Glenda

The employee remained silent. She stuck a thick plastic catheter into the vein, applied a band-aid, and as she removed the needle, a drop of blood fell from her nose and onto Glenda's jeans.

— Sorry.

She took off the tourniquet and raised her head. The beautiful Asian face now looked disfigured by a puncture wound right down the middle.

The first drops of the antidote worked quickly, Glenda perfectly felt the horror, undisguised by the lubricating effect of the muscle relaxant.

— What's wrong with you, miss? — Irene asked in bewilderment, and her face became normal again.

— Nothing. Thank you. — barely pulling herself together, Glenda said.

Thirty minutes later, consciousness cleared up, the vivid colors of the surrounding world returned, but, unfortunately, along with this, the whole range of emotions, especially fear.

"What is wrong with me? Or is there something wrong in Denmark? Or maybe it’s God after all. Well, forgive me! I shouldn't have left London, selling out like Judas. Sorry! Can you hear? Father-in-law at all?

— Are you okay? Can we go? — Iver asked, noticing how Glenda turned pink.

— I think more than yes.

— Great. Then go ahead.

The police station was no longer as empty as the night before. Now it looked like a beehive, everyone was doing something and were busy with some papers, and the boss, like a queen, was collecting everyone’s attention like honey.

— Here is a list of all the married influential businesswomen in Copenhagen. Three hundred and forty people. According to graphological analysis, only ten were suitable. Of these, only three do not have an alibi for last night.

— Wow. When did you get everything done?

— The guys have been working on this issue since early morning. In addition, our database is simply huge.

— But then, why are we going to Rigshospitalet?

— Because none of the list fits.

— What does this mean?

— Bro, give Glenda a package with photos, please. — Iver was driving, and Jack handed over some kind of yellow envelope.

Glenda quickly unpacked it and began to look at the photos of the “criminals.”

One depicted a forty-year-old mother with a curvaceous figure surrounded by five children of the same age. Her happy face shone with confidence in her homely comfort.

On the second one, two retired spouses were cooing; on the wife’s hand there was a ring with a “kohinoor”.

The third was very young, in the photo she stood surrounded by thugs and bodyguards, and her face strongly resembled the daughter of a tycoon. It is obvious that all three shots were taken by a secret observer, since they hardly looked like they were staged.

— And why is none of them suitable?

— Because the bullet was directed from above, which means he was a tall man, taller than the victim by a full foot.

— It could have been one of the beauty's bodyguards in red.

— Perhaps, but as soon as we come to them with interrogations, their lawyers will quickly bury us under a pile of dirty money. Moreover, no one will give us permission to detain without serious evidence.

— Okay, then we have a chance to find out everything at Rigshospitalet.

— Hope.

Gray August Copenhagen looked strangely like London at this time of year. It even seemed to Glenda that she had never gone anywhere, but the nasty Danish language on the walkie-talkie quickly brought her back to reality.

An enormous multi-storey building made of granite tiles with metal crossbars looked menacingly at the three who drove up in a BMW.

A security guard in a black robe and constantly sniffling led them to the third floor to the office of the Hospital Manager. The pale yellow walls, the smell of medicine, and the patients slowly walking down the halls made Glenda remember her mother's death ten years ago. Then she and her father visited her every day after school. The cancer consumed all her tissue, so during the last days of her life, tormented by unbearable pain and living only on morphine, Mrs. Miller was practically unconscious. Glenda cleared her throat, choking on the wet lump in her throat. “You can't cry. I mean business. Everything here is already quite difficult, it would be completely risky to go limp.”

— Wait here, Mr. Johanson will call you himself! — he gloomily abandoned the guard and left.

— Yeah, it’s a gloomy atmosphere here. — Jack shuddered either from the cold or from fear.

— As in all medical institutions. Who likes to be sick? Why are you afraid of white coats? — Iver became interested, because he finally had the opportunity to make fun of his partner.

— No, I just hate hospitals. — the short cop frowned.

— Come here, I’ll fix your teeth and give you an injection. — Iver, like a teenager who wanted to have fun with his friend, stretched his hands towards him, playing himself as a creepy doctor. He began to imitate a dentist who is reaching into a patient’s mouth, and the “youngsters of one minute” were almost fighting, joking with each other about who would inject whom first, when suddenly someone’s voice was heard.