Devil's Touch Part 27

She can't hide her surprise.

"Who are you and what are you doing here?"

"Oh, my name is Wicky West and I work for Walter, Walter & Walter."

"How fortunate. Do you know this man?"

She nods eagerly and smiles at Nathan.

"Yes, that's Nathan Wilkins. We met last night at a meeting."

Nathan notices the pride in her voice.

"When did the meeting end?"

"Oh, it was late. After midnight, I think."

The officer nods and looks at Nathan. Then he looks at Wicky who's still standing there smiling at Nathan.

"Wicky West, that name will take you far. It's a name you remember."

"Thank you, I think so too. It was expensive to change."

The officer looks straight at her.

"You can go."

She looks surprised, but finally nods at Nathan and then gives the officer an angry look before disappearing in the direction of the elevator.

"Don't fall asleep in your car in a public place again. We wouldn't like to be called again."

He raises his eyebrows.

"And by the way, I don't care who you are."

Nathan looks startled when the officer turns around to join his partner in the car. The officer stops and looks back at Nathan.

"I wish you would focus more on who the good guys are when you are in court."

Nathan rolls his window back up, surprised that the officer knows who he is. "It's not important anymore." He makes up his mind, turns the key and starts the car. While backing out, he feels something he hasn't felt in many days. He's hungry. Slowly and disrupting the rest of the traffic, he drives the short distance to his favorite cafe. The weather is mild and the autumn sun hangs lazy in the sky above him.

"Nathan!"

He's pleased they still recognize him even though he hasn't been back since he moved his office outside the city. He chats with the owner who shows him to his old table in the small garden behind the cafe where the noise from the street is almost gone. He's alone. The other guests are sitting inside which Nathan finds strange since the little garden is so peaceful and even has a new fountain which trickles away nicely in a corner. Breakfast turns to lunch and the owner comes out to chat with him many times like he always have. Nathan feels at peace. He enjoys the interrupted conversations and looks closely at the birds when they come to drink.

"Look, I've put up nesting boxes there and there.

The owner points.

"I hope they will nest next year."

His enthusiasm and l.u.s.t for life, his hopes and deep conviction that he has built a solid foundation for the rest of his life lifts Nathan's spirit.

"Can I show you a picture of my son? He's three."

The owner pulls out his wallet and hands Nathan a picture of a small boy with his hands in the fountain.

"I hope in time he'll take over the cafe. That's why it's so very important that it's going well and making money."

Nathan nods and gives him back the picture.

"But Nathan. It's important to enjoy life."

He looks at Nathan over the rim of his round, dark framed gla.s.ses, and Nathan has a feeling that he's in a small forgotten garden somewhere in Italy. Nathan smiles and knows what comes next. He has heard it before many times over the years.

The surrounding buildings are blocking out the sun now and Nathan decides that it's time to leave. He looks at his watch and takes out his phone from his pocket. Petra has called him many times during the morning and also a couple of times in the afternoon. He's also got a few lost calls from numbers he doesn't recognize. He keeps the phone in silent mode and puts it back in his pocket. Then he says goodbye to the owner, thanking him many times for a wonderful day. When he's back in the car, he has made up his mind. He drives into the street and when he reaches the exit that will take him home, he doesn't take it.

Chapter 20.

When the taste of the croissants has almost gone, Fredericsson slowly lifts his head. He is struck by how dirty the car actually is. "Hmm, note to self, must wash car." He gets in, but instead of starting the car, he plays around with his key ring before finally putting the key in the ignition. He drives slowly through the beautiful neighborhood, but he misses the children playing in the street. There aren't any children in the gardens either. Before leaving the neighborhood, he turns right and reaches the outskirts of the neighborhood. The gardens are surrounded by high walls and the landscape begins to drop toward the valley. He drives into the small parking s.p.a.ce that he remembers so well. That's where he asked his wife to marry him. She had hesitated but still said yes. Later, when he had asked her why she had hesitated, he had been surprised by her answer. "We're both police officers. We might get killed. Our children will grow up with only one of us, or maybe none of us." He gets the chills when he thinks of how prescient she had been. She had lost her life on patrol three years after their daughter was born and had left him as a widower and a single father. All he could do was turn to his parents for help. He smiles. "They've always been there for me when I needed them." Katrine, which they had called her after his mother, had gotten her own room at the expense of her grandparents. They slept in the living room. Their love for her had made up for his long and irregular hours. He sighs. It has also meant that they had practically raised her. He didn't see her very often and he felt how she got more attached to his parents than to him. He has become someone representing a previous life. Something that could have been, but was never allowed to be. Something that could never be. Something Katrine had dreamt of all her life. Katrine had looked up to him when she was little. As soon as she could, she had started working to make enough money to get into the school she had dreamt of ever since she had been to a lecture on economy. Since then, she had known what she wanted to do, and she wanted to go to the best school. It had been difficult to raise the money even though she had worked after school. But they had succeeded with a combination of his parents' savings, his own savings, a loan he had taken and the good will of the local church. She still works after school and she's doing fine. He knows she will get where she wants to be. But not seeing her is hard for him. They can't afford the plane tickets not even for Christmas.

"I really hope she has a normal job."

He bends his head and looks at his hands. He jumps when the phone suddenly rings.

"Hmm."

It's quiet on the other end.

"Is that Peter Fredericsson?"

"Yes."

"You can't just say "hmm". Then you have no idea who's on the other end of the line."

Fredericsson holds the phone away from his ear and looks at it for a while as the voice keeps talking.

"Peter, are you there?"

"Yes, yes."

He holds the phone to his ear again.

"Yes, I'm here."

"We've got another one."

The phone goes quiet again.

"Peter, are you there?"

The voice is eager and tense. Fredericsson breathes heavily. He's still thinking about his daughter.

"Of course I'm here. I'm just waiting for you to tell me what it is you want."

"Another dead body."

He waits as the phone goes quiet again.

"Yes?"

He asks.

"It's Eric Taylor."

"Doesn't ring a bell."

Silence again. Fredericsson is waiting for his boss to say something more.

"h.e.l.lo, is anybody there."

"Yes, Fredericsson. Eric Taylor is Eric Brown. I guess you haven't checked your voice mail."

"Hmm."

"He gave a fake name and now he's dead. Someone broke his skull with a champagne bottle. The address is..."

"Erick Taylor is Eric Brown. That's interesting... and he's dead. Interesting."

"Yes, it looks like there's a connection.

"Hmm."

Fredericsson's mind is already working overtime.

"And Peter?"

The line goes quiet again. Fredericsson looks out over the valley while he waits for his boss to go on.

"It's in the same circles. Where people make more money in one day than we do in a year."

"Yes, I suppose that's true."

"His parents..."

"Can we move on? All I can think of right now is coffee."

"Yes, sure. Did I wake you?"

Fredericsson is distracted and fumbles around with the dashboard.

"Are you there?"

"Yes, d.a.m.n it. But when will I ever have time to do the paperwork?"

A snort hits Fredericsson's ear and he holds out the phone, looking at it with surprise. Then he puts it on speakerphone as he scratches his ear. The voice sounds calmer when it goes on.

"A woman called up anonymously a few minutes after half past two. We sent a car over and they found him naked on the couch. Dead. No sign of the woman. They called it in at four minutes past three. That's..."

It's quiet for a moment.

"...seven minutes ago."

Fredericsson finishes the sentence.

"Since you've just left Nathan Wilkins' place, you can take this one as well. You seem to get along well with rich people."

It's quiet while Fredericsson fishes out his notepad.

"Fredericsson, are you there?"

"Yes, yes, hang on."

He flicks through the pages of his notepad and then he smiles.

"Evy Schmidt had been at Nathan Wilkins' office just before she was attacked, and guess who I ran into at her apartment?"

Fredericsson waits for an answer, but doesn't get one, so he goes on.

"Eric Brown, or Taylor, which seems to be his real name."

It's quiet again and Fredericsson stares into s.p.a.ce.

"Who ends up getting murdered today."

"Webs. Fredericsson. Webs. Find the spider."

"By the way, is it Fredericsson now instead of Peter?"

Another loud snort fills the car and Fredericsson looks at the phone and smiles. "Thank G.o.d it's on speakerphone, so my ear was spared this time."

"Since you're being so funny, here's the address!"