“You’re bluffing, René. It doesn’t become you. You’d do well to bear in mind that I’m the fox running free in the woods and you’re the rodent in the mouse hole, where you belong. So you can forget all that nonsense and relax. We’re on the same side, and it’ll all blow over in a few days, mark my words.”
Yeah, once you’ve killed that boy, René thought. “I’ll only ask you this once, Teis,” he said aloud. “When have I ever bluffed? Isn’t that something I’ve always left to you?”
“Stop this now!” It wasn’t the first time Teis Snap had hissed at him like that, but it had been a long time. René could picture his purple face swelling up with rage.
“Watch your step, René! If you threaten us, then I strongly suggest you begin looking over your shoulder, no matter where you happen to be.”
And with that he hung up.
–
Teis Snap stared at his mobile for a moment before taking it with him from the bedroom and leaving his wife to pack their suitcases. The tone could become rough in a minute.
“What now?” said the voice that answered his call.
“The package has been dispatched and two minutes ago I had Eriksen on the line. He’s smelled a rat.”
“And? Once the fuse is lit, what can happen other than Eriksen blowing himself up?”
“That’s why I’m calling. Getting rid of him can’t wait until after the boy’s been killed.”
“Why not?”
“Because he’s taking precautions, and knowing him the way I do, I’d say he’s being too straightforward to be lying. Dull people aren’t very good when it comes to playing the comedian. My assessment is he’s serious.”
“What kind of precautions?”
“He’s constructed material that will cast all the blame on William Stark and us. We need to get René out of the way before he puts it to use, which he might well do once he discovers what’s in that package. I don’t think he’s likely to find a stack of newspaper pages in the Papiamento language a reasonable substitute for what he was expecting.”
“You didn’t send that package express, did you?”
“No, of course not, but it’ll be arriving very soon, anyway. But listen, isn’t it about time your crew got its hands on that boy? He’s only fifteen years old for Chrissake, and every scumbag in the city’s out looking for him. It can’t be that difficult, surely?”
“We’ll see.”
Teis didn’t have that kind of patience, he knew René E. Eriksen a little too well. He was the toiler who put his head down and slogged his way through university without complaint. The man who gained top marks all round because he was brighter than the rest and knew how best to please his professors. No, Teis didn’t like the idea of waiting at all.
“I am well aware that we agreed the order of things was to do away with the boy first and thereby make it plausible for Eriksen to have killed him and then committed suicide because of it. But surely we can find another way? Couldn’t we kidnap Eriksen now, then hold off on getting rid of him until the boy is dead? I mean, if Eriksen is going to become an alleged child killer, no one’s going to wonder about his having been missing for a couple of days before committing his crime. And the times of death will fit nicely, won’t they? No reason to give the police too much to think about, is there?”
For a moment there was silence at the other end.
“Perhaps you’re right.” The voice came hesitantly. “But in that case we’ll have to do it before that package arrives.”
“We can get it over with right away as far as I’m concerned. Eriksen’s home every evening, if I know him right. He’s too scared of his wife not to be.”
The voice laughed. A most inappropriate and malicious laughter that oddly enough left Teis feeling out of sorts. The feeling of having just now raised the ax over the neck of his old schoolmate hardly suited such merriment.
“But if Eriksen has a wife, we’re obviously going to have to take her as well, aren’t we?”
Teis shook his head. “That cow? For all I care, you can send her to hell where she belongs. I could never stand the sight of her.”
“OK. It’s sorted, then. I’ll get the ball rolling and call the people who got Stark out of the way. A nice little home break-in, they’ve done it before. The only difference this time is it’ll be the occupants themselves they steal.”
And then all there was was a dial tone.
Teis snapped his phone shut and glanced toward the bedroom door. There was a sound of suitcases being closed.
He checked his watch. Things were looking good.
It wall all just a matter of timing.
–
Eriksen came home rather later than usual, acting as though everything was fine. His wife did not care for him to kiss her on account of his dentures, which she found repulsive despite being aware that periodontal disease had left him with no other option, though he gave her sulking face a fleeting kiss on the cheek nonetheless. Then he took a quick nap before bringing his dinner to the coffee table and switching on TV2 News. And apart from Lars von Trier’s blunder about Nazism, the news was the same trivial bullshit as always. Who could be bothered to hear about Queen Elizabeth’s visit to Ireland? An Irishman, perhaps, but certainly not René E. Eriksen or even his wife, who was pacing about in the utility room as usual, muttering her dissatisfaction with just about everything: the housecleaning, their daughter’s arguments with her husband, the button that wasn’t to be found anywhere after the last wash. And then there was the ceaseless ironing of anything that had the audacity to exhibit the tiniest wrinkle.
Thank God all this will soon be history, he thought, and sank into the cushions of the sofa.
The next moment shards of glass from the patio doors exploded across the room. The rush of adrenaline pumped him into an upright position as his dinner landed on the carpeting. The figures entering through the shattered doors wore balaclavas, only their eyes visible, and without saying a word lunged toward him, striking him hard on the side of the head. As he fell backward onto the sofa, legs quivering, he heard one of them say in English that now it was his wife’s turn.
They hit him again, harder this time, but although he saw a glitter before his eyes like shooting stars, he remained conscious. His arms had lost all their strength and his legs refused to obey him, but inside he was still there.
What’s happening? he thought, trying to move his body as the men spread out into the house.
From upstairs came the sound of tumult, as if all the furniture were being hurled aside and curtains and bedspreads torn asunder, but from the utility room, where René knew his wife was, all was quiet.
“Is she downstairs, Pico?” the man upstairs shouted.
René was terrified. Like everyone else, he had seen the papers and read about home invasions, they were a modern-day scourge, everyday life transformed into B-movie horror. Now these stories of ordinary people’s sudden demise in their own homes were no longer just newspaper copy. There were always plenty of loudmouths with their wallets full of notes and there were always suspicious elements ready to lighten their burden. But René was no loudmouth.
What do they want from me? he wondered. I’ve got nothing worth stealing. The television’s outdated, the wife’s jewelry is trash, the Karrebæk shares are in a safe-deposit with Nordea…
His train of thought stopped there.
If you threaten us, I strongly suggest you begin looking over your shoulder, Teis Snap had said.
Cold shivers ran down his spine.
Had these people not come to steal? Had they come to kill them?