The Forest Lake Mystery Read online

  The Forest Lake Mystery

  Table of Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Part 1

  I

  II

  III

  IV

  V

  VI

  VII

  Part 2

  I

  II

  III

  IV

  V

  VI

  VII

  VIII

  IX

  X

  XI

  XII

  XIII

  XIV

  XV

  Part 3

  I

  II

  III

  IV

  V

  VI

  VII

  VIII

  IX

  X

  XI

  XII

  XIII

  XIV

  XV

  XVI

  XVII

  Part 4

  Acknowledgements

  Copyright

  Endnotes

  The Forest Lake Mystery

  Palle Rosenkrantz

  Part 1

  Forest Lake

  I

  One day in May 1902, shortly after the woodlands had unfurled their spring finery, Eigil Holst decided to reward himself with a trip out into the Zealand countryside north of Copenhagen. In addition to being in dire need of fresh air in his lungs and an escape from the daily grind and the dust and smoke of the capital, he was feeling tired, on edge and run down by all the hard work.

  Holst was twenty-six years old and the only son of a military officer whose family hailed from Jutland. Both his parents were dead and he hadn’t moved to the capital until he was twenty-two, exchanging the silver-plated uncertainty of a Second Lieutenant with the less resplendent but somewhat more reassuring prospects of a Copenhagen policeman. Eigil Holst was destined for this path from childhood. As long as he could remember, police novels had been his favourite reading, the history of crime his greatest joy. He had read every volume of François Guyot de Pitaval’s famous cause celebrés in the German editions. As he grew up, he carried on this reading systematically, studying German and English works on criminology; indeed, his passion for the subject went so far that, with the support of a cousin who was a grammar school teacher, he acquired enough knowledge of French to study the famous Jean Macé in the original language and of Italian to follow the interesting criminal theories of the Italian school.

  His greatest sorrow was that his father hadn’t allowed him further study. He had ardently wanted to become a lawyer and, eventually, a judge and had intended to work gradually without outside help towards acquiring a high school diploma. But his parents had died, just as he had turned eighteen, and he had had to remain in his position as an assistant in a bookshop which he had taken up on his father’s insistence after passing the preliminary diploma. He had stayed there until he had been called up to national service and, as he was a tidy, bright, disciplined young man, he was detailed as a Second Lieutenant and did service as such for a year. During this time in service, he had become a much sought-after and popular guest in the garrison town’s best homes, but was wise enough to realise that life as a soldier could only be an intermediate stage for him.

  His company commander, an ageing, kind soldier who was related to one of the capital’s senior police officers, procured employment for him in the police force and Eigil Holst once again began slowly but surely to work himself up from the bottom to a position that could both satisfy his ambition and earn him a living.

  The first years were a disappointment, but tough and persevering as he was, he pursued his goal and eventually worked his way to recognition as an exceptionally efficient person, far ahead of his colleagues in education, proficiency and innate knack. He kept himself to himself, lived a quiet life in a boarding house in the middle of the city and, because he didn’t seek out the company of his colleagues, wasn’t particularly well-liked but was considered irreproachable in his conduct. The others said he was a dry stick who had no interest in anything except work and his mouldy books, and that was probably fair enough, for he just focused on his goals and didn’t mix with anyone.

  Eigil Holst was an unusually handsome young man, with brown, curly hair, dark, slightly dreamy eyes, lithe and strong, healthy of body and well-trained in various sports. Women admired him, but he passed them by without a second look. He was self-sufficient and his work was everything to him. He loved long walks in the countryside and had ridden almost the entire length and breadth of Zealand on his bicycle. He liked North Zealand best – the region around Gurre and Esrum and the forests north of Elsinore, where the Kattegat and the Sound meet and Kullen raises its jagged ridge in Sweden across the blue water.

  He had found himself a favourite spot by a small marl pit on the edge of a forest, closely fringed with trees, but with a partial view over the smiling countryside to the blue sea in the distance. This spot was adorable, especially in May, and he would sit for hours alone with his thoughts, staring down into the small, dark lake and over the flowering bushes and thorns.

  He almost regarded this spot as his own, somewhere unknown to everyone else, and he felt himself master of the place. He had made a bench for himself under a tall beech where the water had carved out an inlet under the embankment, which was supported by the latticed network of tree roots.

  He was thus immediately discomfited when, on that day in May, he was awakened from his reveries by the sound of voices. He rose involuntarily to leave, but at that moment the speakers stepped forward from the bushes and blocked his way. He remained seated to let them pass.

  It was a man in his fifties and a young woman dressed in light colours, by the look of her not yet twenty. The man was tall and most meticulously dressed, with wonderfully sharp eyes in a rare classically shaped face bearing a short military moustache. He stood in front of the bench and leant slightly towards Holst to apologise briefly for any inconvenience their arrival might have caused.

  He spoke Swedish, though with the intonation of a man who had been living in Denmark for a number of years. Holst lowered his head with a muffled God preserve us and got up to go, but the stranger clearly wasn’t disposed to allow it; he was very eloquent and apologised profusely for his and his daughter’s intrusion, while adding with a smile that the bench provided enough space for them all. Holst bowed politely, the two strangers sat beside him, and the Swedish gentleman said that this spot at Forest Lake was their favourite and that they were staying for a short while in a farmhouse nearby.

  The young lady joined in with a little chuckle, remarking that it was especially her ‘Pappa’ – she pronounced the word with two distinct p’s – who would head for this small, shiny lake several times a day; it was admittedly adorable, but she preferred the wide-open countryside, the view of the sea and Kullaberg in the distance. She laughed once again, revealing some charming white teeth, while a little twinkle in her eye was on the lookout for whether or not her smile and laughter had disarmed the young man’s restrained hostility.

  She looked a little disappointed.

  Holst responded mostly with monosyllables and was really only waiting for an opportunity to retreat with honour. The Swedish gentleman seemed to enjoy his shyness, while his daughter cast an occasional glance at their taciturn neighbour.

  They talked about this part of the country, its nature and the green trees, and the Swedish gentleman was generous in his praise of the beautiful, lonely spot on the edge of the forest where they were sitting.

  “I love this little lake,” he said. “It lies here, fenced in by green trees, like an idyllic protest again
st all the harshness and ugliness in the world out there, shining and clean like a virgin’s desire, while the sun’s rays play on its surface during the day and the stars of heaven are reflected in its depths at night.”

  The young lady laughed once more.

  “Pappa is being poetic.”

  Holst shrugged.

  “I dare say this lake is very deep and there is hardly a fish living in its cold, clear waters,” continued the elderly gentleman. “It is peace itself, untrodden, untouched and very, very quiet.”

  The young lady took a large stone and threw it high in the air so that it fell with a splash into the lake, causing rings to rise from the water, spreading, subsiding and vanishing once again. She threw another stone and stepped close to the edge. A blush rose in her cheeks, which had earlier been rather pale.

  Holst looked at her and found her beautiful; quite slender but harmoniously built with uniform facial features, fresh lips and large laughing eyes. It was a shame though that, like all women, she was conscious of her appeal and used her physical virtues to flirt.

  The old gentleman looked at her with a mixture of tenderness and pride. She picked up a huge stone in order to hurl it into the lake, but it was obviously beyond her powers. Involuntarily Holst got to his feet and stepped over to her in order to prevent the weight of the stone taking her over the edge.

  She smiled at him and asked if he could throw the stone out into the middle of the lake.

  He lifted it with a shy smile. It was very heavy, but he tensed his muscles and took a firm stance on the ground. Her eyes were resting warmly upon him; she found pleasure in this game of strength and didn’t attempt to hide it.

  He hurled the stone, which fell with a hollow gulp, and the large rings rippled the surface of the water with a light foam which subsided.

  All three of them stared instinctively out over the surface of the water and watched the ripples as ring after ring formed. Suddenly a squeal escaped from the young woman.

  “What’s that?”

  She pointed down at the edge where something white had appeared and took an instinctive step back. Holst bent over the edge and looked sharply down into the water. He straightened up slowly.

  “I think the young lady should go back from the edge,” he said seriously. “This isn’t the sort of thing that young ladies are comfortable with seeing.”

  The Swedish gentleman stood up, twitching nervously and came swiftly over to the edge of the quarry.

  “What is it?” he asked breathlessly.

  Holst turned towards him. “It seems to be a child’s corpse that has been lying at the bottom of the lake,” he said in a hushed voice. “The stone has brought it to the surface. I have to get it brought on land, but since I can probably manage it alone, I would advise you to go. Your daughter will hardly find the sight particularly appealing.”

  The Swedish gentleman smiled.

  “A child’s corpse – well I never – so this idyllic lake is hiding dark secrets in its depths. Perhaps there are more than this one. Do you really want to get involved in this? Let it be – it’s not our business to meddle in such things. We pay the authorities to handle this kind of work.”

  Holst smiled.

  “Precisely – and I’m one of those you pay.”

  “You!”

  The Swedish gentleman took a step back and inspected Holst.

  “Yes – I’m employed by the investigative police in the capital – and I’m not the type of person who just says, like the bailiff in Brand, ‘This isn’t in my district.’ But you probably have little interest in a bailiff’s work and I’d like to spare you any further trouble. Nevertheless, the body has to be fished up and brought into the custody of the local authorities – and I’ll take care of that right away.”

  The Swedish gentleman shook his head with a smile.

  “This means that you, sir, have made a catch, set your foot on a trail which you intend to pursue in order to lead a poor man to the bar of justice – or perhaps the bar of injustice, who knows? Ulla,” he said turning to the young lady, “go home, please. I will help Mr Detective here to get the catch ashore.”

  The young lady had drawn back to the bench. At the word ‘detective’ she looked up in surprise. Something resembling disappointment drifted across her face and she nodded a kind of farewell before walking away slowly along the path behind the forest fence.

  The Swedish gentleman turned back to Holst and, taking a small visiting card wallet from his breast pocket, he handed Holst his card with a smile.

  “It’s probably best we become familiar with each other before we start our task together.”

  Holst glanced at the card. Under a five-pointed crown were the words: Arvid von Ankerkrone, former Captain of Horse with the Scania Dragoons.

  Holst bowed.

  “I’m sorry I’m unable to reciprocate. I have no card with me. My name is Eigil Holst, a sergeant with Copenhagen police – and,” he added with a smile, “previously a Second Lieutenant in the 9th regiment.”

  The old gentleman held out his hand.

  “A soldier like me then – it’s my pleasure to make the acquaintance of the Lieutenant. Let’s get to work.”

  They did. First they took off their coats – the Captain hung his with great care over the bench and rolled up his dazzlingly white shirt sleeves. They armed themselves with some broken branches and after a few minutes of work they had managed to bring the little corpse into the bank.

  Holst bent over the corpse – it was an infant that hardly looked full term and had evidently been lying on the bottom of the pit for some time. It was completely naked, like a little mummy with a flattened face, but still not decomposed apparently. It looked as if its neck bore a strangulation mark. The sad story was not difficult to tell; it was the old one – moral laxity, betrayed promises, shame and financial difficulties.

  “What will you do next?” asked the Captain.

  “Make sure that this little human corpse is placed in a crate and sent to the judicial officer for the district. Any further action can be left to the area authorities.”

  “Won’t you have anything to do with it yourself?”

  “Hardly,” said Holst. “It’s usually a very easy matter to track down the perpetrator of this kind of crime and it won’t take long for the poor mother to be found. Poor thing – they’ll be tough days for her, but there’s nothing else to be done.”

  The Captain looked keenly at Holst.

  “What if we did nothing about it? Let the corpse lie here? The foxes would certainly devour it before daybreak and then… then no one else will get to know anything about it.”

  Holst shook his head.

  “The Captain knows a soldier’s duty. My duty here is the same as the soldier’s. It’s a different matter for you. You of course don’t have to do any more.”

  The Captain smiled a little despondently.

  “You’re quite right. We humans have a way of becoming a nuisance to each other in pursuit of a greater good. So let’s be a nuisance – for the Good Lord’s sake.”

  He turned towards the lake and said as if to himself, “Who knows whether this smiling, silent lake is hiding other riddles within her? You should empty it, Mr Detective, and arrest it immediately if it proves to be complicit in more crimes.”

  “That would be a lot of hard work in vain,” said Holst. “No, what we already have here will have to be enough for now.”

  He covered the little corpse and the two men went to the nearest farmhouse. Accompanied by a groom with a wheelbarrow and a crate, they returned to the spot where they placed the body in the crate and transported it to the farm. Once here, it was placed in a coach house while Holst promptly set off for the district magistrate’s house to report their discovery.

  Captain Ankerkrone went back to the lake and sat for a while in deep thought, his eyes trying to penetrate the water and get the lake to reveal any more secrets it may be hiding.

  He looked very dejected when he c
ame home and his daughter tried in vain to dispel his heavy mood. She was herself actually more affected by meeting Holst than she was by the incident. It pleased her to hear that the young man was a Lieutenant; that is, a gentleman who could probably become chief of police or suchlike. He was exceptionally handsome and well-mannered; she had never really imagined a ‘detective’ to be like that.

  II

  The case progressed very smoothly and quickly. Immediately after the notification, the magistrate began the investigation in a professional manner. As Holst had predicted, they quickly succeeded in identifying the murderer, a peasant girl from a farm lying close to the lake and forest. She seemed almost relieved and confessed immediately. The child had been born in December of the previous year and she had stifled it immediately at birth. She had then wrapped it in some clothes, taken it to the lake and sunk it near the bank where it had been found.

  Holst and the Captain gave their testimony, which in the circumstances was not of major importance to the case, but it led to the magistrate and the Captain becoming acquainted. The magistrate, an old bachelor who lived alone most of the time, took great pleasure in the grand, aristocratic Swede, who seemed to be very interested in everything to do with the administration of justice. The magistrate was most chivalrous in excusing Miss Ulla from appearing in court and while the case was progressing, the Ankerkrones and the magistrate met each other frequently. Miss Ulla often enquired about the handsome young “detective”, as she and her father referred to Holst, and the magistrate smiled a little haughtily, though he admitted that the young police officer was a highly cultivated and courteous young man.

  However, something happened that complicated the matter and caused the magistrate huge inconvenience. The Captain had been invited over for the evening – they were both passionate bezique players – and during a break in the game, the magistrate expressed his irritation about the nuisance the seemingly well-publicised case was causing him.

  The Captain was slouched in a wicker chair enjoying one of his host’s very best cigars, while sipping a glass of ‘punch’ which the magistrate had had brought out for his guest. The magistrate walked nervously up and down the floor, speaking rapidly.