Worlds Apart

Chapter 11

 A • C R E S C E N T - S H A P E D • S H A D O W

Sep. 09 2020 09:32 CET

Dalbyen Police Station

Wisps of petrichor wafted in despite the glass doors being sealed shut. It made the pasty walls and stifling fluorescent lights seem a little more welcoming. The impersonal lighting was all there was, with very little sunlight peering through the granite clouds that had drifted in. The fluctuating hum of the light strips and the low droning of voices filled the sterile space, sleepy and slow and suitable for a small town police station. But only if there wasn't the looming threat of a possible serial killer on the loose. It was oddly reminiscent of the station where Daisha had once worked, back in London, though that had been much too hectic and austere for her to tolerate it.

Daisha was grateful Elin decided that there wasn't much else she could contribute at the moment and left to wait for them at the Inn. Aside from allowing her to relax, it allowed Owen to as well. He always seemed more focused in her absence, if his occasional nods at the papers on the desk were any indication.

A woman in uniform—who had introduced herself as Officer Olsen—watched them from the file cabinets, pale blue eyes washed up by the lighting. They probably would have been striking in another scenario. Daisha glanced at the pictures in front of her, of the message Elin had told them about—words scrawled on the wall, by-then dry blood dripping out of the ridges. Olsen had told them it roughly translated to 'NOT THE LAST. BACK OFF'. A photograph of the wounds of the dead SP peered out from under them, the scratches eerily similar to the ones in the hotel room. It was a gruesome sight; Daisha swore she could see bits of pale white bone peeking through the ripped flesh of the officer. But it wasn't the worst she'd seen. In her mind's eye, a body—no longer a man—lay limp at the base of a brick wall painted red. Police sirens blared in the distance as she looked down to see the front of her favourite silk shirt soaked with blood, hands clammy as she kneeled next to the mangled mess. 'No,' Daisha thought wryly, 'definitely not the worst.'

Loud voices erupted at the other end of the room. Daisha turned to find two officers leading a man in handcuffs down the hall. Past the propped-open double doors, the man vehemently begged them in rapid Norwegian—of which she understood not a word—but having witnessed similar situations many a time during her career, he was likely insisting on his own innocence. Owen muttered something under his breath about "unnecessary brutality". For what reason, Daisha didn't know.

Officer Olsen raised a sceptic eyebrow, remarking, "Well, what a coincidence. That interrogation seems to have gone well." She glanced over at Daisha, and tapped the photograph in her hand. "We might have a lead on this."

In a lower voice, she elaborated: "We caught CCTV footage of him—" she jabbed her thumb at the door— "entering Superintendent Hagen's office before it cut to static. The next thing we see, he's gone but the SP is dead. We even found his fingerprints there, although he denied being there, or even at the station at all. And it looks like he still has not given up that argument." She sighed. "Even if he is telling the truth, we have enough evidence against him to at least keep him in custody until we figure out what's going on."

Daisha bit down a scoff, straightening up. "I thought the police had already abandoned the case?"

Officer Olsen narrowed her pretty eyes, which glittered in defiance. "We did not want Miss Ihle to put her hopes on us when the case was clearly out of our field of expertise. Have you seen that room?! You need to exorcise that place! But this culprit attacked one of our top officers. We can't let them go without resistance, at least for what they did here. And we never found Jan's fingerprints or any evidence he was in the hotel room where Regine Ihle was taken, so it isn't likely we will get in your way. So you don't have to worry about that, Miss PI," she bit out.