Triple Salto: Daniel and the Deadly Sins, #1

By Michael Clasen

TRIPLE SALTO – A detective novel with Daniel Dreyer

Lust, sex, desire, attraction, lechery. Call it what you want, but it is one of the classical Seven Deadly Sins.

The prematurely discharged elite frogman – and now private detective – Daniel Dreyer lives in the medium-sized provincial town of Haubjerg.

A very young Danish-Japanese gymnastics girl, who belongs to the world elite in her sport arrives at the newly established sports college in the city. She trains for her big breakthrough with the impossible maneuver: the TRIPLE SALTO. In addition, she turns the heads – without wanting to – of several of the city's men. This has catastrophic consequences, and Daniel Dreyer has to take on the case.

TRIPLE SALTO is the third volume in DANIEL & THE SEVEN DEADLY SINS, which has Lust as its theme. It can be read independently of the preceding books.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BadPress
• Release date: Jan 17, 2021
• ISBN: 9781071583623

Book preview

Chapter 01 – TAKEOFF

WEDNESDAY, OCTOBER 16

The 275-ton Airbus A340 accelerated off the longest runway at Narita International Airport just east of the center of Tokyo. The 300 passengers were pressed back into their seats, and many of them involuntarily tightened their grip on the armrests of the seats. As SAS flight number SK984 broke through the low-hanging clouds, the midday sun shone in through the small windows, lighting up the entire cabin.

Not all of the seats in Business Class were occupied. Of the two seats at the front of the cabin, only the window seat was occupied. Here, a very young woman was sitting alone, looking down at the rolling white landscape made up of the sun-drenched cloud cover.

To a European, she looked quite Asian, but most Japanese people would clearly note her European features. Her name also evoked her ethnically mixed ancestry: Sakura Toft. She had received her last name from her father – Victor Toft –, while her Japanese mother Misaka had insisted that she bear the romantic first name Sakura, which means 'cherry blossom' in Japanese.

When the plane had reached its cruising altitude and there was nothing but a view of an unending cloudscape, Sakura turned away from the sun, kicked off her shoes and pulled her legs up underneath her on the seat.

Sakura's father stood no less than 6'3 tall and had played volleyball at a high level as a young player, but it was her mother who had left her build to her daughter as her inheritance. Sakura stood just 4'10 tall in her bare feet. On the other hand, she was – by most standards – an exceptionally beautiful woman in the making. Her smooth, coal-black hair hung heavily down her shoulders and framed her oval face, which had a discreet golden tone. Her tear-shaped brown eyes and prominent cheekbones bore clear testimony to her East Asian genes, while her nose – inherited from her father – was in line with European standards. Sakura's appearance confirmed that the genetic melting pot of globalization often produced the most beautiful results. Her small, slender – and almost boyish – figure also led many men to glance back at her. Small feet, but relatively long legs and a springy, somewhat springy gait. Flat belly, sculpted shoulders, narrow hips and small breasts. And a beautiful, tight and muscular rear.

Sakura had been born in Tokyo seventeen years earlier. Her father was Deputy Director of the East Asian section of the worldwide enterprise OtiumPlus, which developed and sold concepts in elder care based on ideas from Scandinavian welfare models. Victor Toft had met the lovely Japanese nursing home manager, Misaka Kawamura, through his work. Their beautiful daughter Sakura came into the world just ten months later.

Victor Toft, who had now become head of OtiumPlus' growing Japanese branch, took his small family to Denmark on vacation for a few weeks one time every year. Sakura's father had, ever since his daughter came to the world, upheld the view that anybody who has two mother tongues will never be unemployed. Not even if one language is humble Danish which, as a poet once said, sounds like bubbling oatmeal. At her home, her father always spoke Danish, and Danish bedtime stories were read to her every night the father was home from the time she could understand them.

Sakura had been practicing gymnastics every day for all the years since she had started kindergarten. It was mostly for educational reasons at the beginning, and in order to strengthen the little girl's general motor skills, but it soon became clear that she had very special talents.

Japanese society is largely based on making use of all one's natural advantages and abilities to their utmost, and the education of schoolchildren is particularly characterized by this principle. Throughout Sakura's schooling, from the first few grades up to her second year at Tokyo's premier gymnastics school, there had been only a few days when she had not spent several hours in the training facilities. Because of her superb gymnastics skills, people overlooked her fairly ordinary performance in her regular school subjects. First and foremost, she was undoubtedly the high school's most talented female gymnast, with cutting edge skills in floor exercises. She was considered in professional circles to be among the favorites to win the Japanese Championship in a few years. But since she was a Danish citizen, she couldn't be considered for the Japanese national team.

For some years, Sakura had also been friends with a Danish girl whose family had been stationed far from Denmark, so she was fairly fluent in spoken Danish. It was more difficult to read and write that strange language, so that would be something to address when she now started classes in a first-year Danish high school class after the autumn holidays.

OtiumPlus shuffled its personnel among various departments around the world. The head of the ailing South American branch had just died of a heart attack. So after many successful years in Tokyo, Victor Toft was now being transferred to Buenos Aires with a few weeks' notice. There was nothing wrong with that, but the level of Argentine sports gymnastics was far from impressive and, in fact, almost non-existent.

When the news came, Sakura cried for a whole day and night, because she had been chosen the day before to participate in the Japanese championships for the spring. And she would not, under any circumstances, go with her parents to the Argentine backwater now that she was looking forward to an exciting sports career.

The next day, her father came up with another option: it was, in any event, high time for his daughter to receive a proper Danish education and he had discovered Haubjerg Sport College in his old homeland on the internet. In fact, the so-called sports college was just part of the Haubjerg Boarding School and Gymnasium, which was highly acclaimed and rich in traditions and had entered into an agreement with the Danish Gymnastics Federation to adapt its instruction to the training of gymnasts in its newly built facility.

Sakura shook her head, and her thick black hair dropped down over her face. She fell into a deep sleep that lasted most of the eleven hours it took before flight SK984 landed in the rain at Copenhagen Airport.

Chapter 02 – A DARK AND STORMY NIGHT

WEDNESDAY, OCTOBER 16

He opened the garden door a crack and noted that the rain had stopped. The evening was dark, as cloudy evenings in late October so often are in Denmark, and the westerly wind tore the very last yellow leaves from the trees. That was just fine with him: he couldn't stand the rain, but the darkness and the wind were his friends who ensured that the streets and lanes were virtually deserted. He pulled the door shut and went inside to change clothes: a pair of tight leggings, a balaclava, a smooth plastic hoodie, thin leather gloves, socks, and a pair of Nike running shoes, all black. He put his cellphone in his front pocket. It was also black and had a jet black rubber case, with the flash function on the camera turned off.

His mountain bike was standing indoors underneath the stairs to the second floor. He had bought an expensive model, which was also jet black. He had painted the parts black himself and had removed the mandatory reflectors. He was a well-trained cyclist, but never used this bike during daytime – only on his excursions into the dark, which almost enshrouded the dark, swiftly passing cyclist. He pulled a bag of hard mints out of its plastic wrapper, put one into his mouth, and was ready for his evening outing.

As he had expected, the suburban streets were almost completely empty. He passed a single dog owner, who was standing with his back to him, completely absorbed by the dog's efforts to do its business. Otherwise, there was no one on the street here at half past ten in Torlev – a village a few miles southeast of the market town of Haubjerg.

The Rugvangsparken – a large and progressive building development with solid dwellings that students, families with small children and retirees could afford to rent – had been built in the middle of a number of private detached houses several years earlier. Some row houses and even several small, single-story detached houses were scattered around a large, open green area. Fully grown bushes snaked around the houses and subtly allowed the little gardens to be both a part of the common area and yet, at the same time, to allow the tenants to feel private and at ease on their own bit of lawn and their own terrace, even despite the lack of hedges.

The man in black pushed his unlocked bike in between some large bushes among the shrubs in the Rugvangsparken. Despite the lack of leaves, someone would have to be a very keen observer to notice it. Due to the prevailing concern about rising CO2 emissions and global warming, the development board had decided last year that every other street lamp should be turned off. The black-clad figure could thus travel unseen along the paths and gardens of Rugvangsparken on a cloudy moonless night. The darkness didn't hinder his orientation, for Rugvangsparken was one of his favorite and most desirable hunting grounds. He started systematically with a walk along the row houses. There was only rarely a prize there. Most residents had their bedrooms on the second floor, and he had never dared to climb on top of sheds or into trees to spy on people. There were, of course, washrooms and showers on the ground floors, but the windows were fitted with frosted glass, and it had only happened once that he had viewed from the terrace someone walking naked through the living room to the washroom with a towel over his arm. That had been a scrawny and stooped man, who must have been on his last legs. And that was of no interest at all!

There was no prize at all tonight. Many places were completely dark; in one place, a bald middle-aged man sat in a corner of the living room playing computer games. Minecraft, it was called. That sort of thing had never interested the silent man in black.

He looked closely to see that no one was approaching along the narrow path that ran through the development before disappearing across the small semi-detached houses, where he disappeared out of sight without a sound. His mission was much easier here. All of the windows were freely accessible at eye level: living rooms, closets, kitchens and – not least – bedrooms. Not because there was anything wrong with the living room; he had even had a few memorable evenings there when loving couples disrobed to varying degrees were coupled on a couch or on the floor. It was the kind of experience that kept his courage up as he went to his favorite places night after night. Although many people had both curtains and blinds, it was surprising how often they neglected to draw them. Evidently only a few people thought that they were completely visible through the black panes.

Tonight had been a complete loss. The man in black continued along small footpaths, probably made by several generations of children who had made their way through the bushes while playing. The wind was still blowing, creating a swishing in the branches. On the one hand, it kept nosy people indoors, but he didn't feel really comfortable with the noise. If there were someone suspicious who had noticed him and was following him, he might not notice the sounds that the tracker would have to make. On his way towards the hiding place for his bike, he checked the next row of houses. Some young girls – probably students – who had divided the rooms among themselves lived in one of them. A few times, a pretty blonde had been going to bed as he passed by her living room window. She apparently slept naked, but before she crawled under the duvet and turned off the light, the man in black hid behind some bushes and made a video recording of her undressing on his cellphone. He relished her slender figure and gracefulness while being completely devoid of any awareness of being observed.

After he had experienced and recorded the unknown blonde, her stalker lay at home and watched the little movie over and over until he finally fell asleep with the image of her marvelous rear in his own internal cinema. Her window was one of the places he returned to again and again, but it was only rarely that he found himself there just at her bedtime. That's how it was tonight, too, and there was no light in her room. Fortunately, he had uploaded all of his cellphone recordings onto his computer, where he could enjoy them on a larger screen, albeit with quite poor technical quality.

As the man in black cycled home, it started to rain again. Despite the headwind, he noticed how his lustful excitement subsided, and he slowly relaxed in body and mind. After all, it wasn't the first night he'd been hanging around in the bushes in vain. He did have several places he went to, but Rugvangsparken was one of the best to lurk in unseen, and it was at the same time the place where he most frequently landed satisfying prizes.

Satisfying! It had often irritated him that there were various stereotypical views about voyeurs, both in public and in informal speech. First, it was very rare that so-called voyeurs were rapists or other kinds of sex offenders. Many also compared them to exhibitionists, who exposed themselves to the world from their big raincoats. He was very aware that he was only mentally aroused but never physically excited during his spying, but always concealed his pleasure until he went to rest after an exciting evening. He even considered his outings in the dark as a kind of innocent leisure interest for lonely men. After all, no one was ever hurt by his secret hobby.

Tonight had not been among the most memorable, but you just can't win every time.

Chapter 03 – A LATE NIGHT SNACK

WEDNESDAY, OCTOBER 16 & THURSDAY, OCTOBER 17

The rain hit hard against the window.

A breathless and sweating couple lay close together in the double bed. Face to face and with blissful smiles on their lips, they stared deep into each other's eyes. After several minutes getting her breath under control, the woman whispered almost inaudibly as she caressed the man's forehead with a fingertip:

Do you think that you can ever do without me?

He rolled slowly on his back and, looking up at the ceiling, said in a feigned casual tone:

Oh, there are so many other lovely women here in this city ...

She shot up like a spring and landed cross-legged on him. She grabbed his wrists and pressed them against the mattress:

Just you dare! Do you know what the revenge of a jealous woman is?

Still keeping his eyes fixed on her, he continued in the same tone as before:

... but no other girl can replace my girlfriend!

Not even if she has to go away – maybe even for several weeks?

Never in my life!

She collapsed on top of him, biting him gently on one earlobe while whispering:

Can you do anything more, Daniel?

What's with you, Anita? Aren't you too exhausted?

I'll show you!

With incredible energy, Anita Sloth once again led them both out on an exciting ride.

In the meantime, a sleeping dog lay motionlessly curled up on the carpet runner at the foot of the bed. It had gradually become so accustomed to that kind of human activity when the two-legged beasts were playing together.

***

Anita Sloth was a reporter on RegionalTV and lived with her twelve-year-old son Lucas here on the first floor of the villa apartment overlooking Haubjerg Fjord. Over the course of the past year, her son had not only grown in height, but had also grown slight dark shadows on his upper lip. When Anita suggested in the late summer that they arrange a room for him in the attic of the former patrician villa, Lucas had gone head over heels with joy. Now Lucas was sleeping up there, and Anita had provided effective soundproofing between the teenager's bedroom and her own bedroom, and had on the same occasion bought a new bed that emitted fewer rhythmic sounds when she and Daniel enjoyed themselves after Lucas' bedtime. They did not have to worry about Anita's downstairs neighbor – the stone deaf, retired grocer's widow –: she had long slept the sleep of the innocent without her hearing aids.

Daniel had been a frogman in one of his country's foremost military elite units for a number of years, until after he was both wounded and dismissed from the service after some highly dramatic events. He returned to his childhood town of Haubjerg, where he settled down as a private detective. And it was here that he had met Anita a year and a half ago, and the two really lived up to the cliché of love at first sight. Each one had found in the other a true soulmate who supported and inspired both Platonic and erotic love.

It was after midnight before they had caught their breath again. Anita sat up, pulled on her jade-green silk kimono and asked, in an almost business-like tone and as if she already knew the answer:

Are you as hungry as I am?

Without waiting for an answer, she walked into the kitchen barefoot and lit the gas burner underneath a large cast iron pot standing ready on the stove. She expertly poured a dash of olive oil over the finely chopped vegetables, and a heavenly scent spread throughout the kitchen as it sizzled in the pot.

Daniel had put on his clothes and shoes and shuffled out into the kitchen, where everything smelled as if a real food lover lived here.

What are you making?

Just a little clam chowder. Would you like to heat up the bread? It's in the cabinet over there. And the garlic butter is in the refrigerator. Anita poured a few dashes of wine over the vegetables. A portion of clean-washed mussels, ready in a colander, followed into the pot, and she put the lid back on.

A few minutes later, they were sitting across from each other at the small dining table in Anita's kitchen as the wind steadily blew raindrops against the window. Anita shivered as she put the pot on the table between the two plates:

So, you're not out on a night like this, then?

At the same time, she lifted the lid of the pot, and a powerful aroma burst in Daniel's nostrils. With equal parts of wonder and admiration in his voice, he exclaimed:

How do you do that? How do you make it smell so heavenly?

Aromas, if I may say so. A kilo of mussels, a little shallot, garlic, fennel, dill, parsley, saffron, dry white wine and a shot of vermouth. And whipped cream has never done anything bad for a mussel soup, has it? Will you hand me the bread?

Over the next few minutes, their smacking and slurping could almost drown out the gusts of wind.

The dog of mixed and doubtful ancestry, with his hair of different colors sticking up, had awakened from his sleep and stood wagging his tail expectantly by Daniel's chair.

Sit, Hops!, Daniel commanded and the dog immediately obeyed him, receiving received a bite of the bread as a reward.

Anita shook her head:

But otherwise the dog never gets anything from the table, right, Daniel?

Daniel gestured with his arms in an attitude that signaled: well, what else could I possibly do?

Hops acted in an exemplary way tonight.

Absolutely. And Lucas is crazy about him, even despite his insane name. And I also think it's cute, but it's still a little bit weird to be under observation while I'm lying there with you, you know.

Hops isn't a voyeur, are you, Hops? Daniel patted the dog on the head, giving the command stay, which he did immediately.

When the seashells had been thrown away and they had washed up together, Daniel asked:

So, when do we have to be at the airport?

The plane doesn’t leave until 7:15 p.m., and you have to check in a few hours before.

Then we'll have to get going a little before four.

What about Poul and Maj?

"They know it very well. I think they’ve been planning it for several months. They're just so excited."

They may not be able to sleep a bit.

Chapter 04 – THE LIGHT BLUE NURSERY

THURSDAY, OCTOBER 17

There was light in the room in Poul and Maj's rowhouse at the other end of Haubjerg. The nursery! The little room was decorated according to all the rules of the art for the reception of the couple's baby boy.

Poul Birk sat engrossed in thought in a chair in a corner. He had been sitting and staring into the air in the room, which was painted and decorated in all shades of light blue, for more than an hour while Maj lay sleeping peacefully in the bedroom next door. Poul himself had not been able to fall asleep, his head practically bursting with thoughts. What would it be like? There was no doubt that he was facing yet another turning point in his life. But where would it lead him?

Poul Birk had grown up in Haubjerg. The same was true for his wife Maj. They had met each other when quite young and had lived a quiet and bourgeois life in their rowhouse for almost 16 years now. Maj worked as a trusted secretary at a local law firm, while Poul had made a good career with the police. But last summer had turned quite a large part of their lives upside down. Poul had been very busy with several extensive criminal cases for a long period of time, and their marriage had in the meantime entered into a crisis. Moreover, when Poul received only ingratitude for his work – from the chief of police to Minister of Justice – he had decided to resign from his position with the police. Within a few months, he had instead managed to get a job at a medium-sized insurance company, where he was able to use his education and experience from the detective bureau to detect insurance fraud. Both he and Maj enjoyed the fact that he now had fixed working hours, and that he had in addition received praise from his superiors as well as a better salary.

Everything could well be in the best order, but he and Maj had both focused their crisis conversations about a problem that they had previously sought to solve but had been unable to. Poul and Maj were unable to have children. They had gone through several futile fertility treatments over the course of many years. The doctors had concluded that this was due to