Free There's no place like HOME (Emma Frost Book 8) by Willow Rose Page B

had any concerns or questions. Once the first week has passed, they’ll start wondering when the killer is going to be caught. What do I tell them? That it might take months to get to the bottom of this, since I’m the only one on the case? When do I tell them that?”
    I put a hand on Morten’s shoulder to try and make him relax. He was very tense.
    “Let’s just go,” I said. “Let’s go talk to this guy who threatened Jonas Boegh.”
     

22
    July 2014
    I HAD FOUND the IP-address that the e-mail was sent from, and knew that Furious’s real name was Poul Beckman. He lived less than an hour’s drive north of Esbjerg.
    Morten was quiet most of the way. I tried to speak and cheer him up, but had no luck.
    While in the car, Morten’s phone suddenly rang, and he found a rest area to pull off at, so he could speak. Morten always followed the rules so neatly. Even though it was illegal to speak on the phone while driving, I always did it anyway.
    I looked at him while he walked around in the parking lot and talked. His face was very serious. It frightened me slightly.
    Once he was done, he stood for a few seconds outside the car, like he needed to catch his breath before he got back in. He was pale.
    “Who was that?”
    “Forensics. They wanted to give me a preliminary report.”
    “So, what did they say?” I asked. His pale face made me fear for what would come next.
    Morten looked at me. He looked like he was about to throw up.
    “You’re scaring me here, Morten. What is it?”
    “He took his heart,” he whispered.
    “He did what?”
    “The man’s heart is missing. It was cut out. Removed.” He sighed. “That’s why there was so much blood. The guy was still alive when it was done. Probably unconscious, but still.”
    “Why the heck would someone take another person’s heart? A souvenir?” I said, feeling slightly nauseated myself. This thing sounded less and less like an assassination over money.
    “I…I don’t know. I’m no expert…” Morten threw his hands in the air. “Maybe like a hunter taking the heart of its prey.”
    “Like a trophy?”
    Morten shook his head. He turned the key and started the car again. “I don’t know.”
    “But now you have something you can use when interrogating Poul Beckman. This hasn’t been in the papers yet, so if he knows anything about it, then he knows a little too much.”
    “Good point.”
    Morten steered the car back onto the road, and we continued towards Tarm, the city whose name meant Colon in Danish, which I had always found to be strange…that you would call a city that.
    Even if I was disgusted by the news, I did feel a little better. Finally, Morten and I were communicating again. We were talking and working together. I liked that.
    “Anything else they could tell you?” I asked after a little while. “Any fingerprints, shoeprints, fibers, hairs?”
    “Nothing. He was very careful.”
    “A pro.”
    Morten shrugged. “Or at least intelligent.”
    “That too.”
    “What about the shoes?” I asked.
    “What about them?” Morten asked.
    “They’re not your everyday shoes. Why don’t you try and track them? Where do you buy shoes like those?”
    Morten looked at me and laughed.
    “What?”
    “Sometimes you’re just such a girl. The shoes.”
    Morten took an exit and drove onto a small street, guided by his GPS.
    “What is that supposed to mean? Those kinds of shoes you can’t buy in any ordinary store, I’ll tell you that much.”
    The GPS told us we had reached our destination. Morten parked in front of the house. We hadn’t called in advance, since we didn’t want this guy to run, so we had to take the chance that he would be home.
    “Well, that might be. But I don’t have time to call all the shoe stores in the area to find out where you can buy these. I would, if it wasn’t just me on this case, but unfortunately, it is. Now, I’ll go knock on the door to this house and hope to find this guy home. You stay