IT WAS JUST PAST two in the morning, but the sky had already started to get lighter. Fabian decided that the view of Øresund had outdone itself as he crossed back over to Sweden. But this time he couldn’t take any real pleasure in the landscape. He didn’t even feel like listening to music. He couldn’t stop thinking about Claes Mällvik and everything the boy had been subjected to during their school years. More memories had come back to him, each worse than the last, and they helped bolster the possible motives. Yet there was no concrete evidence to point to Claes. All Fabian had were a few fuzzy memories from long ago.
Fabian slowed down as he came to the Lernacken toll booth. He handed his credit card to the man inside and thought about Sonja. He hoped she would be asleep when he got home. Otherwise the conversation about why Niva had called would keep them awake all night.
“May I ask you to back out and drive to that building over there,” the man in the booth said as he handed back Fabian’s credit card, pointing to a structure that looked like an army barracks.
“Is there a problem? I have another card, if there’s an issue with that one.”
The man shook his head. Fabian had absolutely no idea what was going on, not even when he saw the overweight woman coming toward him.
“Fabian Risk, you weren’t thinking of just sneaking past me, were you? You promised me a date the next time you came through,” she said.
Fabian stepped out of the car, shook her hand, and wished he were anywhere but there. The woman introduced herself as Kickan and dragged him into the barracks, where she emptied an old pot of coffee and started brewing a fresh one. Fabian counted the number of scoops she dumped into the filter and realized that he wasn’t going to get a wink of sleep. Though it wouldn’t make any difference if Sonja were awake when he got home.
“Why, you sure are handsome — even more handsome than I imagined!” said Kickan, filling two cups with black coffee. “Are you single or is that too much to hope for? I enjoy long walks and romantic dinners. Although, to be completely honest, I probably prefer the dinners.”
“Sorry, but I’m married,” Fabian managed, wondering what he had done to deserve this.
“That’s no reason to apologize. But good things come to those who ask.”
“The phrase ends with ‘wait’ not ‘ask.’”
“What?”
“Good things come to those who wait.”
“Exactly my point! Would you like a cookie?”
“No, thank you, I’m fine,” Fabian said, having forced down his coffee. “I have to get going, but it was nice to meet you, and thanks for the coffee.”
“It was nothing. I hope I didn’t frighten you with all of my babbling on the phone. It can get a little lonely in the booths, but people don’t think about what it’s like in our little boxes. Everyone is on their way somewhere else — everyone but us.”
“I can imagine it gets a bit lonesome. I hope you have a nice night.” Fabian turned toward the door.
“Listen, I thought of something related to the case you’re working on.”
“Oh?” Fabian failed to hold back a yawn.
“Let’s assume it was the perpetrator sitting in the passenger seat in the photo from the toll booth. And let’s say he’s Swedish. He would have also had to drive across the bridge on the way to Denmark, but in a different car, which means the car could have been left behind in Denmark, right?”
“That’s true, but unfortunately there are still far too many unanswered questions for that to lead to anything solid,” Fabian said in a tone that made quite clear that he had no more to add, even though deep down he was impressed by the woman’s powers of deduction.
“Just one more thing before you leave... If you believe that is what happened, wouldn’t the killer have passed through this toll booth around the same time as the victim?”
Fabian realized that he had completely missed the perfectly logical conclusion Kickan was laying out. “You know, that didn’t even occur to me, but you’re right. Is there any chance you can find pictures of the cars that passed through before and after him?”
Kickan smiled and held up a brown envelope. She opened it and spread the black-and-white surveillance pictures across the table. “At first I thought he would have passed through right after the victim, in the same line, but I don’t think it’s any of those vehicles. So I checked the cars in the other lines. And this one caught my eye... I could certainly be wrong. But what do you think?” She pulled out the last picture, which showed a Peugeot with the licence plate number JOS 652.
“Why did you pick this one in particular?”
“Can you see how he’s bending down here? That almost never happens. Normally people don’t register that they are being photographed, but this guy is fully conscious of it and he really doesn’t want to be captured on film. Not to mention, he paid in cash.”
Fabian studied the picture. The driver of the car was definitely hiding his face. Kickan was right; she had done a big part of his job for him. He thanked her, took the pictures, and promised not to forget to stop for some coffee next time he drove through.
“Coffee? Please. Next time is our second date, so I think we can progress a little further than that!” She gave him an exaggerated wink and laughed.
Unsure whether she was really joking, Fabian got into his car and drove back across the bridge to Denmark.
*
IT WAS TWO THIRTY in the morning, but Tuvesson answered her phone after just two rings.
“Why didn’t you tell me you were out on a solo tour of Denmark?”
“Sorry, but I didn’t want to wake you unnecessarily.”
“Unnecessarily?”
“Before I knew if we had any good leads.” He could hear how ridiculous this sounded. “Didn’t Lilja call you about the owner of the car? His name is Rune Schmeckel, and he lives in Lund.”
“Yes, she did. The Lund police have already been there, but there was nobody home.” He could hear her taking a drag of a cigarette.
“Did you call the hospital? Maybe he’s on duty.”
“He’s on vacation. Fabian, I want you to tell me where you are right now.”
“On my way home,” he lied. “What should we do with Rune’s car? It’s still at the gas station and should be examined. Have you told Molander about it yet?”
“We can’t do anything with the car until our Danish colleagues give us the go-ahead. In big cases like this one they usually like to let a few extra days go by to make us sweat. You know how it is when big brother asks little brother for a favour.”
“It might be too late by then.”
“He’s already left the car there for over a week. He probably won’t ever go pick it up.”
“What about Schmeckel’s house? When can we get in to look around?”
“It’s the middle of the summer, but I’ll put some pressure on the Danes.”
“Okay. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Listen, Fabian, like I said before... I’m very grateful that you’re willing to help even though you’re on vacation. But, dammit, don’t forget that we’re a team!”
Fabian didn’t have time to answer before he heard the click of her hanging up.
Forty minutes later, he turned off at the OK station in Lellinge again, and drove around it once to make sure that nobody else was there — no one other than the girl with the piercings in the store. He had thought through his plan and weighed the pros and cons, fully conscious of the fact that it went against every rule he could think of. Fabian knew he could get into serious trouble, yet he felt certain that this was the right thing to do.
He parked right next to the Peugeot, took the jack from the trunk of his car, placed it under the other vehicle, and cranked it until the back tire was off the ground. Using the four-way wrench, he loosened the four lug nuts and took off the tire.
The girl behind the counter looked up from a magazine when he entered the store.
“Hello again. My name is Fabian Risk and I’m with the Helsingborg police.” He showed her his identification.
“Okay...?” Her eyes immediately looked curious, and worried.
It didn’t matter what the circumstances, as long as his visit was unexpected, all Fabian had to do was introduce himself to be met with the same “what have I done now?” gaze.
“It’s about the Peugeot out there with the Swedish plates. We’re going to have to bring it in for a technical investigation in a Swedish murder case, as soon as all the paperwork is in order between our two countries.”
“That’s no problem,” the girl said in Danish. She shrugged with a stiff smile.
“But until then, I need your help,” Fabian continued, watching as her smile disappeared and her anxious look returned. “He’s probably left the car here indefinitely, and I don’t expect him to come retrieve it, but if he does I would like you to contact me right away. Is that clear?” He wrote his name and number down on a slip of paper.
The girl looked at the paper and sucked the piercing in her lip. “How will I know it’s him? What if he just takes off?”
“That won’t happen because you’ll have the back tire.” Fabian went outside and brought in the tire. The girl reluctantly took it, and rolled it behind the counter.
“I’m going to have to call my boss.”
“No problem. He can give me a call if he wants to.”
Fabian stuck a note he had written in Danish into a plastic sleeve and secured it under the Peugeot’s windshield wiper. Then he got in his car to go home.
THIS VEHICLE IS ON PRIVATE PROPERTY
PLEASE CONTACT PERSONNEL