That was my colleagues," Morten said, as he hung up.

"They've gone through Anders Samuelsen's house twice and found nothing useful. No fingerprints or shoeprints, no blood, no sign of someone breaking and entering. Nothing."

I exhaled deeply.

"I'm sorry," Morten said.

"Well, it certainly isn't your fault. I just wish I could see a way out of this. I mean there are less than forty-five minutes till this guy runs out of air, if we are to believe the clock. There is no way we can raise the money, and we have no idea where to look for him."

Allan and Morten both nodded heavily. Morten closed his eyes. On TV, they had dropped the breaking news and were now airing some show about kite-surfers on the island. I felt sick to my stomach. How could people care this little about the life of a man? Just because they don't
give in to terrorists
? That phrase had been misused a little too much, in my opinion. It was like a pillow so they could sleep at night, wasn't it? Could that really justify killing the poor guy? I couldn't see how it could.

I, for one, wasn't just going to sit there and watch.

I got up from my chair and looked at the computer screen, then back at Morten.

"What?" he asked. "You have an idea?"

"I'm not going to just watch this man die," I said.

"No, that's clear. None of us wants that. But what do you want to do about it? What can you do? We've tried everything, I believe."

"Not everything," I said, determined.

Morten tilted his head. "What do you mean we haven't tried everything?"

"I mean there’s still one thing we can do. One thing
I
can do to save Anders Samuelsen."

"I don't see what that can be. I mean, we've tried everything we can to raise the money except paying out of our own pocket…"

I smiled.

"No, Emma, no," Morten said.

"Why not?"

"Because it's a bad idea. Five hundred thousand kroner is a lot of money. It's a really bad idea. I don't think you should do that."

"But I want to. I have the money. I've made a lot on my books lately. I really don't need it. It's perfect."

"But, Emma…," Morten pleaded.

"What? What's so bad about it? I'll save the guy and save Hummelgaarden from being closed. I can't lose."

Morten exhaled. He looked to Allan for help.

"I think it's a great idea, Emma," Allan said. "I mean, if you aren't going to miss the money, that is."

"You wanted to renovate the house with that money, remember?" Morten said. "It's all your savings. What if you suddenly need it for something else, something really important?"

"What can be more important than to save this guy's life right now? I'll make more money, eventually. And the house? Well, I'll just live with it as it is. So what if the roof leaks a little in the attic? I'll fix it myself. This is more important."

"But Emma, we're not certain he’ll stop here, are we? What if he wants more money from you, where will that put us? You don't know how people like that think. As soon as they discover that they can get money out of you, they'll want more. He'll kidnap more people to get you to pay. Don't you understand that?"

"Morten. You're a wonderful man, but you need to know when to shut up, which is now. I can't live with myself if I don't do this. The decision is made. I'll call Hummelgaarden right away and then have the bank transfer the money. I want you to call the local TV station and tell them I want to make a huge announcement. That way, the killer will know the money is in. Okay?"

Morten scoffed with a smile. "As you wish."

21

February 2014

"
W
E'VE GOT THE MONEY."

I smiled into the camera as I spoke. "I’ve just made sure it arrived at Hummelgaarden's account a few seconds ago. Hummelgaarden is saved."

The journalist nodded and pulled the microphone back to herself. "How did you manage to pull this off so fast?" she asked.

"Well, that doesn't matter. The important thing to focus on now is the fact that we have the money and a life will be spared."

"Rumors say you paid the amount out of your own pocket. Is that true?" the journalist asked.

"That's not important either," I said. "The money is in. That's all I have to say."

"Thank you, Emma Frost."

I thanked both of them and helped them get out the door. As soon as they were gone, I looked at the live-feed on my computer. Nothing had changed. Anders Samuelsen was still in the box. He was lying awfully still now, but I could see his chest moving up and down rapidly. He was still breathing, but only barely.

"Why hasn't he been pulled out of the box yet?" I asked, looking first at Allan, then at Morten. "Why has nothing changed? We paid the money. I announced it on TV. He must have seen it, right? He must let the guy go!"

Morten shrugged. "I don't know, Emma. I mean, how do we even know we can trust the guy? He is a killer, remember?"

"Yeah, but he promised. I mean that was the deal, wasn't it?" I found the e-mail again and read it. "It says here that, if I connect the dots, then I will win. That's what he wrote. Well I did, didn't I? I connected the dots and did as he wanted. Why isn't he doing anything? The ball is in his court now. Why isn't he doing anything, Morten?"

"I don't know, Emma."

"Oh, my God. What if we got it all wrong? What if it wasn't Hummelgaarden he wanted us to save? What if he wanted us to do something else?"

"I really don't think…," Morten sighed, and touched his unshaven chin. "We need to all calm down now, okay?"

"How am I supposed to calm down when a man is dying right here in front of me? The damn clock is still ticking. I mean, there are less than fifteen minutes left!"

"I…I…," Morten gesticulated, helplessly. His eyes were tired.

"Don't tell me you don't know. I think we’ve established that."

I moved the cursor across the picture to make sure it wasn't frozen or something. I updated the video but it was still the same.

"I talked to the IT guys in Copenhagen while you were on TV," Morten said. "They're working on finding the server, but I'm not sure they can find it in time."

"What the heck are we going to do now? What do we do, what do we do?" I kept saying out loud when, suddenly, a notification popped up, telling me I had received a new e-mail. With my heart racing in my chest, I opened it.

"It's from him," I almost yelled.

"What does it say?" Morten asked.

"
Congratulations. You solved the puzzle. Aren't puzzles just fun? Well, at least now you know how much people care about the mentally ill. It's scary right? Well, at least you cared enough
."

"He knows you paid the money. He might even have known you would do it all along," Morten said.

"Sounds like it," I said pensively, with my eyes fixated on the e-mail. "There’s more."

"Does he say anything about Anders Samuelsen?" Allan asked.

"Damn it! He wants me to find Anders Samuelsen on my own. He says he has a clue for me. That means more games."

"What is it?" Morten asked, and looked over my shoulder.

"It looks like a riddle of some sort," I said.

22

February 2014

"
T
HE MAN WHO INVENTED
it doesn't want it. The man who bought it doesn't need it. The man who needs it doesn't know it. What is it?
"

I looked up from the screen and caught Morten's eyes when I had read it out loud. He looked as confused as I was.

"What the heck is that supposed to mean?" I asked.

"Let me see," Morten said.

I moved to the side so he could better see. He mumbled the words. "…doesn't want it…who bought it doesn't need it…"

"Any ideas?" I asked.

Morten shook his head. "None whatsoever. Riddles were never my thing."

"Mine either," I said.

"Allan?"

"Don't ask me."

I leaned back with a deep sigh. "How on earth are we supposed to figure this out with less than fifteen minutes left?"

My brain was working overtime as I stared at the riddle in front of me. "There has to be someone who can solve this. Don't you have someone in the force who can help?"

"I'll make some calls," Morten said, and left the kitchen with the phone to his ear.

"Me too," Allan said, and picked up his phone as well.

My hands were sweaty. I watched the riddle in front of me, trying desperately to figure out what the killer meant, what he wanted me to do. I was breathing heavily, my heart beating so fast it almost hurt in my chest. I was on the verge of breaking down and crying. There was no way I could solve this in time. There was no way I could save this guy, was there? I looked at the live feed where Anders Samuelsen lay quietly in the box with his eyes closed. He was still breathing, but that wouldn't last long.

I rubbed my temples and closed my eyes to better concentrate. This was, after all, just a riddle, wasn't it? It was something made to be solved. With the right brain you could find the answer. But, unfortunately, mine wasn't constructed in the right way to solve it. At least I didn't think so, until something suddenly hit me. It literally felt like I was struck by lightning. I opened my eyes and stared at Anders Samuelsen and the box he was in.

"The box," I mumbled.

I rose from my chair while the thoughts ran through my mind. "The man who invented it doesn't want it. The man who bought it doesn't need it. The man who needs it doesn't know it," I mumbled, while biting my lip.

This has to be it. It just has to be. Please let this be it!

"Morten?" I called, then walked out in the hallway to find him. He was still on the phone. I signaled he should hang up.

"Call me back if you find a solution," he said, then put the phone down.

"You've got it?" he asked. "You found the answer?"

It bit my lip. "I think I have, but I might be wrong."

Oh, God, what if I'm wrong?

"It's better than nothing," Morten said.

"What's going on?" Allan asked, and walked closer.

"Emma thinks she might know the answer to the riddle."

"Really?"

"Yes, but I have no time to explain," I said, and grabbed my winter coat and put on my boots. "I'll tell you everything in the car. Allan can you stay here with Victor? He's playing in the yard. Just make sure he’s safe, will you?"

Allan nodded. "Got it."

"What about Maya?" Morten asked, when we ran for the car.

"She's in town with her grandmother."

We jumped in the police car and Morten put the key in. "So where are we going?"

"To the cemetery."

23

February 2014

"
W
HY ARE WE GOING
to the cemetery?" Morten asked, puzzled, as we drove across town with the siren blaring.

"It's a coffin," I said, while holding on to the handle in the car when Morten took a sharp turn.

"Hold on," Morten said, and turned again. The tires skidded off the road in the snow. Morten turned the wheel and got the car back on track and continued.

"A coffin, huh? Yeah, I can see how that makes sense. I mean to the riddle and everything. The man who invented it, doesn't want it; no, of course not. No one wants a coffin, so he sells it to someone who doesn't need it, because you have to be dead to need it. And the man who needs it doesn't know he does, since he is dead. Am I right?"

"Something like that," I said. "At least, I hope that’s the right solution. I'm really scared that it’s not. This is our final chance. If we don't find Anders Samuelsen in the cemetery, then it's over."

Morten cleared his throat. "I know," he said with a quiet voice. "I'm sure it’s the right answer."

He didn't sound convincing and that made my stomach turn.

Please, dear God, let this be it; let us find him or I will never be able to live with myself!

Morten called for backup and an ambulance as we drove into the cemetery and he stopped the car in front of a huge pile of snow.

"Let's go," I said, and jumped out of the car.

I stormed across the graveyard, frantically searching for something, anything, that could point to where Anders Samuelsen was. Desperately, I turned around, looked in all directions, but nothing. All the graves looked the same. All of them were covered in snow.

"You look in that direction!" I yelled, and ran the opposite way.

 "Damn the snow," I mumbled. "It's covering all tracks. Everything out here looks the same."

Please help me. Please give me a sign, a path, anything to go by. Where is that coffin? Is it even here?

Morten ran up behind me. He was panting as he spoke. "There is nothing here. Do you think he buried him or what are we looking for?"

I was on the verge of bursting into tears, but held it back as much as I could. "I don't know," I said.

That was when I spotted it. Right in front of us, between two bushes, I saw something. It looked like footprints in the snow. A long line of them.

"When did it last snow?" I asked.

"Two days ago, I think," Morten said.

"Bingo."

I ran towards the tracks and followed them to a grave. There was a huge pile of snow on top of it, but something was off about it.

"Look at that. It looks like the snow has been shoveled onto the grave, doesn't it? The snow doesn't look the same as it does on the other graves, does it?"

"I think you're right; it’s mixed with dirt," Morten said. "It’s been dug up recently."

Morten fell to his knees and started digging with his bare hands. I turned to look around me and spotted a shovel leaning on the wall of the church next to the cemetery. I ran to get it and, seconds later, Morten had dug a pretty big hole in the ground. Suddenly, the shovel hit something.