DUNJA HOUGAARD GLANCED OUT the window at the dark-pink sky that was scattered with a few feathery, golden clouds. She was lying on the couch in her two-bedroom condo, which was above Blågårds Pharmacy on Blågårds Plads. It confirmed her belief once again that this very place by the window, in this very apartment, lying on this very worn-out sofa that she had inherited from her grandmother, was likely the best place in the world. Sunlight streamed in on sunny days, and she could listen to raindrops patter against the window when it was raining.
She was slowly and systematically reviewing the personnel log for the second time. She marked everyone who had logged in with a coloured pen as soon as she noted their log-out time. If Sleizner had logged out using someone else’s ID, she would figure it out, but so far she hadn’t found anything that didn’t match up. Sleizner had arrived at 11:43 a.m. and left the building at 10:46 p.m. It was certainly a long day for a Friday, but there was nothing particularly strange about it, which was too bad.
She put down the stack of papers and looked out the window. She could see a blinking airplane far up in the sky and wondered what it would be like to go skydiving, to just tear open the airplane door and throw yourself out into the unknown. She had promised it to herself as a thirtieth birthday present, so she definitely needed to try it someday. She was almost thirty-five now.
Dunja vaulted out of her daydream. Could he have used one of the emergency exits? She grabbed the paper pile again, flipping to the hours before 5:33 p.m., when he was allegedly on Lille Istedgade. She went through the list a third time, and found what she had been looking for all along.
— Time: 4:27 p.m. — Emergency Exit 23A
— Time: 4:28 p.m. — Emergency Exit 11A
The Sleazeball had left through the emergency exits in stairwell A. He had probably made sure that the doors didn’t close completely, so he could come back in the same way and then log out with his card at 10:46 p.m. She now had confirmation that he had left the police station to run an errand on Lille Istedgade, an errand that as few people as possible would know about and one that was likely the very reason he hadn’t answered his phone.
Her cell phone started ringing: an unknown number was calling.
“Yes, hello...?”
“Hi, it’s me. I just wanted to see if it’s okay if I come over and get you into bed,” said Mikael Rønning in his most heterosexual voice.
Dunja burst out laughing. “Of course! If you can get it up, that is.”
“No problem. I’ll bring a fake moustache, bald cap, and baseball hat.”
“It sounds like you’ll be right at home.”
“By the way, did you see Ekstra Bladet?”
“No, why?”
“See for yourself.”
Dunja turned on her iPad and went to Ekstra Bladet’s website.
COPENHAGEN POLICE CHIEF CAUGHT IN LIE!
Kim Sleizner was lying when he claimed that he did not receive a call from the Swedish police. Ekstra Bladet can now reveal that he was on Lille Istedgade when the Swedish police tried to get in touch with him! According to our source, the Swedish police attempted to call Chief of Police Kim Sleizner at 5:33 p.m., but the call was picked up by voicemail. This report directly contradicts Sleizner’s own claims that he was never contacted. Ekstra Bladet’s source also claims to have proof that Sleizner was on the corner of Lille Istedgade and Halmtorvet at the time in question. Ekstra Bladet has not been able to reach Kim Sleizner for comment.
Shit.
“Are you still there?”
“Ugh, yes...”
“That’s what you were looking for, isn’t it?”
“Yes.”
“Wasn’t very smart to take it to Ekstra Bladet, darling.”
“It wasn’t me.”
“Who was it then?”
“No idea,” Dunja said, but of course she did. It couldn’t have been anyone other than the guy from TDC. But she had been wondering how she could use the information to put Sleizner in a downright embarrassing situation and indirectly blame him for the deaths of Mette Louise Risgaard and Morten Steenstrup. And she knew the Sleazeball would assume the whole thing was her doing, just as Mikael Rønning had believed.