“Okay, then you ought to start there. Speak to them individually and don’t worry about the question of guilt. Leave that to the courts. Just follow the story and see where it takes you.”

Heloise could feel her cell phone buzz in her inside pocket. It was a text message from the research department.

“You tell me not to worry,” she said, reading the message. “But my home address has been unlisted since I started working as a journalist, and when I asked Munk this morning to search for my address online, he found nothing.” She looked up and asked with a shrug, “So how does Anna Kiel know where I live?”

CHAPTER

7

THE DRIVE UP Strandvejen to Vedbæk gave Heloise time to gather her thoughts. The palatial villas along the coast were lined up like dominoes behind wrought-iron gates with ornate monograms heavy enough to keep out uninvited guests but transparent enough to let passersby admire the opulent gardens.

The pea shingle crunched under the wheels of the Ford Focus she had borrowed from the newspaper when she pulled into the courtyard in front of the huge, pale-gray house. It looked nothing like the soulless art deco buildings or the ridiculously pompous mansions that surrounded it. Rather, it reminded Heloise of those luxurious summer houses you always saw in American feel-good movies. It was made from wood and built in Nantucket style with shutters and white casement windows, with a large porch going around the whole house. Insert Diane Keaton wearing a straw hat, light-colored linen clothes, a kitchen filled with fruit and vegetables and plenty of sunshine, and you’d get the picture. It was that kind of house, Heloise thought.

She parked next to a silver Jaguar gleaming in the afternoon sunshine and walked up to the front door. There was no bell at the entrance, only a brass doorknob shaped like an anchor. Seconds after Heloise knocked, the door was opened by a young Thai woman wearing a dark knee-length dress. She sized up Heloise from head to toe—twice.

“Can I help you?”

“Yes, hello, my name is Heloise Kaldan, and I’m looking for Ellen or Johannes Mossing.”

“I’m afraid Mr. Mossing is not at home, but Mrs. Mossing is here. Do you have an appointment?”

“No, this is a surprise visit, I’m afraid.” Heloise smiled.

“May I ask what it’s in regard to?”

“It’s about her son.”

Heloise had been expecting a reaction from the young woman, but none came. She merely opened the door further and invited Heloise inside.

“Please wait here.”

The woman disappeared.