Glenda

Mr. Johanson, like a strict professor who caught two rowdy students before class, cleared his throat and said:

— Gentlemen, please come to my office.

The adults quickly put on a decent appearance, and Glenda rolled her eyes.

“Like little ones. This is probably the only way they manage to maintain a healthy psyche, constantly working among corpses and cruelty.”

— I'm listening to you, Mr. Larsen. I was informed that you need information on all students who were assigned to the hospital.

— That's not entirely true. We only need a specific person.

— And who?

— Jornas Kronwood.

— Oh, a completely stupid young man. No desire for medicine. Only a constant desire for power and money. In our business this is impossible. If you have no desire to treat people, then even if you are the most skilled neurosurgeon, you will not see money. Sooner or later, medical error or negligence will close the path to freedom, wealth and fame forever.

Glenda almost began to defend the deceased, because he did not seem to her either stupid or vain, this old administrator thought a lot about himself: to make such conclusions without knowing the full picture is where arrogance lies, but Iver got ahead of her.

— Tell me, who paid for his education, since he is still at the faculty?

— What kind of rudeness do you allow yourself, Mr. Larsen? Only incorruptible people work in my hospital! No bribes, everything is done through exams. — the manager, red as a lobster, hissed with anger.

— We are well aware that last year Mr. Cronwood failed his annual exams. But as we know, he continues to study to this day. — the tall Scandinavian continued unshakably. — What do you think, Mr. Johanson, what will the University College do with you if it finds out about such illogicality? Will it hardly consider it a misunderstanding?

— How dare you threaten me? — the man at the table was literally exploding.

— Mr. Johanson, we only need the name of the person who paid for his studies. Give us a name and we won't tell anyone. — Barely keeping calm, Glenda intervened.

— I won't say anything. Look among politicians, period. — the administrator said more calmly and called security. A couple of seconds later, that same sniffling man entered the office and silently led the trio outside.

— Look among politicians? Now our trail has gone in a different direction. Those three people are not politicians, they are not suitable for us at all.

— You are sure?

— Yes. None of this trio was even close to politics. We're at a dead end.

— What about their relatives?

Glenda's question was new, but incredibly accurate. Iver looked at his friend with such admiration that it was not enough to think about friendly respect, everything looked like love.

Having requested data on their mobile phone, the three with hamburgers and hot coffee from a nearby eatery silently waited in the car for a response from the police station.

— Larsen, you're right. According to our secret sources, Katherine Anderson’s father, Karl Anderson, is going to become the Prime Minister of Denmark, he is from the Social Democratic party. This is my second week in Courchevel. So he definitely has an alibi for last night.

— Got it, bro. Thank you. — Iver hung up the phone and looked dejectedly at Glenda. — What did he tell you?

— Who is he?

— Well, Kronwood? Where do you fly? Or is it still the effect of the sedative? I hope you realized that this was the last time you took this stuff?

— Ugh, you're serious, daddy. — a girl in a purple Armani T-shirt and a black jacket teased him. The movement of the brush added richness to her sarcasm. This is what they do when they accidentally burn their palm.

“I actually forgot for a while about our conversations with Jornas. Surely they have a clue. Did the fear of my house, on which I wasted a tenth of my fortune, damn it, make me forget everything that happened in the last three days before?! But there was something interesting there.”

— Jornas has a brother.

— So. We know he is in the house of prosperity. And what? How can a madman help us?

— Let's find out. I suggest you talk to him right now.

For a long time, Glenda again wanted to enjoy life, to believe that there was still hope, but these visions of mutilated body parts could not leave her even for a minute: either the memory of them, or new hallucinations haunted the girl’s tired mind.

A gray day, dank like an autumn day, forced me to admit to myself that there is little light in this world, that these are thickets of thorns and nettles that have grown to the very sky, you cannot get out of them or break through without the help of friends and relatives. There is only one way, to fight yourself and make others fight.

The persistent rain poured down on the car windows, only occasionally allowing one to see passers-by, buildings, and other cars. Glenda, who had never visited a single museum in Denmark during her stay here, was now trying to look at at least something along the way.