He rushed home. They had not returned. He ran back down the hill and into the shops
along the waterfront. None of the
alarmed merchants had seen them. He then
ran to Constable Andersen’s office and
alerted him. The Constable saw Soren
Christensen in uncharacteristic distress, and tried to reassure him.
“Don’t
worry, Mr. Sorensen, they probably ducked into one of the cottages along the
strand to get out of the squall. Go back
home in case they return, and so I know where to find you when I locate them.”
But
as the Constable and Soren left the office and stood for a moment in the
bright, cobbled street, a fisherman approached.
Soren recognized Knutsen who live up the strand. He looked at Soren, and then lowered his
eyes.
“Constable,”
he said hoarsely, “I’ve found some bodies that have washed up on the strand.”
“Please
stay here, Mr Christensen…” the Constable said, but Soren insisted on
accompanying the men. When they arrived,
he lowered his head.
“Get
some blankets, Knutsen,” the Constable ordered roughly, as if the sight
offended him.
When
the bodies were covered the world seemed to go white for Soren Christensen.
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