I nodded drowsily.
‘That’s why I called you,’ Finn continued. ‘You told me you were on your way. We had an agreement, dammit.’
Anger started to rise in me. How could he think about book signings when people were dying around me as if I was the carrier of some deadly virus? I stood up abruptly, a little too quickly it would appear, as I felt dizzy and my body swayed.
‘Hey, watch it, mate,’ Finn said, grabbing my arm. ‘Take it easy.’
‘I need to get hold of Linda Hvilbjerg,’ I said, staring at Finn. ‘Now.’
Finn studied me for a moment. ‘Are you sure that’s wise?’
‘She’s in danger,’ I said.
‘Yes, my point exactly,’ Finn replied. ‘You should get some sleep. You look like you need it.’
‘You don’t understand. Linda Hvilbjerg is in danger.’
Finn sighed. ‘Honestly, I thought you’d got over that. She’s a bitch, no argument there, and she crossed the line in that interview, but please don’t make it worse by confronting her. That’s exactly what she wants. She would love it if you lost your temper and did something stupid that would land you on the front page.’
‘It’s not me,’ I said. My throat was dry and I could barely produce the words, possibly because they sounded like something from a potboiler. ‘Someone … someone else is trying to kill her.’ I grabbed Finn’s shoulders. ‘Murder her.’
Finn stared at me for a moment, then he erupted in a broad grin, which soon froze when he saw that I wasn’t returning it.
‘Someone is trying to kill Linda Hvilbjerg,’ he repeated slowly. ‘It wouldn’t be the same person who was at work in Gilleleje?’
I nodded and let go of his shoulders.
‘I have to warn her.’
‘And what makes you think she’s in danger?’
‘It’s too complicated to explain right now,’ I said. ‘Do you or don’t you have her telephone number?’
Finn held up his hands. ‘I still think you ought to get some sleep, Frank. I understand you’re upset at the murder, but you’ve got to get a grip.’
‘The number.’
He stuck his hand inside his jacket and took out his mobile. ‘You didn’t get it from me,’ he said as he pressed buttons on the mobile.
Finn Gelf dictated the number, which I wrote down in my notebook.
‘Why don’t you just get some sleep and come back tonight?’ Finn suggested as I tried to leave the cubicle. ‘Linda always comes to the party. You can talk to her there and sort it out over a beer in the bar. We’re all grown-ups, for Christ sake.’
I looked into his eyes. ‘You don’t believe me, do you?’
‘Isolating yourself up there in the north is making you increasingly odd,’ he replied, turning away from my gaze. ‘Try to get used to being around people. Get out a bit more, but for God’s sake take it easy, Frank.’
‘I’m trying to prevent a woman from getting murdered and you’re telling me to take it easy?’
‘But you’ve already killed her, Frank. In Media Whore. That’s why I indulged your little therapy project. I paid for you to vent your frustrations, even though I knew the book would be a flop. Let him get it out of his system, I thought, and all will be well again.’ He took my arm. ‘And it worked.’
I was outraged.
‘You’re saying you did me a favour? If anyone owes anybody anything, then it’s you, Finn Gelf.’ I rammed my index finger into his chest. ‘I made you rich. I made it possible for you to play the bigshot publisher in the book trade. Without me you would be nothing, ZeitSign would have folded long ago and the only contact you would have with books would be selling them in a shop.’
Finn said nothing, he merely stared at me as if I had spoken Chinese.
I pushed my way past him and left the cubicle. Behind me I heard him protest and call me back, but I was no longer listening.
The payphones were located in the lobby, but first I needed a drink. I made my way to the bar in the corner furthest from the entrance. All seats were taken so I stood at the counter and ordered two beers. I drank the first one without taking the glass from my lips. People around me stared and muttered to each other, but I didn’t care.
I drank beer number two in a more controlled manner while my anger at Finn continued to simmer. Who the hell did he think he was?
Tanked up with beer and bitterness, I went to the lobby. I took out my notebook and some change and pressed Linda Hvilbjerg’s number. She didn’t answer and I was asked to leave a message. I hung up, waited a couple of minutes and tried again. Still no reply. After four attempts, I capitulated and recorded a message.
‘Hello, Linda? This is Frank, Frank Føns. I’m calling because you’re in great danger … it’s a bit hard to explain, but there is a killer who is persecuting me and committing the murders in my books. And now … well, now it’s your turn … I know it sounds completely insane, but please make sure there is someone near you who can protect you or go somewhere you’ll be safe, for my sake.’ I paused and looked around. People kept pouring into the lobby and there was chaos at the cloakroom. It seemed an absurd contrast to the message I was leaving.
‘Promise me you’ll take care. And Linda? … Sorry …’
27
I CALLED LINDA Hvilbjerg a couple more times until I ran out of coins. According to the programme, she had no more appearances at the book fair today, so the chances of her returning in the near future were slim. I felt so tired I had to go back to the hotel. At least she would be able to get hold of me there when she got my message.
Ferdinan was behind the reception counter, but I didn’t have the energy to speak to him so I merely waved and headed straight for the lift.
‘Mr Føns!’ he called out when he saw me and motioned me over. His face was pale and his expression grave, very far from his usual cheerful manner.
I approached the counter like a dog with a guilty conscience.
‘It’s dreadful,’ Ferdinan said, shaking his head. It was clear that he wished he didn’t have to tell me.
‘What’s happened?’ I asked.
‘Your murder,’ Ferdinan said. ‘Someone has committed your murder.’
I clutched the counter. It was Saturday afternoon. The guest in room 102 wasn’t due to check out until Monday, I knew that from our previous conversation, but something must have gone wrong. It had to be the smell.
‘A man has been murdered in room 102,’ Ferdinan continued. ‘Just like you described. By the book.’
My eyes widened, but my brain worked overtime to determine the appropriate response. I couldn’t betray myself, so I had to feign surprise.
‘This isn’t funny, Ferdinan,’ was all I could think to say.
‘No, no,’ Ferdinan said quickly. ‘A man is dead.’ His eyes spotted something over my shoulder.
I turned around. A man in a dark suit was sitting in one of the sofas. He had been reading a paperback, but when he met Ferdinan’s eyes, he got up with some effort. He stuffed the book into his jacket pocket, but even at this distance I had already recognized the dark cover of As You Sow. He walked with gliding, mechanical movements as if he couldn’t swing his arms. He didn’t take his eyes off me and his small mouth under a black, slim moustache revealed no more emotions than his gait.
‘Frank Føns?’ he asked in a surprisingly high-pitched voice. It gave the impression he was a boy dressed in his father’s clothes.
‘That’s me,’ I replied.