she has given legal advice to criminals in exchange for information during the investigation. At the end of the book, Annika’s future is unclear; the reader doesn’t know if she goes back to Jutland or becomes a prostitute.
As far as I could see the book was unread. It was a first edition, not surprisingly; As You Sow hadn’t sold terribly well.
I turned the first ten or fifteen pages without finding anything. Then I flicked my way through the rest of the book.
It was a third of the way in, on see here . A Polaroid. The image showed a man, slightly overweight judging from his face. At first I couldn’t make out who it was. He had a broad strip of grey tape across his mouth. He was sweating and his small, deep-set eyes showed panic. Fear contorted his facial features, but eventually I recognized him.
It was Verner.
I turned the photo over. There was no information on the back so I focused my attention on the front. I tried to keep my emotions out of it by breathing deeply and concentrating on the details in the picture. Verner’s short hair was soaked in sweat and his face slightly pink. He didn’t appear to be wearing a shirt; I could see the top of his naked shoulders. Behind him was a brass frame of some sort.
I got up abruptly, tumbling the book and the envelope to the floor, and went to my bedroom. The bed was bigger than I was used to in hotels, but it was the same type – a sturdy brass frame with turned brass bars. I held up the photo to the bed frame to compare. There could be no doubt.
Back in the living room, I picked up the envelope and looked inside it. I hadn’t expected to find anything, but this time it wasn’t empty. A key nestled at the bottom. I turned the envelope upside down and scooped it up as it fell out.
As I had already guessed, it was the key to room 102, the room I normally stayed in, the room that was the crime scene in As You Sow .
I had a flash of inspiration. It could be a hoax. Perhaps Verner was setting me up. He was twisted enough to do something like that, but what would be the point? I looked at the photo again. The expression in his eyes looked like genuine terror and Verner was no actor.
There was only one way to find out.
It took two more whiskies before I summoned up the courage to leave my suite. On impulse I took the stairs, possibly because I didn’t wish to meet anyone, least of all Ferdinan, but also because I felt queasy and didn’t want to be trapped inside the claustrophobic lift.
I made sure no one saw me outside room 102. The corridor was empty. A ‘Do Not Disturb’ sign hung from the door handle. I inserted the key and let myself in.
The stench was overwhelming: a mixture of faeces, urine and a third substance I didn’t even want to think about. I had to swallow a couple of times in order not to throw up on the spot.
It was dark. The blinds were down and the curtains closed. My hand found a switch inside the door and I turned on the light. I was in the small hallway with access to the bathroom, then the room itself, which was mainly occupied by the double bed.
Though I knew precisely what awaited me, I still gasped when I saw Verner.
He was resting against the headboard, naked, with his arms stretched out as far as they could go and strapped to the brass frame with black cable ties. On the wall above the bed, someone had written ‘PIG’ in what looked like blood. His chin rested on his chest as if he were staring down at himself. His large body was smeared in blood and vomit, and his legs spread and tied to the under frame with nylon rope. The weight of his body had caused the mattress to sink and a large pool of blood and other bodily fluids had formed around him.
I ran to the bathroom and reached the toilet bowl just in time to throw up. When my stomach was empty, I collapsed on the floor and sobbed. No one deserved what Verner had been subjected to, but I wasn’t crying for him, I was crying for myself. I cried because I was powerless. I
As far as I could see the book was unread. It was a first edition, not surprisingly; As You Sow hadn’t sold terribly well.
I turned the first ten or fifteen pages without finding anything. Then I flicked my way through the rest of the book.
It was a third of the way in, on see here . A Polaroid. The image showed a man, slightly overweight judging from his face. At first I couldn’t make out who it was. He had a broad strip of grey tape across his mouth. He was sweating and his small, deep-set eyes showed panic. Fear contorted his facial features, but eventually I recognized him.
It was Verner.
I turned the photo over. There was no information on the back so I focused my attention on the front. I tried to keep my emotions out of it by breathing deeply and concentrating on the details in the picture. Verner’s short hair was soaked in sweat and his face slightly pink. He didn’t appear to be wearing a shirt; I could see the top of his naked shoulders. Behind him was a brass frame of some sort.
I got up abruptly, tumbling the book and the envelope to the floor, and went to my bedroom. The bed was bigger than I was used to in hotels, but it was the same type – a sturdy brass frame with turned brass bars. I held up the photo to the bed frame to compare. There could be no doubt.
Back in the living room, I picked up the envelope and looked inside it. I hadn’t expected to find anything, but this time it wasn’t empty. A key nestled at the bottom. I turned the envelope upside down and scooped it up as it fell out.
As I had already guessed, it was the key to room 102, the room I normally stayed in, the room that was the crime scene in As You Sow .
I had a flash of inspiration. It could be a hoax. Perhaps Verner was setting me up. He was twisted enough to do something like that, but what would be the point? I looked at the photo again. The expression in his eyes looked like genuine terror and Verner was no actor.
There was only one way to find out.
It took two more whiskies before I summoned up the courage to leave my suite. On impulse I took the stairs, possibly because I didn’t wish to meet anyone, least of all Ferdinan, but also because I felt queasy and didn’t want to be trapped inside the claustrophobic lift.
I made sure no one saw me outside room 102. The corridor was empty. A ‘Do Not Disturb’ sign hung from the door handle. I inserted the key and let myself in.
The stench was overwhelming: a mixture of faeces, urine and a third substance I didn’t even want to think about. I had to swallow a couple of times in order not to throw up on the spot.
It was dark. The blinds were down and the curtains closed. My hand found a switch inside the door and I turned on the light. I was in the small hallway with access to the bathroom, then the room itself, which was mainly occupied by the double bed.
Though I knew precisely what awaited me, I still gasped when I saw Verner.
He was resting against the headboard, naked, with his arms stretched out as far as they could go and strapped to the brass frame with black cable ties. On the wall above the bed, someone had written ‘PIG’ in what looked like blood. His chin rested on his chest as if he were staring down at himself. His large body was smeared in blood and vomit, and his legs spread and tied to the under frame with nylon rope. The weight of his body had caused the mattress to sink and a large pool of blood and other bodily fluids had formed around him.
I ran to the bathroom and reached the toilet bowl just in time to throw up. When my stomach was empty, I collapsed on the floor and sobbed. No one deserved what Verner had been subjected to, but I wasn’t crying for him, I was crying for myself. I cried because I was powerless. I
Similar Books
