Read Online One, Two ... He Is Coming for You by Willow Rose - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Willow Rose
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morning paper. I expected to hear from Junior immediately after that.
I cleared it with my editor and told him about the unpleasant visit the other
day, but he said that I shouldn’t be thinking about that. The Rosenfeldts did
own the company that owned the newspaper, but they weren’t supposed to be
meddling in the editorial decisions. They had to go through him first, he said.
So I promised him another story about the six boarding school boys who raped
Irene Hansen, a follow-up story to the first article. A “where are they now?”
kind of article. I liked the idea. They raped a local girl, got away with it,
and now they were living the sweet life of rich men.
“Make a small profile of each of them. The public will be interested in
knowing who we have running around in our country, who they really are,
especially since they all are very influential,” my editor said.
So I was free to go after the boarding school boys.
I couldn’t ask them about the rape. I had promised Irene not to blow her
cover. She was hiding from them and told her story anonymously. But I could ask
them about the two guys who were already dead.
It didn’t take Sune long to find the first one, Ulrik Gyldenlove. He
lived in Klampenborg in northern Zeeland, north of Copenhagen the richest part
of the country. I called him and told him I was doing a story about two of his
old friends from school. I wanted to talk to him about them, and much to my
surprise, he agreed to meet with me.
We were to meet at Mattssons Riding Club next to Dyrehaven. It took
about an hour and a half to get there. Dyrehaven was a famous area in
Klampenborg. It was a big forest and had the richest animal wildlife in
Denmark. It was famous for its many kinds of deer and especially for a big hunt
that takes place every first Sunday in November. Hubertusjagten, as it was
called, was an old traditional hunt that was more than a hundred years old. It
was inspired by the old traditional English hunts in England, with the riders
wearing red jackets using of fox hounds. Nowadays they didn’t use the hounds
any more or chase a real fox. Instead they had equipped two riders with a fox
tail on the shoulder and then the rest of the riders were supposed to catch the
tail.
The event was always broadcast on TV and people would flock to the park to
see the hunt every year. Some of the riders always ended up in an especially
muddy pond. People would gather around the pond in order to see who it would be
this year who would end their hunt in a pile of mud, ruining the nice red
jacket.
Ulrik Gyldenlove had just finished riding his horse for the day together
with his daughter and they both got off when I approached them and told who I
was. I told Sune to take some pictures of him with his beautiful horse and we
chatted briefly with his twenty-year-old daughter before we went for a walk in
the forest.
A fog was everywhere and it felt cold and damp on the skin. Between the
trees I now and then spotted movement. I couldn’t tell if it was a deer or
another animal, but there was definitely something in there.
Ulrik Gyldenlove had only lost a bit of his hair since the picture was
taken at the port. He had gotten older and wasn’t as slim as back then. But I
recognized the look in his eyes, and his smile when he now and then showed me
one. He seemed burdened, as though life had been hard on him. That surprised
me. I had expected him to be more like Didrik Rosenfeldt, caring more for
himself than others. But this guy was different.
As we walked slowly along a path in the forest looking at the wildlife,
he sighed deeply.
“This is my favorite spot in the whole world,” he said and took in a
deep breath of the moist air. “So quiet and calm.”
I nodded. It was truly beautiful.
He looked at me with a smile.
“So how did you know I used to be friends with Didrik and Henrik? I
haven’t seen any of them in ages. We can hardly call each other friends anymore.”
“Why haven’t
I cleared it with my editor and told him about the unpleasant visit the other
day, but he said that I shouldn’t be thinking about that. The Rosenfeldts did
own the company that owned the newspaper, but they weren’t supposed to be
meddling in the editorial decisions. They had to go through him first, he said.
So I promised him another story about the six boarding school boys who raped
Irene Hansen, a follow-up story to the first article. A “where are they now?”
kind of article. I liked the idea. They raped a local girl, got away with it,
and now they were living the sweet life of rich men.
“Make a small profile of each of them. The public will be interested in
knowing who we have running around in our country, who they really are,
especially since they all are very influential,” my editor said.
So I was free to go after the boarding school boys.
I couldn’t ask them about the rape. I had promised Irene not to blow her
cover. She was hiding from them and told her story anonymously. But I could ask
them about the two guys who were already dead.
It didn’t take Sune long to find the first one, Ulrik Gyldenlove. He
lived in Klampenborg in northern Zeeland, north of Copenhagen the richest part
of the country. I called him and told him I was doing a story about two of his
old friends from school. I wanted to talk to him about them, and much to my
surprise, he agreed to meet with me.
We were to meet at Mattssons Riding Club next to Dyrehaven. It took
about an hour and a half to get there. Dyrehaven was a famous area in
Klampenborg. It was a big forest and had the richest animal wildlife in
Denmark. It was famous for its many kinds of deer and especially for a big hunt
that takes place every first Sunday in November. Hubertusjagten, as it was
called, was an old traditional hunt that was more than a hundred years old. It
was inspired by the old traditional English hunts in England, with the riders
wearing red jackets using of fox hounds. Nowadays they didn’t use the hounds
any more or chase a real fox. Instead they had equipped two riders with a fox
tail on the shoulder and then the rest of the riders were supposed to catch the
tail.
The event was always broadcast on TV and people would flock to the park to
see the hunt every year. Some of the riders always ended up in an especially
muddy pond. People would gather around the pond in order to see who it would be
this year who would end their hunt in a pile of mud, ruining the nice red
jacket.
Ulrik Gyldenlove had just finished riding his horse for the day together
with his daughter and they both got off when I approached them and told who I
was. I told Sune to take some pictures of him with his beautiful horse and we
chatted briefly with his twenty-year-old daughter before we went for a walk in
the forest.
A fog was everywhere and it felt cold and damp on the skin. Between the
trees I now and then spotted movement. I couldn’t tell if it was a deer or
another animal, but there was definitely something in there.
Ulrik Gyldenlove had only lost a bit of his hair since the picture was
taken at the port. He had gotten older and wasn’t as slim as back then. But I
recognized the look in his eyes, and his smile when he now and then showed me
one. He seemed burdened, as though life had been hard on him. That surprised
me. I had expected him to be more like Didrik Rosenfeldt, caring more for
himself than others. But this guy was different.
As we walked slowly along a path in the forest looking at the wildlife,
he sighed deeply.
“This is my favorite spot in the whole world,” he said and took in a
deep breath of the moist air. “So quiet and calm.”
I nodded. It was truly beautiful.
He looked at me with a smile.
“So how did you know I used to be friends with Didrik and Henrik? I
haven’t seen any of them in ages. We can hardly call each other friends anymore.”
“Why haven’t
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