Line frowned. ‘Are you saying …’
‘He has killed people,’ I said.
Some seconds passed where neither of us spoke. Line scrutinized me as if she expected me to burst into either laughter or tears.
‘He acts out scenes from my books, right down to the smallest detail, to show me I got my facts wrong. It’s like a teacher marking my essay, except the red lines aren’t drawn in ink.’
Line shook her head. ‘Frank, are you sure …’
‘Verner is dead,’ I said.
Line’s eyes took on a confused expression as if she had to retrieve the name from a drawer she had closed a long time ago.
‘He was murdered at the Marieborg Hotel, just like I described it in
‘I never read that,’ Line said quietly.
‘It doesn’t matter, but I can assure you that it’s not a very pleasant way to die and someone went to a lot of trouble to reconstruct the entire scene.’
‘Why …’
I shrugged. ‘To mock me, to educate me, punish me, who knows?’
‘What do the police think?’
‘They think his murder was an act of revenge.’
‘But you haven’t told them about your “fan”?’
I shook my head. ‘I can’t. Linda Hvilbjerg is dead, too. She was murdered, while I was asleep upstairs …’ I clammed up when I saw the reaction in Line’s eyes. A trace of resignation had crept into them.
‘You need help, Frank.’
‘I can’t go to the police,’ I said.
‘No, that’s not what I mean,’ Line replied. ‘I mean, you need to see a psychologist.’
I clasped one of her hands with both of mine. ‘What I need is for you to believe me,’ I pleaded.
‘Why? What can I do?’
She tried to withdraw her hand, but I refused to release it.
‘You can protect our daughter.’
Line shot up from the table so forcefully that I was forced to let go of her hand. ‘What?’
‘I think I’ve got it under control, but …’
‘What’s this about Veronika?’
‘She might be next.’
‘But, Frank, you’re sick!’ Line shouted and took one step away from me. I held up my hands.
‘No, wait …’
‘If she needs protecting from anyone, then it’s you!’ She shook her head. ‘It’s always been you. You’ve never been able to distinguish between fantasy and reality, have you? Everything that happens in real life is a story to you, isn’t it? Something you can exploit, something you can write about. And everything you write becomes real.’
I shook my head. ‘You don’t understand,’ I tried. ‘It may have looked like that, but now—’
‘You need help, Frank.’
I got up and started walking around the table towards Line.
‘No. Stay away from me! Stay away from me and from my family, do you hear me?’ She took another step backwards and put her hand on the handle of the door that led to the small back garden.
‘Line, please let me—’
‘Get out, Frank!’
I was desperate. Why wouldn’t she believe me? If it hadn’t been for her eyes, I would have grabbed her and held tight her until she listened and understood, but her eyes exuded rage and, worse than that, fear.
‘Like I said,’ I began, forcing my voice to be calm. ‘I think I’ve taken care of it, so it won’t come to that.’
Line simply stared at me.
‘I’ll go,’ I said. ‘Only …’ I felt my throat constrict. ‘Please take care of our children, OK?’ I begged her in a thick voice. At that moment I knew I would never see Line or my daughters again. ‘Tell them … tell them I’m sorry about everything. I know I’m asking a lot of you, but please tell them I love them more than anything.’
Line had raised her hands to her face and covered her mouth. Tears welled up. I started walking backwards, away from the kitchen table and out into the hall.
‘I love you too, Line. I always have. Remember that.’
I turned round and left the house
39
LINE’S REACTION UPSET me.
I had expected her to need convincing, but not that she would reject me out of hand. Maybe the news about Verner hadn’t reached the papers yet, but when it did, she might believe me. Or she might become even more scared. Of me.
At best, there would no headlines because I had imagined it all, like Line had suggested. Perhaps the murders of Mona Weis, Verner and Linda Hvilbjerg and the yellow envelopes and the photos were a delusion, a construct of my own mind. After years of inventing stories my brain could no longer distinguish between fantasy and reality, exactly Line’s point.
As I left the house that had once been my home, I wished more than ever that this was so. I genuinely hoped that I had lost my mind and the rest of the world was as it should be. I hoped that men were checking out Mona Weis as she walked down Gilleleje High Street, I wished that Verner was pestering the prostitutes in Vesterbro and that Linda Hvilbjerg was busy dashing the dreams of yet another budding writer.
I would have given anything for Line to be right.
Reality returned with a vengeance when I got back in the car. It was cold and clammy and stank of whisky. The windows were foggy, which made it was difficult to see out. The whisky glass was still on the dashboard, the bottle on the floor, only a quarter full.
Everything was just as I had left it.
Except for the envelope on the passenger seat. It was the same one I had sent to the PO box yesterday.
I stared at it.
My slender hope that my brain had been playing tricks on me died, but I wasn’t surprised. When I picked up the envelope, I could see it had been opened with a knife or some other sharp instrument.
I took out the sheet of paper. It was the message I had written the day before with the addition ‘OK’ in blue pen at the bottom. It had been printed in capital letters and revealed nothing about the sender; no graphologist would get anything from those two characters. Everything else was still in the envelope.
I took a deep breath. My plan appeared to be working. I had managed to communicate with the killer and he had accepted my challenge. I was tempted to go back to Line to tell her that she could stop being scared, that I had taken care of it, but at that moment a police car came down the street and I changed my mind. The police were the last thing I needed.
I started the engine and drove off as quickly as I dared. In my rear-view mirror I saw the police car park outside Line’s house. I didn’t blame her. She had done what she needed to do to protect her family and the police might even do the job I was incapable of. However, what did worry me was that I had mentioned Linda Hvilbjerg.
