Margarita Reznik
Glenda
The wild cry of horror turned into silent sobs, she covered her mouth with her palm so as not to attract much attention to herself. One of the passers-by called an ambulance and the police.
Glenda stood in only a cotton robe and with bare legs on the wet asphalt, not understanding what to do next.
The sounds of sirens, the roar of people crowding around were heard only in the background, the hearing was still there, in the house where the scream was heard.
Only now did she realize that the scream was very familiar, and even without knowing for sure, she dared to assume that it belonged to Jornas. It is unclear how and why, through the distance, he ended up in the middle of her hall, but the thought crept into his head that something was wrong with her.
“Have I gone crazy? Stress at work, depression after betrayal, sunstroke and liters of alcohol did their dirty work. And I went crazy against the backdrop of all these factors?” Her face frowned, but immediately brightened. “Well, no, I’m not crazy. There’s just some kind of mysticism going on in this city. And I’ll find out what’s going on.”
She looked again at Jornas lying limply, and could not believe that he was no longer there. The barely dry face became wet again. Just recently they were lying in the same bathroom, and before that, her dreams carried her thoughts into the future with this man. I also remembered nights in clubs, wild sex in Petra, heart-to-heart conversations and tender hugs.
He didn’t cheat on her, didn’t hurt her, she could only tell him when she touched on an unnecessary and unpleasant topic, but there was no betrayal, as in the case of Gerard. “Oh, it would be better if someone killed Gerard.” From such conclusions, Glenda became scared, she shut her mouth again, as if since she did not control the terrible thoughts, she might accidentally express them.
– Hello, miss. – a familiar voice made her relax. Glenda turned around.
– Iver Larsen?
– Miss Miller? I didn't expect to see you here. – the gaze of sky-blue eyes slid over the thin, almost transparent robe down to his feet. Glenda forgot for a moment what she was doing here, feeling awkward because of her appearance in front of this handsome man, whom she did not expect to see here at all, but she was glad, because he seemed so close to her.
– I love you too. – wrapping her modest clothes tighter, the girl with her hair still wet from the bath continued. – So you are an investigator, judging by your form?
– Criminalist. I am mainly involved in trace science, but I am proficient in all methods of collecting data from crime scenes. – then he suddenly seemed to remember something. – Wait a second, I'll be right back.
Standing on the cold and wet asphalt, only now she felt cold and damp, the first shock passed, reality began to return little by little.
A tall, muscular Scandinavian was returning with his arms full of things. Glenda's eyes widened in surprise, this is what happens when someone cares about you more than you do.
– My colleague’s jacket and sneakers, she forgot them in the patrol car, and hot tea from a thermos. – a strong man’s hand extended all this to the girl, chilled to the bone. Wrapped in a wide jacket that did not fit her, Glenda attacked her savior with hugs and sobs like a girl.
A little embarrassed, Iver Larsen nevertheless responded in kind, his hands lay on the fragile shoulders of the girl who grabbed his waist. Almost one and a half times taller, Iver was like her father or older brother.
– That's it, that's it, calm down, don't cry. After all, what will people think? At a crime scene, a cop hugs a witness.
– Fine. – Glenda walked away shyly, wiping her tears on her sleeve. Hot tea quickly brought her to her senses and she raised her head. – Tell me, Iver, is this murder?
– I wouldn't think so. A Colt .45 with a silencer was found in the victim's hand. He shot himself.
– Head-on? Doesn't this seem strange? Why not in the temple or mouth, as professional suicides do?
“Professional suicides, does this happen?” he grinned, but immediately realized that it was inappropriate.
– You understand perfectly what I'm talking about. – Glenda continued with greater seriousness. – Someone could have killed Jornas.
– Jornas? Do you know his name?
– Yes, this is my boyfriend actually.
– Boy? The one you ran away from in London?
– No, this is my new Danish boyfriend. We met after buying that damn house.
– Wow. – he grinned again, but not as much as before. Now it was more like admiration. This is what happens when your child suddenly starts riding a bike on his own, and it doesn’t turn out bad at all. – What do you mean, damned house?
“Well, in it…” Glenda stopped short. You should not tell anyone about your speculations about ghosts, so that no one considers them hallucinations. – we had a fight in it.
– Yes, I understand. I need to go away.
The black jacket with green shoulder straps and inserts fit Larsen perfectly. The real ideal of a man, the girl thought to herself.
Standing there near the fence of a residential building and spirea bushes in the middle of night Copenhagen, Glenda tried to understand what had been happening to her for the last few days.
Perhaps God is punishing her for the bribe, for this million pounds sterling, which should not have been taken from the hands of a secret agent. Or is she so frivolous and eccentric that life has finally shown her its true face. “This is not heaven, baby, this is the jungle. Live or die."
The forensic policeman approached her again.
– I learned something about the victim. Are you ready?
– Yes. Nothing can surprise me anymore.
– Jornas Kronwood, student at the University of Copenhagen at Rigshospitalet. A call boy from the red light district, he began to play a dangerous game with some rich entrepreneur. He paid for his studies, and in return received intimate services.
Glenda was not one of the people intolerant of homosexuality, but nausea involuntarily rose in her throat, and she vomited right onto the lawn. Fortunately, they had long since moved away from the crime scene so that it would not be attributed to evidence.
– But he didn't look gay? I slept with him.
– We do not know the name of the businessman. There is only the testimony of his colleague. The investigator called the number in the victim's phone book and spoke with him. All kinds of notes and gifts from a person whose name is not shown anywhere. It could also be a woman.
– Clear. But you can call the hospital where this guy arranged for Jornas. They should know who is transferring money to their account. – Now Glenda’s cheeks were already pink, she no longer looked like a grief-stricken friend. Iver Larsen looked at her with admiration again. This happens when only men are present at a political evening, and suddenly someone’s wife, who knows absolutely nothing about politics, begins to say smart and very useful things. – Take me with you.
– Do you want to participate in the investigation?
– Yes. They killed my boyfriend. Besides, I definitely don’t want to go home. Please, please, please. – A girl with the figure of a fashion model and long, slightly tangled black hair folded her brushes into a prayer lock, and her eyes looked pitiful, so Iver, after hesitating for a few seconds, finally gave up.
– Okay, you will go with me to the station, give your testimony, and then I will take you to my place. I'll go ahead and collect evidence myself.
“Okay.” Glenda agreed, but not to everything. He doesn't need to know now that she's not going to sleep tonight.
The spacious, bright floor with glass-enclosed offices looked very European. The metropolitan police were luxurious with taxpayers' money, although if you look closely, you could see here and there shabby walls, furniture, burnt-out lamps here and there, and the smell of decay.
"What?" Glenda didn't believe herself. There was a disgusting smell of carrion in my nose.
– God! Do you have a morgue here or something? Are you bringing the corpses here right away? – indignant, she plugged her nose with two fingers and looked questioningly at Iver.
– Um. No. – the criminologist was embarrassed. – No one has ever complained about the smell in the room.
“It can’t be, it stinks like…” Glenda stopped and looked in horror at her hand that was holding her nose. From the terminal phalanges right up to the elbow, the arm was like a dried piece of meat: flayed skin, dried blood spreading from torn vessels, tendons cracked and hanging like strings on an out-of-tune guitar. Pale gray bone was visible here and there.
Glenda fainted.
Chapter 4
– Glenda! Glenda! – a familiar and very pleasant voice called her to come to her senses. She opened her right eye. – Finally. What's happened?
– What happened to whom?
– With you, silly. You collapsed in the middle of the office a minute ago, although you looked pretty healthy.
The girl remembered the last picture before fainting and, opening her eyes wider, instantly examined her hand. The hand is just like a hand, nothing unusual, as well as the smell. Pleasant fresh office smell.
– It's probably from hunger.
– Now Jack will feed you. Hey bro, bring your dry sticks here, the lady is hungry.
“Dry sticks? Bro? This is another Iver, whom I don’t know. It seems that he does not communicate very delicately with his colleagues. But I myself am not a pupil of a boarding house for noble maidens. If my father knew who I talked to after his death in order to get to work at the Guardian, what criminal structures I had to deal with. Once I drank vodka and coffee with a drug lord to prove to him that even this was no more harmful than cocaine, and then I concocted an article about our meeting. Only when I earned three thousand a month did I become addicted to fashionable clothes and stopped looking like a tomboy, otherwise I’m no better than Mr. Larsen.”
Jack, a short, stocky cop in his mid-thirties, brought some pre-cooked fish sticks. Now Glenda really liked the smell, the smell of food, she will finally have dinner.
– So, miss, you are a witness? – Jack began, waiting until Glenda chewed the last bite with gusto.
– Oh, no, God forbid! I arrived late, Jornas was already dead.
– How did you end up there?
“What?” Glenda pretended that she didn’t understand the question. How can she explain why she ran in her dressing gown through Copenhagen at night and ended up right next to a corpse? What will they think if they find out that blackness has been creeping behind her, and that there are ghosts in the house?
– What did you do at the crime scene?
Glenda picked up her mug of tea and took a long sip through pursed lips, obviously stalling for time. What can you think of to say to a fairly straightforward question? Or maybe the truth?
– I didn’t know that Jornas was killed. The night before we had a fight and I was left alone at home. Unable to fight the grief, I went out into the fresh air for a walk. And four blocks later I saw him completely by accident.
Iver and Jack looked at each other. Their faces expressed either disbelief, or understanding that both had a common train of thought, or simply fatigue from the lies of witnesses.
“Glenda,” the taller cop began softly. – If you don’t tell the truth to us, the people who can help you, then other investigators will simply make you a suspect.
“But I’m telling the truth,” the girl begged.
– Stop it! – Iver got angry, but lowered his voice again. “You didn’t even lock the door behind you.” It wasn't like taking a walk before bed. Plus, you were barefoot.
Then Glenda realized that the cops had already been to her house, perhaps there was no ghost there anymore, but there was also no evidence, because she didn’t kill anyone. There is nothing to be afraid of, it’s time to tell it like it is.
– Good good. I didn't go out to get some air. The house that Mr. Holstein kindly sold me, your honorable friend, Mr. Larsen – she emphasized this phrase – turned out to be a den of ghosts.
The men peered into the narrator's face, but did not interrupt.
– There was no one in the house, I heard a scream right in the middle of the hall, and also these damn traffic jams.
– Traffic jams?
– Yes, they took off at the most inopportune moment. And in complete darkness I became scared. Headlong, I rushed wherever my eyes looked. That's all – “They have nothing to know about the dying lights, they don’t concern murder.” “It’s like someone kicked me out of the house so I could be in the right place at the right time.”
– It's clear. – Jack concluded and called Iver aside. They talked about something, and Jack went into the back office.
Ten minutes later, a couple more guys in uniform arrived, it looked like ordinary lieutenants, handed something in a bag to Iver, saluted and left.
– These are your things and keys, I asked you to take them from your house so that you have something to wear for the first time?
– First time? I will never return to that house again, everything had to be taken away.
“You’re not going to sell a house just because of…” the man with the major’s shoulder straps stopped for a while.
"Oh no. He doesn't dare talk to me about my mental health! I’m out of my mind, you can find out from that old Jew, he himself said that there are ghosts in the house.”
Glenda silently grabbed the bag with her things and went to the toilet so demonstratively that Iver even chuckled out loud.
Khaki trousers with a brown leather belt went perfectly with a burgundy jumper from Ruban, and moccasins kept the feet warm instead of terrible off-brand trainers. Glenda felt fit again. She liked herself better this way, confident, rich and beautiful. And not at all crazy, she is in full bloom and will now show this criminologist how to investigate murders. Having gathered her hair into a ponytail and adding a little blush, Glenda went out again to the police.
– Bro, take more money with you. Let’s get used to the role of clients of the damn brothels.” Iver turned to Glenda and it’s impossible to say that he wasn’t surprised. Opening his mouth in surprise, he quickly came to his senses and turned to Jack again: “Why are you digging around there?” Let's go already!
– I'm going with you.
– No, I’ll take you to my home, it’s on the way to our establishment, and then we’ll do it ourselves. Tomorrow you will join the interrogation of the manager of the Rigshospitalete.
– I dont want to sleep. I'm going with you, period.
– Start thdriving – Jack turned on, seeing his partner boiling. “We could use some help from women if their boys are not gay.”
Iver muttered something displeased under his breath, but did not protest further. This is usually done by a boss who has been persuaded by his subordinates with the help of whims and sound ideas at the same time.
Satisfied, Glenda jumped into a government-issued BMW with license plates, and realized with horror that her boyfriend had died a couple of hours ago, and she was not grieving at all. “Such callousness is not respected by the people; no one likes arrogant bitches who quickly forget their love. How can you not be heartbroken after the death of the guy you imagined as your husband three hours ago? Cold bitch. That's who I am. Poor, poor Jornas.”
