“WATCH YOUR HEAD.”
Schäfer raised one of the candy-striped police tapes blocking the main entrance to Nyholm School and made a sweeping gesture with his arm: After you!
Anne Sofie Bjerre ducked and entered.
She was a thin woman, Schäfer noted. Her dirty blonde hair hung loose and framed a face that was pretty without being over the top. Schäfer knew from Augustin that she was a teacher at a private school not far from where he and Connie lived and that she taught German and English. He also knew that she and Jens Bjerre had been together for fourteen years, married for twelve, and that Lukas was their only child.
“It’s this way,” he said, overtaking Anne Sofie in one single long stride.
“Where are we going?” she asked wanly. She had her arms around herself. “Where’s my husband?”
“He’s talking to my colleague. If you could please have a seat here, then she’ll come join you in a moment.” Schäfer pointed to a chair in the classroom.
Anne Sofie reached out and grabbed his rough fist with both hands. Her skin felt cold against his.
“Promise me that you’ll find Lukas.”
Schäfer met her penetrating, slightly swimmy gaze. He could smell alcohol on her breath.
“We have our best people out there,” he said, and it was true. Over the course of the last hour, the Nyholm School and the surrounding streets had been flooded with a veritable tidal wave of police personnel. Detectives from the Violent Crimes Unit, canine units, and crime scene investigators were examining the basement storage rooms, dumpsters and trash cans, and the many small apartments and yards of the navy’s old, uninsulated barrack rowhouses, many of which were vacant year-round. They had looked up all the registered sex offenders in the neighborhood and were already knocking on their doors. Lukas Bjerre’s description and photo had been sent out to the patrol cars and police precincts throughout the entire country, and they were working on obtaining video and still images from the surveillance cameras in the area. But so far they hadn’t found a single trace of the boy.
“Promise me you’ll find him,” Anne Sofie repeated.
Schäfer smiled noncommittally and put a hand on her shoulder.
“If you’ll have a seat here, my colleague will be in to see you in a moment. Okay? Wait here.”
She reluctantly walked into the room. Then she turned to face the door again.
“Schäfer? Is that your name?”
He nodded.
“How many of these types of cases have you had, cases involving missing children?”
“A lot.”
“And how many of the children were found?”
Schäfer hesitated for a moment.
“Most of them.”
He left Anne Sofie Bjerre and walked to a room three doors farther down the hall. The Nyholm School’s entire ground floor had been temporarily converted into impromptu interrogation rooms, where detectives were questioning witnesses and family members about the case.
“Okay, let’s go through this one more time,” Schäfer said and pushed a glass of water over to Jens Bjerre. “It’s important that we get as many details as possible, even things that might not seem important at the moment—people you encountered on the way, Lukas’s emotional state, that sort of thing.”
Jens nodded.
He still had his navy-blue trench coat on, with its wool collar flipped up, and he looked oddly large, sitting there in the small, matchbox-sized student chair. His knees were almost at the same height as his shoulders. He sat with his eyes closed and his face in his hands. What had seemed like abject panic out in the schoolyard had now given way to a pleading willingness to negotiate.
“We said goodbye by the Christmas tree,” he whispered. His voice sounded frail like a child’s. Scared.
“The Christmas tree?”
“Yes, that’s … that’s what Lukas calls it.” He opened his bloodshot eyes and pointed out at an enormous climbing structure with metal branches and garlands of twisted rope. “I stood there until Lukas got to the door, and then he went in without looking back.”
Jens stared blankly straight ahead, remembering the moment, and smiled a joyless smile, which immediately faded.
Schäfer leaned further forward in the chair. “Without looking back, you say?”
“Yes, he … he didn’t turn around when he got to the door. He usually does. Sometimes he runs all the way back for one more hug, but this morning he just went in … without looking … back.” Jens took short, shallow breaths between the words, fighting back tears.
“And you thought that something was wrong since he just went in, or what?”
“No.” He shook his head. “He was in a good mood on the way to school and his just going in felt almost like a little … victory. It stung a little—it always does, right, every time they move on to the next stage—but I was also proud of him. Proud that he had gotten to be so … so big.” Jens looked into Schäfer’s eyes. “Do you have kids?”
Schäfer shook his head, and Jens’s shoulders drooped.
Schäfer had had this experience before, relatives who needed someone who understood them, someone who grasped the severity of the situation. They were afraid that a childless detective would not try as hard, would be less dedicated in the search for their beloved children, that he wouldn’t be able to understand just how scared and frustrated they were.
Maybe they were right about that last part, Schäfer thought. But not about the first part.
“Sometimes you wish time would stand still,” Jens said. It almost seemed like he was talking to himself. “That they would stay little. But they do need to learn to manage on their own, so you try to let go. Just a little, so they can learn to …” He paused. He looked as if he was fixated on a thought, the idea of a horror scenario. He squeezed his eyes shut tight and emitted a brief, pained moan. “Oh God … Where is he?”
“What did you do after that?” Schäfer asked. “After dropping Lukas off?”
Jens took a deep breath and wiped his nose with the tissue he had been holding in his hand for the duration of the questioning. It was beginning to fall apart at the edges from the moisture.
“I went to work.”
“Did you walk, drive—what?”
“I walked. I work just around the corner from here.”
“Did you run into anyone on the way? Anyone who can confirm your story?”
“Confirm my story?” he asked, his eyes opening wide. Then he squeezed them shut again in disbelief.
Schäfer met his silent protest with open arms and a shrug to defuse the situation.
“Look,” Schäfer said, “my job is to find Lukas, and I do that best by determining as quickly as possible which streets and alleyways I can rule out. Do you understand?”
The balloon deflated again. Jens lowered his head and nodded.
“Good,” Schäfer said. “This isn’t a personal attack on you. We just need to know as many details as possible about your and Lukas’s movements this morning.”
Jens nodded again and wiped a tear away. “Just help us, please,” he said.
“That’s what we’re working on. So—did you talk to anyone after you dropped Lukas off this morning?”
“I …” He shook his head slightly, struggling to recall. “I talked briefly with Toke’s mom.”
“Toke? Who’s he?”
“One of the boys in Lukas’s class.”
“You talked to his mom?”
He nodded. “Mona, I think that’s her name. Or Rosa or something like that.”
“You ran into her in the schoolyard?”
“No, out in front of the bike rack by the intersection. She was standing out there smoking with a couple of other people. She asked if Lukas was coming to Toke’s birthday party next week … I don’t remember what else she said. I wasn’t really paying attention.”
“And who were the other people with her?”
“I don’t know. A couple of dads. They weren’t parents from Lukas’s class. One of them was pretty fashion forward—with a cravat and pointy-toed shoes. I often see him at school in the mornings, but I don’t know his name.”
Schäfer looked up from his notebook. “And then what?”
Jens shrugged. “Then I went to work.”
“I understand that you’re a doctor?”
“Yes.”
“Do you work in a hospital or a private practice or what?”
“I share a practice with another doctor here in the city. His name’s Pelle Laursen.”
“And where is it located, your office?”
“On Amaliegade, by the palace.”
“All right,” Schäfer said. “So you went straight to work?”
Jens nodded again.
“Alone?”
“No, I was with an acquaintance, a guy I know whose name is Mads Florentz.”
Schäfer wrote the name down on the notepad in front of him. “Who’s he?”
“He’s a consultant. He works in the same building where my medical practice is located. He has a daughter in first grade here at the school, and we’ve played squash together a few times, so …” Jens pressed his fingers to his temples as he spoke. “We go to work together in the mornings when we run into each other out by the stoplight.”
“What time did you arrive at your office this morning?”
“About eight o’clock, quarter past eight, thereabouts.”
“Was there anyone there when you arrived?”
He nodded. “My secretary. Marie.”
“Last name?”
“Kammersgaard.”
Schäfer wrote down the name. “And what did your day look like today? Patients the whole day or what?”
Jens nodded. “I saw my first patient at eight thirty and then they kept coming until school got out.”
“When did you become aware that Lukas was missing?” Schäfer asked.
“When school got out.”
“Was anyone with you when they called?”
“A patient.”
“Heloise Kaldan?”
Jens looked up, puzzled. “How do you …? I can’t … you know, because of doctor–patient confidentiality, I can’t …”
“Okay, fine.” Schäfer changed gears. “Are you and your wife having any marital problems?”
“Wait … Why are you asking about my patient? Do you think she has something to do with Lukas’s disappearance?” Jens sat up straighter. “Her? The journalist?”
“No.”
“But how can you be sure? She … she showed up today wanting an abortion, but when I came back out after talking to the school, she was gone!”
Schäfer noted the words without writing them down.
“Kaldan is not a suspect.” Schäfer smiled briefly. “But is there anyone that might have it in for you or your wife? Maybe someone you owe money to?”
Jens leaned back in the small chair again. He shook his head.
“Neighbors who have complained about you, that kind of thing?”
“There’s an elderly woman who lives in the apartment above us, who complains about every conceivable thing all the time. Eva. But she’s eighty-something. She’s harmless.”
“And you live in Nyhavn?”
He nodded. “On Heibergsgade. On the other side of the canal behind Charlottenborg Palace.”
“What about Lukas? Has he had any sort of problems at school, teachers he was afraid of or didn’t like?”
“No, no, there hasn’t been anything like that.” He shook his head adamantly. “Of course, he likes some of them more than others, but in general he likes the teachers there—especially Kevin.”
“And there hasn’t been anything strange going on there?”
“In what sense do you mean?”
Schäfer shrugged. “I’m old school, you know. From back when teachers wore form-fitting shoes and cardigan sweaters, and this Kevin, for example … Well, I noticed he was wearing makeup.”
Jens shrugged. “So?”
Schäfer held the eye contact for a few seconds but received no further response.
“Fair enough,” he said and crossed something out on his notepad. “So no problems with the teachers.” He glanced up again and caught something or other in the look in Jens’s eyes. “What?”
“Patrick,” Jens said.
“The role-playing guy?” Schäfer pointed with his thumb out toward the schoolyard. “What about him?”
Jens shook his head. “I’m sure it’s nothing.”
“But?” Schäfer made a rolling gesture with his hand to get him to elaborate.
“Well, they fight together, him and Lukas, fencing. Lukas sometimes comes home with little scratches from their fights, and …” Jens held his hands over his eyes and then immediately moved them away again. “No, I don’t know. I’m just trying to find something that … Lukas loves Patrick, but I don’t know him that well and now that you ask, well …”
“We’ll talk to him,” Schäfer nodded. “Has Lukas been involved in any fights of any kind? Conflicts with any of the other kids?”
“No, Lukas isn’t the sort to make trouble. It’s important that you understand that Lukas is an … an exceptional child.” Jens scooted forward in his seat, closer to Schäfer. “He’s highly gifted. I know everyone thinks that about their own children, but Lukas is special. Academically he is way ahead of the other kids in his class. He might be a little behind in terms of social things, but he’s not a troublemaker. When the others make a fuss, he recedes. Toke is the troublemaker in that class.”
“Toke? In what way?”
“He’s completely out of control. He’s physically aggressive with the other kids and the teachers. Lukas doesn’t like him, so he makes a point of keeping his distance from him. He’s done that since kindergarten.”
“Is there anyone else that Lukas has seemed to have reservations about?”
Jens shook his head. “At least not that he’s mentioned. And I think we would have been able to tell if that were the case.”
“What about outside of school? Anyone he might have met on his own in the neighborhood?”
“He walks home from school by himself on Tuesdays and Thursdays because my wife works late those days, but he hasn’t said anything about—” Jens paused and blinked a couple of times. Then he looked up, his eyes wide as the sky.
“What?” Schäfer asked vigilantly.
“One time Fie mentioned something about a man Lukas had told her about—”
“Fie?”
“Anne Sofie, my wife.”
“What man?”
“Something about someone who had given the boys some fruit. A man who had reached over the fence on the playground with some fruit … the Apple Man!” Jens sat up again. “Fie said Lukas called him the Apple Man.”
“The Apple Man,” Schäfer and wrote the words down on his notepad. “And where did you say Lukas has seen this … Apple Man?”