3

AFTER LOUISE PACKED A FEW THINGS, SHE DID A QUICK WALK-THROUGH of her apartment with her weekend bag in her hand. She packed both warm- and cold-weather clothes. Even though they were halfway through September, they were still having days so hot that even shorts and T-shirts seemed like overkill.

Her answering machine was blinking. She pressed PLAY and walked over to the windowsill to grab the vase of flowers she had bought the day before. It would be easy enough to bring the flowers wrapped in a bit of newspaper to her room at the Station Hotel in Holbæk.

“… you can call any time today. We’re supposed to be getting together tomorrow, and it would be nice to know if we’re all set or if I should just wait on standby until it suits you to call me back! Beeep.”

Camilla Lind’s voice was cut off by the answering machine’s shrill beeping sound.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Louise said to the machine, reaching for the phone.

“Hi—and I’m sorry,” she began, heading off Camilla’s initial reproach for her laxness in returning calls. “I’ve got to cancel for tomorrow.”

“Well, then let’s set up a different time to get together,” Camilla said.

Louise’s best friend worked the crime desk at Morgenavisen, and she was used to Louise’s canceling when she was working on a case. In turn, that usually also meant that Camilla could expect to get some kind of story lead out of her. Their jobs were connected in a way, even though they approached homicide cases from different angles.

Even so, it surprised Louise a little that Camilla didn’t protest more vigorously, which left Louise feeling guilty. She knew that her friend could really use her support right now, and she wanted to be there for her too. It just couldn’t be right now.

“I’ll give you a call in a couple of days,” she promised, explaining that she was on her way out the door.

Then she hung up and changed her voice-mail greeting.

“This is Louise. I’m not checking my messages, so call me on my cell. Bye.”

Camilla Lind stepped up her pace so she’d be able to make it to Markus’s independent boarding school on time and then take the subway with him all the way back to the Frederiksberg Community Center so he wouldn’t be late to his break-dancing rehearsal at Hot Stepper again. She had planned to buy a bottle of water and some fruit for him on the way, but she dropped the idea when she looked at her watch at Nørreport Station, bounding instead down the stairs and darting onto the subway in a quick leap.

She was sorry that her date with Louise had fallen through. Camilla had been looking forward to slumping down onto Louise’s couch and venting all the thoughts and feelings that were filling her. But after talking with Louise, Camilla had called the Copenhagen PD to find out what was up, since Unit A was apparently involved. Camilla sensed that they were giving her the runaround when the duty officer insisted he was unaware of any new case. Annoyed, she quickly packed up her things and shut down her computer to head out the door. On the way, she ran into her editor, Terkel Høyer, who was coming to see her with a missing-person report from the Holbæk PD involving the body of a teenage immigrant girl.

Camilla quickly realized that her workday wasn’t over yet after all. Both of her colleagues were out: Kvist was taking some extra vacation days he had earned, and their intern, Jacob, was in Australia with his girlfriend for the entire month of September, so everything was riding on Camilla. Her editor just nodded when she announced on her way out that she would be right back after she dropped her son off at home. Her cell phone was already in her hand so she could get hold of her irreplaceable babysitter, Christina, and have her watch Markus after his break-dancing session.

“Be back as fast as you can,” Terkel called after her.

With her back to him, she raised one arm in the air in acknowledgment. She knew where he stood: the paper should be in on the story from the get-go. She agreed. The stories of eighteen-year-old Ghazala Kahn, who had been shot by his brother on the square in front of Slagelse Station in September last year, and the even younger Sonay Mohammad, who was slain by his father in February 2002 and thrown into Præstø Harbor, had filled many front pages and garnered a great deal of media attention during their investigations and subsequent trials. So obviously they should run with this story too.

Markus was waiting for her on the sidewalk in front of his school, wearing his backpacks, and she could tell that he was looking for her. She started running toward him and waving as soon as he spotted her. Hurrying hand in hand, they raced off and made it just before rehearsal began. Markus quickly changed shoes and put on his hoodie and baseball cap while Camilla went to the food court to buy a bottle of water and a banana, then handed them off to him. The door closed, separating her from the loud pounding music and the fifteen tough eight-year-old kids—fourteen boys and one girl—who would spend the next hour practicing the Baby Freeze and various other moves. She sat down on a bench in the lobby for a moment.

Christina had promised to be at the community center in forty-five minutes so she could take over by the time rehearsal was done. Then she and Markus would go home and have some dinner together. Camilla was already braced for a fairly late night before she could make it back home herself.

She had just stood up when she saw him—and sat back down again, heavily, as though two powerful hands had given her a rough shove to the chest. She knew instantly that he had been watching her, and her stomach turned as he approached. She couldn’t stand up, and instead sat and looked up at him as he spoke.

“For the love of God, you’ve got to stop calling me and sending me e-mail,” he said. “You have got to respect my boundaries and stop contacting me.”

Then he was gone. Out the door and down the sidewalk. Camilla felt as though the whole interaction had played out in slow motion, and yet she had not had time to react or say anything.

She sat there, frozen. Anger and pain filled her, both fighting to take over. She wanted to run after him and make him understand. Tell him that she needed to stay in touch. That she needed him, and that they had been good together. But she couldn’t stand up; her muscles felt weak and useless. He ignored her phone calls and didn’t respond to her e-mail. He didn’t want her. It was over, and that was unbearable.

She just sat there and collected herself, her deep stomach pains converging at her diaphragm. Finally, she stood up and started walking back to the subway.