Glenda

— Forgive our friend, she is not feeling well today. — Iver stood up to the deacon running up with questions. — We'll clean everything up now.

The girl looked again at the puddle under her feet, but saw nothing there except the hamburger she had eaten for lunch, which began to dissolve under the stomach juices.

— It’s okay, we’ll clean up ourselves. Go to the neighboring building in the courtyard through this corridor.

The deacon, embarrassed by the unusual situation, hurriedly escorted the guests to the hospital building.

— Yes, there is an inveterate atheist in you. You couldn't even go through the simplest ritual. — Jack joked with Glenda.

The small rooms to the left of the corridor, and the spacious garden to the right, looked very much like a Catholic monastery, the only difference being the people in white coats. The girl, pale as death, was still shaking from the experience, but she continued to confidently walk forward.

— You have no face. Maybe I should take you home?

— No, we are too close to the goal to give up. — with all the seriousness that could only be spoken now, she answered Iver.

Finally, the three “detectives” approached a low door at the end of the corridor.

— This is Mr. Crownwood's room. Please don't bother him too much, he is very timid, and if something bothers him too much, he can even become violent.

— Fine. — the guests answered in unison, and the man in black robes disappeared into the next room.

The creaky door opened, and an unpleasant, slightly stinking air hit my nose.

Dirty men's socks lay on the bed, under the table and right next to the entrance on the floor. A rotten orange with thick green mold stood in the middle of the table, and a young man in only a shirt, biting his upper lip, sat with a tablet, apparently drawing it.

— Still life! — he shouted to his guests, jumping out of bed. The naked genitals were barely covered by a long-skirted robe.

— Great. — the girl smiled. — I'm Glenda, your brother's friend.

— Jornas? Where is he himself? — a frowning fifteen-year-old guy began to look through his guests into the doorway, looking for a fourth person there.

“He didn’t come because…” the girl stopped, she looked at her companions and caught a unanimous agreement that there was no need to inform Graham about her brother’s death right now. — because he is taking an exam at the University and will definitely come to see you after.

“How disgusted I am with myself now. Lying to a little mentally ill person is low even in these circumstances.”

— It's clear. Will Miss Catherine be there today?

— Who, excuse me?

— Katherine is a fairy from a fairy tale.

“I don’t know, maybe it will be,” all three looked at each other, it seems their assumptions were confirmed. — Tell me, is this her? — Glenda showed a photograph of a blonde in a red dress.

— Yes. — the young man burst into a loving smile.

— What does she do here when she comes?

Here a young man who looked like Jornas suddenly laughed nervously and embarrassedly. This happens when parents ask a small child to talk about where he thinks children come from, and he knows this from his friends, but is afraid to tell adults, he feels embarrassed.

— Is she raping you? — the angry guest could not stand it.

— Yes. — Grem smiled, but somehow strangely, stupidly. — She loves Me.

— Is that what she says?

— Yes, if I cry and it hurts, she constantly repeats that it is for the sake of love. — Grem spoke not like a weak-minded person, but rather like a stupid lover who is being deceived, and he blindly believes in the holiness of his object of adoration.

— Can you repeat this now on camera?

Jack took out his smartphone and wrote down every single word, he took pictures of the situation in the room and all the details so as not to miss anything.

On the way back, Iver turned to the deacon again.

— Tell me, does Miss Catherine Andersson often come to you?

— Yes, every day.

— What for?

— She is one of the sponsors of the House of Welfare. You know how difficult it is to support a thousand people, making sure that they eat well and do not freeze from lack of heating and clothing for the season. Dearest person. And what?

— It's clear. Why is she visiting Mr. Crownwood?

— She fell in love with Mr. Cronwood as if she were her own. They cannot be separated. He’s not even as happy to see his brother as he is to see her.

— Do you know that she rapes him?

— What?! — the man in a black suit pursed his lips, his eyebrows knitted together, and his composure disappeared somewhere? “This can’t be true, Miss Anderson always takes Holy Communion before going to the hospital!”

— Understood. But, unfortunately, this is so.

— Did Graham tell you this? — the deacon suddenly calmed down.

— Yes.

— Then forget it. He is sick. This guy has a rich imagination and a problem with reality. Sometimes he doesn't see the difference between them. He sees ghosts, now rape. Just a sick person, what can we take from him?

— But you won’t deny that you don’t know what’s going on behind the closed door in his room?

— Go away. I will not allow the name of the best woman among our parishioners to be defamed. Ms. Anderson may not be a saint, but I'm sure you're maliciously trying to smear her name.

Iver, Jack and Glenda got everything they needed. It is pointless to prove to a saint blinded by the charm of a beauty that he is wrong. Or maybe it's all about money? Then it is all the more necessary to quickly find this pervert and stop her lawlessness.

— We didn't tell Graham about Jornas's death. Do you think this is very bad, he will be waiting for him, right? — Glenda was alarmed.

— Badly. But we'll come back for it. And now hurry up to the police station.

Chapter 7

Double sensations now tormented Glenda. Either she should finish off Katerina herself, and then calmly plead insanity and go to a mental hospital instead of prison. Or let justice do it.

“It’s a pity that the death penalty has been abolished in Denmark,” the girl complained.

— 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.