Fear Of Broken Glass

Anna Kron

Almquist sat back down, crossing one leg over the other, raising his hand to rub his beard as he asked the question. 'Where did you get the painting from?'

Justin answered the question in a heartbeat. 'My neighbor died. It belonged to him.'

'Your ... dead neighbor, was the original owner of the painting we found in Thomas Denisen's car?' He was the type any mother-in-law would dream of, not that he was too polished or too keen. 'So he died, your neighbor.' Almquist nodded slowly.

Justin sat in one of two dining chairs from the side of the table, the soft yellow light from the candles rendering the place a cosy, homely atmosphere. He moved to the side, each facing the other the video camera on a tripod next to him.

'Name. Address of your neighbor?'

'Einar, Einar Pontoppidan, lived at Rosen Alle number nineteen. Farum, Denmark.'

'You live in Denmark?'

Justin ran his hand through his blonde hair, glancing briefly towards the painting on the chest of drawers between two of the windows overlooking the car park. 'We all do.'

'How did he die?'

'He was old.'

'That's convenient.' Almquist said. 'Being old.'

Justin hesitated, taking his time, picking his moment. 'He was found dead in his basement. That's all I know.'

Almquist studied Justin as a scientist does an experiment, something that gave results other than those that were expected, unusual results that needed explanation, but there was no explanation, only the observation of what was happening. Of what was being said. 'So how did you know him?'

Justin licked his lips. He was either thinking up a fabrication, or remembering in recollection. One or the other.

'He invited me over, a beer on a Sunday. Old neighbors and such.'

'Did he know you well?'

'Not well, no.'

'But he invited you?'

'As I said, I lived next door. He asked about my artwork, I paint. Look,' Justin said, speaking with more confidence, 'I don't know why he chose me to have his painting. I guess he thought I might be the right person for the job, to return this painting. At ninety-six, he didn't know that many people, not anymore. I guess I fit or something...'

'You are an artist? For a living?'

Justin nodded. 'Half living.'

Almquist turned a page and spoke as he scribbled. 'He left you the painting... in his will?'

'Yes.'

'Did you see a copy?'

Justin frowned, then shook his head. 'No. The lawyer, Ivarsen. He sent me a cheque for ten thousand Danish Crowns to cover expenses. He also sent me a letter, asked me if I would deliver it. I thought about it. You know, would have been nice to get away – so I called him and we agreed.

'You met this person face to face?'

'No. But he sounded just like the type you would expect.'

'And the money cleared?'

'Yes.'

Almquist stopped writing, placing his hand to his mouth. 'All right.' He waited. 'And you were asked to do what, exactly?'

'Take it to someone called Anna.'

'Anna?' Almquist waited. 'All you had to do was, just take it to her?'

Justin nodded.

'Her last name?'

'Anna Kron.'

Kron. His reaction was instantaneous: Hasse Almquist felt a surge electrify every fiber in his being. 'Anna Kron.' He said the name slowly, calmly.

'Anna Kron,' Justin repeated slowly.

It didn't make any sense; two, no, three English-speakers, a dead Dane and an American, all here in little old Tiveden because of... Anna Kron. Anna Kron was dead. Anna Kron was buried; part of a past he would just rather forget. He threw a long, hard stare in Justin Swift's direction, realizing this was going to be worse than he had expected. Much worse.

Was that why they had made it his case?

'Go on.'

'The will requested the painting had to be taken to Anna Kron, and I had been named in his will to take it to her.'

'Do you know where she is?' he tested.

Justin shook his head.

Almquist wanted to catch everything he could, every nuance, each little detail, every slip of the tongue... every trace of insecurity. None of it explained the group, and neither had Justin mentioned any of the others. That in itself gave him cause to be suspicious. 'So how did you know to come here?' Almquist's pen hovered above his notebook. Justin ran his fingers through his hair, again. He was nervous.

'The lawyer had information she lived at Tived; we didn't have an address.' Justin looked at him and swallowed. 'I had a location, that's all.'

'Where?'

'The Tived area.'

'From?'

'It says so in the letter. You can read the letter, see for yourself. The embassy had an interest.'

'The British Embassy. Conrad's employer.'

Almquist felt a surge of interest. Details, focus on the details.

'What has this got to do... why is the British Embassy involved?'

'Ask Conrad.'

Conrad Baron and the British Embassy. That meant something else.

Almquist paused, asking slowly, 'Why Conrad?'

Either he knew Anna Kron, his lie about to be revealed, or... he didn't. Almquist wasn't sure; it was hard to tell. Sometimes it was possible to know what would happen, sometimes not. He stood up. 'I will be just a moment.' He left Justin for the corridor and the photographs.

***

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