Glenda

— Nothing, now we will approve the permission to detain Miss Andersson and go to her. Prison will be worse than sweet death.

— Iver, do you think it will all end today?

— You'll see, baby. Tomorrow I’ll take a day off, and you and I will go for a walk through all the museums in Copenhagen. We'll drink beer and dance in the rain.

— Fine. It also seems to me that today we will save your city from this dangerous villain. Jack, what do you think?

— I think you guys have done a good job, and everything should end today. A criminal in the government is a disaster for the state.

— We don’t yet know whether her father is aware of his daughter’s perversions. This will be difficult to prove if they hire a good lawyer.

— Then I’ll just write in the Politiken newspaper and definitely ruin his reputation. Doesn't raising a criminal daughter mean he's a bad father? But aren’t father and ruler synonymous concepts when viewed on a large scale?

— You're right! — concluded both cops.

Then all three drove in silence to the sounds of the car and the city. The radio was silent. The dispatcher reported that there was noise on all waves, apparently a technical problem.

The engine roared at intersections, so that the tires squealed throughout the street. One hundred and twenty with a siren, and now they are already in their station.

The queen of the police hive did not immediately give permission. Behind the glass wall, Glenda did not hear their conversations, but clearly observed the actively gesticulating Iver, Jack, who non-stop wandered around the office like a lion in a cage, periodically interjecting his word to the boss, and the site manager just shook her head. Unshakable, but with kind eyes, she rather irritated those who spoke with her appearance.

And so, when they both gave up, they ran out of arguments and gave up, the phone rang, Mrs. Matka picked up the phone.

Her face contorted with unpleasant surprise, after which she finally spoke.

The strange expression on his face spread like an epidemic to others present in the office.

All three left.

— Glenda… — Iver came closer and put both hands on her shoulders. This happens before someone tries to deliver bad news. And also this guilty look, as if something terrible had happened — the Deacon from the Church of Grundtvig called. — the girl tensed, Iver waited a second and continued, taking her shoulders even tighter. — Graham died.

— How did you die? Did Katherine do this?

— The deacon said that she came into his room, then Graham suddenly started banging his head against the wall, and…

— What and…?

— And in the end he broke his skull.

— God! — Glenda, sitting in a chair, leaned between her knees as if she was about to throw up. Not from what Jornas’s brother did to himself, but from his own helplessness. She couldn't save the second of the Kronwood family, but she could have. I could have done this just an hour ago if I had taken the boy with me under the supervision of the police until the killer was imprisoned. I could have forbidden the deacon to let this woman in to see him today. By any means, but I didn’t. And this is her sin, which no communion will wash away.

— Sorry.

— For what? We were all there… — cried a tearful Glenda.

— Yes…And now I asked the deacon not to let Miss Andersson leave the church, to hold her, without showing it, until we arrive.

— Do you already have permission to detain?

— Yes. Go.

Glenda tried to get up, but her legs felt like cotton wool.

She looked at them and saw first the torn jeans, and then the charred limbs underneath them. The smell of burning human flesh stuck in my throat, sweet and bitter at the same time, penetrated my nostrils in a matter of seconds. There were people with decaying bodies standing around, they were all busy working. And opposite her, two male corpses were saying something. Glenda fell into unconsciousness.

Chapter 8

— At little Mary's

A great mishap did unfold,

Her right shoe gone, we're told.

In one she leaps and wails,

Impossible without its pair, it pales!

Yet, dear Mary, don't you weep,

For the lost shoe, a secret to keep.

A new one we'll craft, without dismay,

Or purchase a match, without delay.

Just take heed, be watchful, take care,

No more losses, a tale rare!

How nice it is to hear again the kind English song that her mother sang to her before bed as a child.

Glenda lay with her eyes closed on something hard, her body did not obey. But she would have lain like that for a long time, if only the song would not stop.

The gentle female voice suddenly cleared her throat loudly and ceased to be pleasant.

— Get up, slut!

Glenda's eyes widened.

In front of her face was the ceiling of her house with a pattern from the dim light of a floor lamp, a new house in Copenhagen. Looking around, she didn’t see anyone, but she clearly realized that she was lying on the floor in the living room. It was night outside, the lights weren’t on, you couldn’t even see the sky, it was a dull, impenetrable darkness.

“Get up, I said!” the nasty voice commanded again.