“Huh?” He looked blankly at her across the desks and straightened up slowly in his chair when he saw her expression. “Who are we talking about?”

“That lawyer who was murdered. Was it in Kokkedal or Hørsholm or somewhere up north? What was his name?”

“His name was Mossing. And he lived in Taarbæk. What about him?”

“Did you cover that story?”

In the investigative section, Mogens Bøttger specialized in crime and social affairs, while Heloise was responsible for business and consumer issues and only rarely dealt with violent crimes.

“No, I was still on the news desk back then. It must have been Ulrich. Why are you asking?”

“What was her name? The woman they think did it?”

“Anna Kiel. And it’s not something they just think. They know. She was caught leaving the scene on a security camera in Mossing’s driveway. And when I say caught, I mean she stood staring directly into the lens for several minutes before leaving the crime scene without trying to remove or damage the camera. Covered in blood from head to toe, frozen like a statue. She just stood there gazing at the camera without moving a muscle. A total psycho.”

“Where is she now?”

“I don’t know. She was never found. Why?”

Heloise went over to Bøttger and placed the letter in front of him. She leaned over him while they both read it.

Dear Heloise.

Have you ever seen someone bleed to death?

It’s a unique experience. Or at least it was for me, but then again, I had been looking forward to it for a long time.

I know they say I have committed a crime.

That I must be found, tamed and punished.

I haven’t.

I won’t be.

I can’t be.

I already have been.

… And I’m not done yet.

I wish I could tell you more, but I have promised not to.

While I am denied your presence, Heloise, give me at least through your words some sweet semblance of yourself.

Anna Kiel

Bøttger looked up at her, stunned. “Where the hell did you get this?”

“It was in the mail.”

“Do you know her?”

“No. I remember bits and pieces of the story, but apart from that, nothing. Never met her.”

“Christ …” He scratched his head so hard his big, dark-brown curls waved from side to side. “Do you think it’s legit?”

Heloise shrugged.

“It might be a hoax,” Bøttger said. “I get the craziest emails from readers all the time. There are weirdos everywhere, Heloise; you know that. This letter could easily have come from one of them. Now that you’re in the public eye with the whole Skriver scandal, your in-box automatically turns into Freak Central.”