The Dinosaur Feather(122)

It took him ten minutes to tell Henrik the story. He told it staccato. Henrik’s face changed from blotchy red to chalk white. Søren didn’t know what to do with his hands when he had finished. Henrik got up and hugged him.

“Christ almighty, dude,” he said in a thick voice. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

And Søren had no idea why.


Just before 5 p.m. Søren and Henrik visited Stella Marie Frederiksen in Elmegade. She opened the door wearing a rust-colored sweatsuit and slippers shaped like bear paws. Her thick black hair had neon pink extensions. She looked obligingly at the two men and didn’t seem particularly surprised at being visited by the police. She offered them coffee. It wasn’t until she realized why they had come that she went pale. She had been under the impression they were there in connection with her ex-husband, she stuttered. She had gotten a restraining order against him, and a police car had been outside her house for the last three weeks because her husband was wanted by the police.

Yes, she knew Johannes well.

“Is he dead?” she whispered, lifting a small child from the floor and hugging her. The child had burning black eyes underneath thick eyelashes, and Søren instinctively wanted to reach for her.

But before he could answer she said, “Hold on a moment, please, I’ll just put on a DVD, all right? This is too much for little ears.”

When she had settled her child, they sat down in the kitchen and Søren let Henrik begin. The last time Stella Marie had seen Johannes was at the Red Mask’s September event. The atmosphere at their parties was usually great, but that Friday really had been something special and it was mostly thanks to Johannes. He tended to wear quite restrained outfits and drink beers with his friends, but every now and then he went to town and would arrive dressed up to the nines and set the place on fire. Besides, there had been a goth concert in Horsens so the Red Mask had been relatively quiet that night. Around a hundred people had been present, Stella Marie estimated, and it resulted in an airy and pleasant feel.

“Johannes stood in the corner.” She narrowed her eyes as she retraced the events in her mind. “To the right of the bar, where people tend to congregate. He wore leather, skirt or pants, and some sort of corset under a black string vest, hey, hang on . . .” She rocked back on her chair and woke up her computer.

“I’ve got lots of pictures from that night.”

Before Søren could say they had access to photos from the Red Mask website, Stella Marie had opened a file and started a slide show. Black-clad goths of all shapes and sizes emerged. Some pulled faces and showed their pierced tongues, others had been captured just enjoying themselves, beers half-raised toward lips painted black or in a fit of laughter that caused heavily made-up eyes to squint. Søren instantly recognized Johannes.

“There he is,” Stella Marie said.

“Do you know the person standing next to him?” Søren asked. Stella Marie and Henrik peered at the screen.

“Is anyone standing next to him?” Henrik asked.

Søren pointed to something black flanking Johannes. What he was pointing to wasn’t necessarily a person, but it might be. A part of someone’s back, or thigh, something dark, certainly, brushing against Johannes’s leg. The fabric seemed to be ribbed, and Søren had to concede it might be part of the background.

“We have different seating areas in the bar, crates and old chairs we cover with black cloth to create an impression of total darkness. It might be a table next to him.” Stella Marie shrugged. “I don’t remember exactly who he spoke to,” she added. “I think he spoke to everyone. Like I said, he was on a roll.”

“Does the name YourGuy mean anything to you?” Søren asked.

“No,” Stella Marie shook her head. “But it’s standard to use alibis on our scene. It’s part of the game.”

“What’s yours?” Henrik wanted to know.

“Surprise,” Stella Marie replied.

“I would like a copy of your mailing list,” he said. For a moment, Stella Marie looked doubtful.

“All right, I don’t suppose that’s a problem,” she muttered eventually, returned to her computer, opened a file and pressed print. They sat in silence and Søren studied a shocking pink hair extension that stopped halfway down Stella Marie’s back. When she turned around, she hesitated before she said: “Actually, there was one thing about that night that puzzled me.” She looked tentatively at Søren. “There was a guy I had never seen before. . . . And he really stood out. It’s probably not important, but I’ll tell you anyway.”