“DAD, GUESS WHAT WE DID!” Matilda shouted, rushing toward Fabian, who was coming through the door. “We went swimming! There were really big waves and it was super cold! And we’re going again tomorrow. Mom promised I could get a new swimsuit!” She hopped into his arms. “Can you come with us, please?”
“What if it’s way too cold for me?” He walked into the kitchen, still holding Matilda.
“Dad, please. Please.”
Fabian went up to Sonja, who was setting the table for dinner, and gave her a kiss.
“Dinner’s just about ready,” she said with a smile. “How did it go? Did you finish what you needed to get done?” She took off her apron and looked into his eyes.
“Darling, it —”
“Forget I even asked. Forget that you’re actually supposed to be on vacation.”
“Darling...”
“Let’s not talk about it. Go get Theo instead.”
“Sure. Where is he?”
“In his room.”
“He’s been in there all day,” said Matilda.
“He didn’t go swimming with you?”
“No. He’d been hoping you would come along and help him choose a snorkel,” said Sonja.
“Dad. Promise you’ll come with tomorrow. Please... Promise?”
“I promise. To try my very, very —”
“You’re so silly.” Matilda wriggled out of his grasp.
Fabian turned toward the stairs just as the phone rang. “Is that thing hooked up already?”
“Apparently.” Sonja walked over to the phone and lifted the receiver. “Yes, this is Sonja Risk... Yes, he’s here. For you.”
Fabian knew who it was right away, thanks to Sonja’s curt tone. You treacherous fucking weasel, he thought before he took the receiver.
“Yes, this is Fabian Risk,” he said in his most formal voice.
“Hi, sweetie,” Niva answered from the other end. “I thought it was best to call your home number instead of your cell, so it wouldn’t seem as suspicious. After all, we have nothing to hide about this conversation, do we?”
“No, absolutely not.” Fabian said, shrugging at Sonja as he walked into the living room. “Did you find anything?”
“You’re always such an eager beaver. To be honest, I don’t understand how Sonja stands it. Everything’s over before it even starts.”
“Niva, we were just about to sit down to dinner.”
“How sweet. There was a 739-krone charge to the card number you sent me from the OK gas station in Lellinge at 10:22 p.m. He also used it at the BorderShop in Puttgarden, where he must have bought enough beer for the whole Oktoberfest.”
“Thanks for your help.”
“It was nothing.”
Fabian hung up and sat down to eat. Sonja would obviously be wondering what the call was about. She had every right to ask questions.
But she would have to wait until he got home later tonight.
*
FABIAN MANAGED TO LEAVE the house at just after ten o’clock. He got in the car, and headed for the OK gas station in Lellinge, which was about forty kilometres southwest of Copenhagen. He estimated that he would arrive just before midnight.
Although Theodor had refused to open the door when he was leaving, and Matilda and Sonja were now both mad at him, he had decided not to put off the journey to the next day. He had managed to buy some time and couldn’t afford to waste it by letting an entire night pass by.
Fabian considered the facts he knew about the case on the drive there. It would have been impossible for the perpetrator to know exactly where, and how many times, Jörgen would stop, but he must have assumed that Jörgen would stop at least once on the way down to fill up the tank. According to Molander, the gas tank of the Chevy they’d found at the school contained 88 litres of 95-octane gasoline. It could hold up to 120 litres total, which meant that Jörgen had used up 32 litres. The station he had filled up at was 144 kilometres from the school, including the bridge crossing. Using 32 litres in 144 kilometres meant that the fully loaded Chevy had used 2.2 litres per 10 kilometres — a fair estimate. It seemed reasonable to assume that Jörgen hadn’t made any unnecessary detours, but had driven straight to the school.
Jörgen Pålsson used his credit card only once in Denmark, at the OK gas station at 10:22 p.m. The 739-krone charge equalled about 75 litres of gas. If he had started his journey in Ödåkra with a full tank of gas and didn’t fill up until Lellinge, 380 kilometres later, a 75-litre pump seemed just about right. Jörgen had passed through the toll booth at Lernacken fifty-six minutes later, at 11:18 p.m., but it shouldn’t have taken more than forty minutes to go that distance. This meant that he had lingered at the gas station for fifteen to twenty minutes.
Then he’d crossed the bridge with a passenger riding shotgun.
*
THE MAN IN THE booth at the Øresund Bridge handed Fabian back his credit card, and the boom in front of him lifted. He pressed the gas pedal as the radio played one of his favourite songs. He turned up the volume until Kate Bush’s voice filled the car, singing about making a deal with God to swap places with her lover. He started humming as she sang the chorus line “Running up that hill.”
This was the first time he’d ever crossed the bridge and the view bordered on magical. The sky shimmered dark blue and gold in the glow from the shining half-moon, and far below him the calm waters of Øresund acted as a gigantic mirror.