Gourmand: Daniel & the Deadly Sins, #2

By Michael Clasen

Mads Gourmand buys the burned-down Fjord Pavilion in Haubjerg. He establishes a restaurant with ambitions for Michelin stars. At the same time, he acquires the right to supply Haubjerg's pensioners with their daily meals.

That kind of thing does not happen without penalty in a medium-sized Danish provincial town, and the consequences are not long in coming.

As people from the administration of the municipality fall victim to a killer, the sensitive private detective Daniel Dreyer must eventually take action.

GOURMAND is the second thriller in the series DANIEL & THE DEADLY SINS with the sin of Gluttony as its subject.

GOURMAND is a stand-alone sequel to THE PRICE OF GREED.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BadPress
• Release date: Jan 14, 2021
• ISBN: 9781071583616

Book preview

Chapter 02 – GOURMAND

October – February

In October of the year before, Mads Gourmand had attended an international conference in Bordeaux and, after the tiring meetings, he had arranged a tour of the Dordogne area, where he was more interested in exploring gastronomy than the prehistoric caves. For fourteen days, he gorged himself on tea leaf-spiced duck breast, pan-fried foie de gras, veal kidney fried in goose fat, truffles in every conceivable preparation, as well as wild strawberries and mimosa ice cream. Mads also received a thorough first-hand insight into the best and most expensive wines from the Dordogne.

It was wonderful that many of the best restaurants – several of which had Michelin stars – were in hotels, so that when Gourmand had eaten and drunk another bad thing, his two young companions could help him up to their suite, undress him and tuck him into bed.

At the Restaurant L'Essentiel on the Rue de la Clarté in Périgueux, Mads met Jérôme Mousseau, who was chef de cuisine in the Michelin restaurant. Jérôme's signature dish was scallops with paper-thin slices of pink beetroot in a dressing with summer truffle, black garlic and acacia honey. Jérôme spoke English very well after eight years in London, and Mads Gourmand invited him up to his room one morning.

"Not for hanky-panky, but for serious business, mon cher ami," Mads said with a pronounced Falster accent.

After a few hours of intense conversation over a few glasses of the local aperitif Sarlanoix, which was made from green walnuts, the two men had made a deal: Gourmand was to establish a beautiful restaurant for Jérôme Mousseau in a unique location by Haubjerg close to his own home Gastroland.

It would be some time before Mousseau would learn to pronounce the name of the city, which in his mouth almost sounded like the French word for hostel. But then he could appropriately practice, while Mads found the right place and the right architect. He promised Jérôme that they would together establish a restaurant that would be talked about throughout the country and, indeed, throughout Europe.

Over the course of the following months, Gourmand and Mousseau were in fierce e-mail correspondence with each other, and the project unfolded in quite promising a way. Several times during the autumn, Mousseau visited Haubjerg, which he found très provincial et triste.

By the time that the Fjord Pavilion was to be presented in February, Mousseau was to have it completely up and running. When Mads had shown him the burned-down Fjord Pavilion and its location, and they drove back to Gastroland, the Frenchman exclaimed fiercely:

Oui, oui, oui! On the back seat of the Rolls Royce, he kissed Mads first on one cheek, then the other, five, six, seven times. The two young men in the front seat laughed at each other.

Jérôme Mousseau broke out in a long tirade that could be summed up by saying that he wanted to create a restaurant here that people would travel far to visit.

Mon cher ami, Gourmand replied with a big smile, "working ensemble, we will win. I promise you. You just wait and see!"

Chapter 03 – A FREE MEAL?

Wednesday, February 8th

During the evening three days after the presentation of the remains of the Fjord Pavilion, Adam Mortensen received a phone call on his landline.

I'll take it in the office, just keep on watching, he said to his wife, with whom he was sitting and watching the regional TV news, there's nothing new from the city here after all.

In his office, he introduced himself:

Municipal Director Adam Mortensen.

Good evening, Mortensen, and I apologize to be calling you outside office hours, but it's also something private.

Who am I speaking with?

Oh, yes, I completely forgot to introduce myself, but I'm out so often that people know me by my voice. My name is Mads Gourmand and I live here in Haubjerg.

Oh, yes, of course, now I recognize your voice.

I'm not calling to discuss anything important here on the phone, but I would like to know if you might have time for a little meeting?

Yes, of course. When would that be?

Do you like good food and drink?

Well, who doesn't?

I can promise you that it can be a meeting that may turn the municipality's finances upside down – as well as your life.

When?

How about I come by and pick you up Wednesday night at six?

I have nothing else going on right then.

Very well, but shall we say Wednesday at six o'clock outside Skolevej 43? And give Gerda my best.

OK, fine: that sounded weak coming the senior official of Haubjerg municipality. As he hung up, he wondered how Gourmand knew both his address and his wife's first name.

***

When Adam Mortensen and Mads Gourmand stepped out of the Rolls Royce in Charlottenlund, two of Mads' waiters held the doors open for them. The driver held up his flat hand towards the municipal director.

Your phone, please, sir.

Slightly puzzled, Adam Mortensen found his cell phone and gave it to the tall young man. From the other side of the car, Mads Gourmand said with a winning smile:

What we're talking about this evening is 120% private, right?

Of course it is.

The municipal director wasn't used to listening to anyone, but Mads' entire organization of their outing could infuse an instinctive belief in authority into anybody.

The young men stayed by the car while the two gentlemen entered the world-famous Copenhagen restaurant Sabotage. The view of the Øresund was pitch black, being hidden in the drizzle.

Inside, Mads, who didn't have to introduce himself, was greeted warmly and they were led into a smaller room, where there was only one beautifully set table. Everything breathed tranquility, luxury and an agreeably pleasant abundance. The waiter greeted them, and a couple of other waiters helped them remove their outer garments. Mads addressed the head waiter in a low voice:

Nielsen, if you and your people just serve food and drink, we will not need explanations of what we are eating and drinking. The only other thing we need is quiet. Right?

As you wish, Mr. Gourmand.

Have you forgotten that we are that way, Nielsen?

As you please!

When the champagne was poured and the first appetizers served, the padded door closed silently behind the silent waiters. Mads nodded and smiled at Adam Mortensen.

And we are also on a first name basis, Mr. Director?

Adam Mortensen nodded, and Mads lifted his crystal glass: Cheers, Adam.

After the first sip of wine had made its overwhelming impression on their taste buds, Mads continued:

"First food and drink, then business."

***

Two and a half hours later, the remains of the last of the twenty-two servings were carried out. Deep dark grated bitter chocolate, thin, deep-fried banana slices with crumbled, organic Stilton.

That was good, Nielsen. Compliments to the kitchen! And then let's get two espressos, Mads looked questioningly at Adam, who nodded, and then a few glasses of your good old Castarède Bas Armagnac.

He said to Adam with a small laugh: Do you think you can move into the soft chairs?

The coffee and Armagnac came and, when they toasted, Mads couldn't restrain himself: Don't gulp! It's from 1931! Skål!, the traditional toast in Scandinavia.

When the first sip had been twisted and turned on the tongue, Adam exclaimed spontaneously:

Oh my! Never before have I ...

Mads interrupted him:

"Adam, I have two reasons for inviting you to this little meeting. Before I present them, we just need to keep a few things clear. Do not think that I am threatening, but just stating some simple facts.

First of all: if ever anyone outside this room hears what any of us says, I will at all times not only deny it but also contact my lawyer to drag the whistleblower to court.

Secondly, I have been informed that I am the biggest taxpayer in Haubjerg, if we count property, wealth and income tax together. But my contribution to the common fund can be much greater if our meeting ends positively. I will start by mentioning the two cases for which I will ask for your assistance.

The first is the most important: I intend to participate in the rounds of bidding for Haubjerg's new dining plan. I have recently sent an offer to the social administration, in which I offer to take over all municipal dining in the city as a total solution, which I am sure you know very well from your colleagues in other Zealand municipalities. It would be quite simple if it were just pensioner dining, canteen service and packed lunch delivery that was involved. But in Haubjerg's case, I can assure you that there is also much more at stake. If the municipality accepts my offer, I intend to buy an industrial plot and start major construction on a central kitchen. If it all falls into place, then about fifty employees will be employed, if we include the administration, buyers and drivers. I imagine that we will also be able to offer employment to some of the municipality's welfare clients. If you include the municipality's revenue in my offer, I'm sure it can knock all competitors off the track, including the existing municipal kitchens. Does that make sense?"

That may be true. It must be possible to calculate it.

That's just what I'm asking you to do, too. The other day, when we were out looking at the Fjord Pavilion, a small, ridiculous man came up and said that he was the head of the municipality's social administration.

Per Wessel?

Yes, that was his name. Do you really have no better people? Adam Mortensen shrugged.

He has his connections. And then he sits on the board of the mayor's voter association.

OK, that explains everything. In Haubjerg. He promised to take a closer look at my offer, but I don't trust him. Can't you take care of the case? Of course in regard to Wessel, but also to convince the mayor.

I'll see what I can do.

You're a good man, so I'm sure you know how to push the right buttons.

I think that can be done.

Well, then! Skål!

A moment of silence before the two men smacked their lips simultaneously. They laughed quietly and nodded in agreement.

You said that there were two things?

"The next thing is a small one, but one that is close to my heart, however. The other day, as I said, I was out looking over the Fjord Pavilion. Again between us: I do intend to acquire the property at auction and do not expect anyone to outbid me – or to be able to. I have an agreement with a local architect who will rebuild a fjord pavilion in modern style with all modern facilities, including a hotel section with a wellness center. In addition, I have allied myself with a French Michelin chef, who will be in charge of the kitchen, restaurant and hotel and provide Haubjerg with a gourmet temple, one that will make people make a pilgrimage here from all corners of the world. Believe me: I have tasted his food!

We are aware that we must not expand the area of the building beyond the area that the old Fjord Pavilion filled, and it would also be insane to destroy the property by overbuilding. On the other hand, we will probably have to remove any remnants of the burnt residue, including the foundation. That is to say, I intend to expand with a basement. It will require some protection against groundwater infiltration, but a reputable engineering company will take care of that. It immediately becomes worse, since the architect believes that it will violate several regulations and that we will never be able to get a building permit for it. So on that front, I promised him to take care of it. You know the Fjord Pavilion quite well, don't you?"

Adam nodded. Mads continued:

Imagine a beautiful, white, modern building that will shine in splendor over Haubjerg as it is reflected in the water of the fjord. We won't just make a bathing jetty, but a real pier, so that in the summer you can sail out there directly from Haubjerg harbor. Who will be bothered by the fact that there is a basement under the building? No one, right?

A paralyzing silence spread over the room, while the municipal director pondered the question. Finally he replied:

It's a matter that falls under the planning and housing administration, and they don't easily issue dispensations in construction cases.

I offer the city something that looks like a gift that many other market towns would jump at, so you wouldn't have to indulge in formalities, would you? You do have a law degree, don't you?

Yes.

Isn't there something called emergency law?

Yes, but ...

Wait! Mads Gourmand raised his hand and Adam Mortensen restrained himself. Mads again took the floor:

"As I said initially, there were two issues that I would ask you to help me with. You've heard them now, but I'm not finished yet. I have not studied law, but I know very well that I must not give you anything to help me and that you must not receive anything from me, so of course I will not suggest that. But perhaps I could lend you something?

No, no, don't interrupt me!

I know that your wife is suffering from a bad case of psoriasis. No, I won't say where I know that from, but wouldn't it be wonderful if you could spend the rest of your days at your leisure in Provence under the sun and with views of the Mediterranean? I have a property, what many would call a luxury property, on the island of Île de Hyères, which is a ten minute sail from the mainland. The island is a quiet and sunny paradise and my property goes all the way down to the beach.

If you could lend me a helping hand now – and, yes, in fact, a few helping hands – I could have my French lawyer draw up and register a document guaranteeing you, your wife and your two adult daughters and their families 100 years – not property rights – but instead unrestricted right of enjoyment over the place. I would, of course, still take care of the maintenance of the place.

I can clearly see that you want to tell me about the provisions of criminal law on bribery and corruption, but wait a minute.

I'm not asking you if anyone will get a pain in the butt from our deal, because someone certainly will. No, I'm just asking you if anyone will actually suffer from it. Not a soul, if you ask me! My mouth and yours will be closed, and if anybody ever asks you where you got the money, you can just say that you inherited it or won it in the lottery. Haubjerg gets a lot of jobs and a tourist attraction. And who will bother to ask the French authorities about the arrangement?

Yes, this has been in its entirety my little package of problems with a built-in solution. What do you say, Adam?"

I will see what I can do.

"In a worst case scenario, you can always get a new job from me, can't you?

And, by the way: would you drop a word with the mayor that I am considering giving substantial financial support to his party?"

***

At the forced auction about a week later, Mads Gourmand bought the Fjord Pavilion for a staggering million kroner more than the offers of all other interested parties. In the back row of the room sat John Grønsund. He hadn't bid at all. He left the hall with a bitter expression on his stony face.

Chapter 04 – CONSTRUCTION MEETING IN GASTROLAND

Monday, February 27

Three weeks after the compulsory auction, Mads Gourmand invited an exclusive inner circle to a kind of initial construction meeting at his home, which he had appropriately christened Gastroland.

Mads had never hidden his ever-increasing wealth, and his patrician residence Gastroland was not only his home, but also a significant component of his marketing.

At the far end of Ventrup Næs there was a view of the fjord to the east, the north and the west, and a few hundred meters inland, the landscape rose steeply into a high hill, which the locals called Bjerget, or 'The Mountain', but which the geodetic map called Haubjerget. This was Mads' domicile. He had bought all the splendor of the estate of an extremely rich paint manufacturer. During the thirties, the manufacturer's father had the entire building complex built as an imitation of an English country seat in Tudor style, white with black timber and a multitude of chimneys.

On the top of the mountain and with a 360-degree view of one of Zealand's most beautiful landscapes, Mads Gourmand had his Gastroland decorated by the local architect, Henrik Gregersen. He had had his hands full with controlling Mads' penchant for everything having to be the most expensive of its kind. Instead, the understated and stylish architect had persuaded Mads that the hall and most of the many living rooms and rooms should, as far as practicable, be kept in the same English Renaissance style as the exterior: wide oak plank floors, heavy supports, a dining table seating twenty-four, a giant candelabra, antique tapestries, and exquisite historic porcelain objects. Some heavy, well-upholstered armchairs around a Persian rug stood in front of the fireplace in the living room. Around the various rooms, Henrik Gregersen had managed to camouflage the latest technical inventions that Mads had wanted. Wireless music throughout the house, an 85" B&O flat screen with a surround sound system, theft and burglar alarms, climate control and automatically controlled awnings.

In return, Mads had been left entirely in charge of decorating the bathrooms and bedrooms. And here there was no skimping on expense with gold and gilding, mirrors, Jacuzzis, large-patterned silk brocades, tropical woods and expensive antiques from all over the world. Not just the main building, but the entire grounds were equipped with advanced burglar alarms.

In the basement, Henrik Gregersen had a completely modern kitchen constructed with all the latest equipment for every interesting type of cooking.

***

Jérôme Mousseau had arrived the day before, and Mads' young friends picked up the architect at his address on Klinte Allé on the outskirts of the city.

He arrived with a large folder filled with plans from his drawing room.

Mousseau and Gregersen were introduced to each other, and each clearly scrutinized the other, and they were certainly two very different types: the thin-haired and slightly bent-necked architect in a small-patterned flannel shirt, dove-blue cardigan and half-glasses held out his slightly sweaty hand to the Frenchman. Jérôme was dressed in his cappuccino-colored suit with a pink shirt and cream-colored vest, as well as a multicolored silk scarf that matched his graying temples. He ignored the architect's outstretched hand and, despite his considerably lesser stature, he laid his hands on Gregersen's shoulders and pulled him into an embrace with symbolic Gallic cheek kisses. Henrik Gregersen blushed slightly. Mads observed the incident and hurried to clap his hands. His Filipino waiter hurriedly came over and presented a large tray of small tapas dishes and poured the well-tempered Chablis into the crystal glasses.

This is the first damned time that I have ever let one of the guests cook, Mads said in English with an accent from Nykøbing Falster and the surrounding area.

Jérôme has been in the kitchen since this morning. And he even brought the raw materials with him. Cheers, and bottoms up!

Mousseau looked expectantly at Mads and Gregersen as they tasted the little treats. The first to say something, of course, was Mads:

Simply divine! Not so, Henrik?

Henrik Gregersen nodded approvingly.

It's the kind that should overwhelm people here in Haubjerg. He nodded in the direction of the architect's drawings. What do you have for us? A temple dedicated to the pleasures of the palate and stomach?

Gregersen's many papers were spread out over the huge dining table, and he explained in perfect English his ideas, suggestions and alternative solutions.

The facade of the snow-white building facing the fjord followed a simple and harmonious arch. The middle part was decorated with pilasters in Doric style between the panoramic windows. Behind this section lay the restaurant itself, and on each side there were rooms for overnight guests, also with views of the fjord. Other rooms were located at the back of the building and were intended for people who didn't like the morning sun, but rather the view of a forest area.

You also asked me to design a cellar, although I doubt we can get a permit for it. Henrik Gregersen shrugged and made a small, annoyed grimace.

Just leave it to me, Mads replied.

Here is my proposal, which I do of course have to plan in detail with Monsieur Mousseau.

To you, I am Jérôme!, he said in English.

The architect unrolled a new set of drawings. One end of the lower floor would contain a storeroom, a wine cellar and a large kitchen of the most modern standard.

Mousseau was enthusiastic:

C'est magnifique!

At the other end of the basement, there were rooms for exercise, massage and other wellness activities, as well as an intimate swimming pool, all reminiscent of ancient Roman baths.

The old bowling alley had been located behind the parking lot, and here Gregersen had designed a small house that could include a smoking oven and a combined slaughterhouse, cooling and freezing house.

The dilapidated diving pier had of course been scrapped, and Henrik Gregersen had planned a new pier which, in an elegant turn, accommodated space for bathing guests, on the one hand, while there was a mooring area for sailing guests, on the other hand. And then one berth was also reserved for a smaller excursion boat for summer excursions from Haubjerg.

The small stream that had its source up in the forest ran out a little further along the beach. Its course was now directed onto a ramp, so that it dropped a meter with a trickle and into a shallow basin to be constructed at the water's edge.

A healing spring!, Mousseau exclaimed, clapping his hands in delight. Cher Mads, I can scarcely wait to take in this food temple, where I will conjure up the best I have learned. May I be allowed to give this wonderful place an appropriate name?

Of course, my friend.

Then I christen it – L'Estomac!

Silent approval spread around the table.

It's French for stomach."

The Stomach!, Mads exclaimed with a resounding laugh. It's a deal. Finally, Haubjerg gets not only a rear, but also a stomach!

But will we ever get a brain, too?, said Henrik Gregersen; certainly mostly to himself. He had been born in the city.

***

The building permit with the necessary dispensations from Haubjerg municipality was ready with remarkable speed, and workmen from UltraByg started building Haubjerg's new food temple and the construction lasted from the beginning of April to the end of July, when there was to be a dedication ceremony.

But before that, of course, there was to be a topping off party when the walls and roof construction were ready in early June.

Chapter 05 – A CHANCE ENCOUNTER?

Wednesday, July 1 – Saturday, July 1 – 25 years earlier

Lonnie and Lærke were both born in Haubjerg on July 1. The rest of their lives followed far different paths.

They died on the same date and in the same city exactly 25 years later and within a few hours of each other.

***

Lonnie Svendsen was her mother's fourth child. The Wednesday on which she came into the world was a sunny and hot summer day and the labor pains had begun by noon. The neighbor was quickly put in charge of the three older ones, who were no older than two, three and five years old when the ambulance was called. The paramedics from the Falck emergency service helped the woman in labor down the terrazzo stairs of the apartment block, but they had gone no further than the landing between the first and second floors before Lonnie saw the light of day with a howl that summoned all the occupants upstairs to their doors.

The newborn girl was found to weigh no less than 9 pounds and 4 ounces

Over the following years, the municipal health nurse made great efforts to correct Lonnie's weight, which was up to twenty percent above the recommended.

In her very youngest years, Lonnie was a happy girl, but gradually it was as if she became more introverted. She had difficulty keeping up with other children, and she preferred to play by herself. She was often called heavy or fat. At home, she said that the others were stupid and her mother just replied that she should pay no attention to them and, if they got too hard on her, that she should just strike back.

Lonnie, like her brothers and sisters, turned out to have hair that was frizzy and neither blonde nor brown, as well as a runny and stuffy nose. She had inherited the look from her mother, and it was never finally clarified who her father actually was.

A couple more siblings arrived during the following years, and the space became cramped in the two-room apartment on the third floor of the Liljeparken social housing project in the provincial town of Haubjerg.

Lonnie became abnormally heavy even before puberty and she had her first period on the day before her twelfth birthday. No one had prepared her for its appearance one day, but on that day she was wearing her new white jeans to school. There was a lot of giggling in the class when she had to go home with her blood-red stains after the lunch break.

Her mother was only at home sporadically. She had her regular table at the project's dive, Liljekonvallen, where she smoked and drank most of her welfare benefits. It was often very late before she returned home to the apartment, where the children had stopped waiting up for her.

The municipality made preparations to remove the children from her a few times, but the chairman of the Social Affairs Committee didn't dare to carry out the removal, since the mother's psychiatrists had pointed out that in that case they would be responsible for the mother's suicide, which she threatened on every occasion that was useful for her.

Things didn’t go much better with her peers at the local primary school, even though the teachers tried to control the mutual contact and language of the students with one another. It quickly turned out that Lonnie was what her class teacher called a slow learner and somewhat dyslexic."

Most subjects were difficult for her. Nor did the fact that she was constantly putting on weight make things any easier for her. When she was not under supervision at home, she would rampage in the refrigerator and her mother's hidden stores of candy and chocolate chip cookies. At the request of the class teacher, the school doctor called the mother in for