BOOK BLURB
THE BOY AT THE DOOR:
Everyone has secrets. Even those who seem to be perfect...
On a rainy October evening, Cecilia Wilborg – loving wife, devoted mother, tennis club regular – is waiting for her kids to finish their swimming lesson. It's been a long day. She can almost taste the crisp, cold glass of Chablis she'll pour for herself once the girls are tucked up in bed.
But what Cecilia doesn't know, is that this is the last time life will feel normal. Tonight she'll be asked to drop a little boy home, a simple favour that will threaten to expose her deepest, darkest secret...
PRAISE FOR THE BOY AT THE DOOR:
"Unsettling, layered, bold, unpredictable, dark. EXCELLENT." Will Dean, author of Dark Pines
"Remarkable... Dahl is able to ring satisfying changes on the familiar ingredients, and her heroine Cecilia, in particular, is one of the most distinctive that readers will have encountered in recent years." Crime Time
"Stunning... an extraordinary plot; intricate and twisted with dark secrets emerging at every turn. An engaging mystery with an ending you won't see coming." Alexandra Burt
“Heartbreaking and HEAD-SPINNING." Mary Torjussen, author of Gone Without a Trace
‘We had the identity of the dead woman confirmed this morning. She’s Annika Lucasson, previously known to the police for some drug offenses, as well as a few break-ins over the past six months.’
I nod gravely, keeping my face completely blank, as though I were listening to the weather report.
‘Are you at all familiar with this name?’ asks Camilla Stensland.
‘Annika Lucasson... No,’ says Johan. ‘I’ve never heard of her.’
‘Cecilia?’ Stensland’s small blue eyes, trained on me again.
‘No,’ I say. ‘No. I’ve never heard that name before either. Is she from Sandefjord?’
‘No, she’s originally Swedish, but she’s been here for the past six months or so. She’s received methadone here in Sandefjord since Easter, so we do have some records of her.’
‘I see,’ I say, keeping my eyes on Ellefsen’s chubby fingers held together in a tight clasp, his wedding ring snug in swollen flesh like a string tied hard around the middle of a sausage.
‘Did she drown?’ asks Johan.
‘While she was found in water, we are unable to divulge the cause of death at this time, but I will say the deceased bore some signs of violence. We have not yet found any possible murder weapon.’
I try to take a deep breath, but again, that wall of resistance seems to shut the air out from my lungs and I’m forced to take several noticeably short, strained breaths. Beady blue eyes staring. It might be even worse than I imagined – maybe she met a crazed stranger that dark night and was bludgeoned by a blunt object. Face cracked, bones glinting from underneath red and purple mangled flesh. I try to think if I’d ever imagined Anni’s death like that, but I can’t remember – I’ve imagined it in so many ways.
‘Excuse me, could you please explain what this unfortunate woman’s murder has to do with us, or Tobias?’ I ask.
‘We believe Annika Lucasson was Tobias’s mother.’
‘Why do you believe that?’ I ask.
‘There have been a couple of sightings of her with the boy in the last few days before Tobias was left at the pool,’ says Thor Ellefsen. ‘It is our theory that she may have hidden him during the time she spent in Norway.’
‘But why would she do that?’ asks Johan.
‘She may have been hiding from a violent ex-partner, or been afraid that social services would take the child due to her drug addiction.’
‘Which you would have done, and rightfully so,’ Johan says. Laila Engebretsen nods. ‘But why would anyone want to kill her?’
‘Well, that’s what we need to find out. Annika was believed to be in a relationship with a Polish man named Krysztof Mazur, also well known to the police for several counts of theft as well as drug-dealing offenses.’
‘And have you arrested him?’ I ask.
‘It would seem that Mr Mazur left the country from Larvik on the Denmark-bound ferry on October twenty-first, four days after Tobias was left at the pool,’ says Camilla Stensland. ‘We’ve found CCTV footage showing his car. We do not believe that’s a coincidence.’
‘For... for how long has Annika Lucasson been dead?’ I ask, my voice shaking now.
‘We believe she has been dead and in the water for several days, judging by the state of her body when she was found last night.’
‘So...’
‘So, Krysztof Mazur may have dumped her there, and then left the country. Or he might have worked with an accomplice who placed her in the water after Mazur fled,’ says Camilla Stensland. Beady blue eyes, hard on me.
‘Which leads us to why it was so important that we could speak with you two as soon as possible,’ says Laila Engebretsen, smiling her sad, pedagogical smile again. I want to hit her, and run out of this stuffy room, out into the fine drizzle sweeping across Sandefjord like a cool curtain of ash. ‘From our conversations in the last week, it seems that Tobias is doing as well as can be expected and has settled well into your family, which is a most reassuring thing. Before the new developments with Annika Lucasson, it was our intention to just leave him be as much as possible, while we work behind the scenes, trying to uncover what his circumstances actually are, but now we will of course have to assist the police investigation, and that will mean speaking with Tobias.’
‘Yes, of course,’ says Johan.
‘You know what? I just don’t think that is a good idea,’ I blurt out, and everyone turns to look at me. ‘I mean... sure, eventually. But right away? This child is severely traumatized, barely speaks a word to Johan or me, and I just don’t think that he should be subjected to intensive questioning at this time...’
Camilla Stensland interrupts me gently. ‘We appreciate your concern for Tobias, but you can rest assured that any conversation with the child will be conducted with a child psychiatrist and a representative from social services present.’
‘Strangers.’
‘Excuse me?’
‘Strangers to Tobias.’
‘Tobias is the only person who can give us some information about Annika Lucasson and Krysztof Mazur. He would know who they know, and give us invaluable information about what has happened here,’ continues Stensland. Johan nods, and takes my hand beneath the table. I remove it.
‘First of all, we need to establish whether the child really is related to Lucasson. Today, after school, we need you to take Tobias to the doctor. He will take a blood sample so that we can run a DNA profile, as well as give him a general examination, something we would have scheduled for him anyway,’ says Laila Engebretsen.
‘What if he isn’t Lucasson’s child?’ I ask.
‘We are, due to a couple of very reliable sources, fairly certain he is.’
‘But if he isn’t?’ Laila Engebretsen and Camilla Stensland exchange a fleeting glance here.
‘There is, of course, the possibility that Tobias was in the care of Annika Lucasson without being biologically related to her,’ says Thor Ellefsen, running a large finger across his russet mustache. ‘He could have been snatched by her and Mazur. Or they could have been looking after him for someone, for whatever reason.’
‘But who would leave their child in the care of a couple of criminal heroin addicts?’ asks Johan, the telltale red splotches of indignation flaring up on his neck and face.
‘Exactly,’ says Stensland. We all sit in silence for a moment, pondering the implications of Anni’s death and her possible connection to Tobias.
‘Fuck,’ says Johan, and everyone nods seriously. Finally we stand when Ellefsen stands, and make final arrangements for a doctor’s visit this afternoon, and a meeting with Laila Engebretsen tomorrow afternoon, followed by police and the child psychiatrist. We walk back outside to the parking lot, and the drizzle has momentarily let up, exposing a small section of pale blue sky among bulbous, fast-moving black clouds. I look at Johan, who wears the stunned expression of someone who has just been woken up in the middle of the night. He shakes his head slowly, running a hand through his hair again, and this time I can’t be bothered to stop him.
‘Fuck,’ he whispers, twice.
Half-American, half-Norwegian, Alex Dahl was born in Oslo. She graduated with a B.A. in Russian and German linguistics with international studies and went on to complete an M.A. in creative writing at Bath Spa University, followed by an M.S. in business management at Bath University. Alex has published short stories in the U.K. and the U.S. She is a serious Francophile and currently lives in both London and Sandefjord. The Boy at the Door is her first novel.
SOCIAL MEDIA
TWITTER: @alexdahlauthor
PUBLICATION DATE: 1st May 2018
PUBLISHER: Head Of Zeus @HoZ_Books
GENRE: Thriller
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