It was not until Søren was on the plane to Aalborg that he finally had time to read the police report into the death of Joan Skov properly. The call had come in on 18 March 2010 at ten twelve in the morning and an ambulance and a patrol car had been despatched and reached Snerlevej 19 exactly fourteen minutes later. Joan Skov’s body temperature had been twenty-five degrees when the crew arrived and Bøje had estimated the time of death to be between seven and nine the previous evening, Wednesday, 17 March. There were no external or internal signs of violence. The deceased had badly maintained teeth, a possible needle mark in the crook of her left elbow and an untreated bunion on her left foot. Bøje had listed the following symptoms to indicate ill health: clinical depression, severely underweight, moderate calcification of the artery in the neck, slight enlargement of the heart, a healed fracture on the thighbone and surgery following a fall in 1995, and scarring to both lungs as a result of pneumonia. In her stomach Bøje had identified the remains of a few tablets and partially dissolved medication capsules and had consequently concluded that the probable cause of death was poisoning with prescription drugs. Blood and tissue samples, with three dark human hairs, had been sent to Forensic Genetics for testing.
Søren drummed his fingers briefly on the tray table in front of him before turning to Bøje’s review of the police report.
On 18 March 2010 at 10.08 a.m., the deceased was found in her bed at her home address, Snerlevej 19. The deceased was discovered by her eldest daughter, Julie Claessen, who called the emergency services. The ambulance and the police arrived at the address at 10.26 a.m. Julie Claessen stated that she had spoken to her mother on the telephone the previous night around seven o’clock and that her mother had seemed ‘completely normal’. It was not until the following morning after several failed attempts to contact her mother that she went to the address and discovered her mother dead. For details regarding the scene, see separate report. Joan Skov’s prescription history, as supplied by her GP, stated that the deceased had been prescribed Cipramil, mirtazapine and diazepam for depression and anxiety attacks, as well as Matrifen against strong pain in her left hip. In addition, the following medicines were found at the address of the deceased:
Søren ran his finger down the list where the only drug he recognised was flunitrazepam, a sleeping tablet.
The flight attendant announced over the speakers that the plane was preparing for landing at Aalborg airport and Søren folded away the tray table. As they landed, he skimmed the report on the discovery of the body at the scene, but nothing stood out. In fact, the only remarkable thing about the death of Joan Skov was that Bøje had found ‘a few tablets and partially dissolved medication capsules’. Was that really all it took to kill someone? It sounded unlikely. Joan Skov had been addicted to prescription drugs for years and was severely underweight and weak. Søren had mixed feelings about medication. On the one hand he disapproved of the amount of drugs pumped into society, and when he looked at the vast profits made by the pharmaceutical industry, he was inclined to think that the medical profession was only too keen to issue prescriptions. He felt reluctant even taking a headache pill, and on two occasions Anna and he had scrunched up a penicillin prescription for Lily because they had used their common sense and concluded that she was not ill enough to need it.
However, he had been forced to resort to medication a couple of times in his adult life and he had been grateful for the pain relief the doctors had offered to Knud and Elvira when they were terminally ill. Knud had had a small morphine pump, which enabled him to administer his own dosage, and short squeezes had bought Søren valuable moments with his grandfather in the days leading up to his death.
If you could medicate against jealousy, Søren would have swallowed that pill without hesitation.
*
Jacob had insisted on picking Søren up from the airport although Søren would have preferred to rent a car and be in control of his afternoon. Søren spotted him immediately. A cheerful, waving man, whose receding hairline reminded Søren that he himself was no longer in the first flush of youth. Somehow Søren had imagined that the adult Jacob would look different. Herman Madsen had been eagle-eyed, observant and direct, but Jacob did not appear to take after his father very much. He yakked on and on, and when they parked outside Herman Madsen’s small terraced house, in a development of sheltered accommodation, Søren knew practically all there was to know about Jacob’s life.
Herman Madsen, however, looked like himself, only a much older version.
‘Yes, there’s no denying I’ve grown old,’ he said, when he caught Søren sizing him up. ‘Positively ancient.’
‘Oh, I’m sure it’s not that bad,’ Søren said.
Søren greeted Max and Jasmin, and Birgitte emerged from the kitchen and held out her hand. ‘I’ve heard a lot about you,’ she said warmly. ‘Ever since I first met Jacob. The great detective, hatched by our very own Grandpa.’ Birgitte patted Herman Madsen gently on the back.
‘I’m sure he would have hatched just fine without my help,’ Herman Madsen grumbled. They sat down for lunch and Birgitte put the remaining dishes on the table. There were hard-boiled eggs with prawns and mayonnaise, pork meatballs and Easter herring.
‘No, the credit is yours,’ Søren insisted. ‘If it hadn’t been for you, I would never have thought of joining the police.’
Herman Madsen did not say anything, but Søren could see that he was proud.
While they ate their herring, Herman Madsen told anecdotes from his years with Aalborg Police and Søren smiled, nodded and asked questions. The old man was in his element and Søren saw Birgitte squeeze Jacob’s hand.
‘Jørgensen!’ Herman exclaimed, when the conversation moved on to police officers they both knew. ‘He was just a pup in those days! I would never have believed that he would make it to chief superintendent. Back when I was his boss, he was a bit of a fool, but a nice one.’
‘He’s a good boss,’ Søren said. ‘Under pressure from the new police reforms, of course, and forced to make cuts, so he’s not always popular, but that’s part of the job.’
‘Reforming the police districts was a huge mistake,’ Herman Madsen grunted. ‘It sounded good on paper, I suppose, getting officers away from their desks and out on the beat. But so far the benefits remain to be seen.’
‘Are you and Jørgensen still in contact?’ Søren asked.
Herman Madsen shook his head. ‘Not really, though I did call him the other day. I believe Jacob told you.’
Søren nodded. ‘I agree with Jørgensen. It’s highly unlikely that anyone could trigger a suicide like that, so please stop blaming yourself. Besides, I’m starting to wonder if it really was suicide. I know the case.’
‘It wasn’t suicide?’ Herman Madsen exclaimed. ‘But Julie Skov said so. In fact, she screamed it at me before calling me a bastard and hanging up.’
‘I read Joan Skov’s autopsy report on the plane coming here,’ Søren said, ‘and she hadn’t taken very much medication – in fact, very few people would have died from that amount. But Joan Skov had been addicted to prescription drugs for many years and weighed only forty-five kilos. My view is that her body gave up, Herman. Pure and simple. It’s possible that your call stirred up old feelings in her, but I don’t believe for one second that you caused anything. I’m seeing our forensic examiner tomorrow to discuss a few things with him, and I’m fairly sure that his conclusion will be that Joan Skov’s system just packed up.’
Herman Madsen looked relieved. ‘Joan Skov was already ill back when we lived at Snerlevej,’ he said. ‘Or ill probably isn’t the right word . . . But she was unstable and moody even before their son died, if you ask me. We saw them from time to time at the start of the 1980s, but I believe Jacob has already told you that. Local get-togethers with neighbours – indeed, your grandparents came to some of them, I recall. It could all be a bit strained, but quite fun on occasion. The children enjoyed it, especially since many of them knew each other from school and clubs. Whenever it was Frank and Joan’s turn to host, we would all hold our breath until we knew how Joan was feeling. When she was in a good mood, she’d be walking on air and was a brilliant hostess, serving elaborate salads and making everyone kick off their shoes and dance in the garden. Other times she shut down completely. Tove and I used to wonder why they didn’t simply cancel the party. Joan would go to bed before the evening had even begun, if she felt like it. Frank, however, would just smile and carry on as if nothing had happened. But he was always a bit of a tough guy and it became more pronounced when their son died.’
‘How?’
‘Frank grew harder while Joan became even more fragile. They were always a mismatched couple and the death of their son widened the cracks. It was a very rocky marriage. I remember how once, during one of Joan’s better periods, she wanted to learn to drive their car again. I happened to pass one evening when Frank was teaching her how to get the car into the carport and I overheard him screaming and shouting at her because she was doing it wrong. Frank had tied a string to a tennis ball and suspended it from the roof in the carport. The moment the tennis ball touched the windscreen, Joan was meant to apply the brakes, but she kept driving too far. Frank lost his temper and I waited, sheltered by the hedge, while I tried to work out how angry he was. But it blew over as quickly as it had started. “You’ll get the hang of it eventually, darling,” he said to her, now all smiles. “Let’s go inside and have ourselves a drink.” It was the same with that dog of theirs – Bertha, I think it was called. They got it shortly after their boy had died and I saw Frank take it for a walk down Snerlevej where he yelled at it and humiliated it until it crept along the pavement. But you should have seen him the day Bertha was run over. It was before all that business with Lea, and he came over and rang our doorbell, crying like a baby. Bertha lay dead in the street and what was he going to say to the girls? I helped him put the dog into a box and told him he had to go inside and tell them the truth. He cried all the way up the garden path, so it wasn’t as if he didn’t care about the dog.’
‘How did the boy die?’ Birgitte asked.
‘Meningitis,’ Søren said.
‘Oh, that disease terrifies me,’ Birgitte exclaimed. ‘We go totally overboard checking the kids’ necks whenever they get a temperature, don’t we, Jacob?’
Jacob nodded.
Herman Madsen cleared his throat. ‘But it wasn’t true,’ he said quietly.
Søren looked at him with a frown. ‘What do you mean?’
‘He died in an accident in the family’s garden. But Frank and Joan Skov told everyone that he died from meningitis.’
‘Dad, you’ve never said that before,’ Jacob said.
Herman Madsen looked at his son and tilted his head. ‘No, Jacob. I’m a police officer and I have a duty of confidentiality. Besides, I didn’t discover it until two years later when Frank assaulted Mum . . . I believe Jacob has told you about that?’ Søren nodded. ‘When Tove refused to report him, I had to accept it, but without telling her, I decided to have him checked out. I called a colleague who worked in the police archives and had him look up Frank Skov for me. But there was nothing. No undeclared income, no fraud, not even so much as a small tax problem or a missed payment. Except for the alleged assault, which we had already decided not to proceed with, Frank had only been in contact with the police on one other occasion, my colleague told me, and that was two years earlier when his son had been killed in an accident in the family’s garden.’
‘How awful,’ Birgitte said.
‘I was shocked,’ Herman Madsen said. ‘Before he attacked Mum, we had been . . . if not friends, then at least quite good neighbours. We had sat in their garden on many occasions, eating and drinking. Now, you can never know how you would have reacted yourself, but I don’t think I could have continued to live in a house where my son had been killed.’
‘You don’t know what kind of accident we’re talking about?’ Søren said.
‘No. My colleague asked if he should request the case files for me from the basement archive, but I didn’t want to know the details. Suddenly everything made a lot more sense: the children, who were always on edge and Joan, who was falling apart; Frank, who was paranoid to the extent that he could even suspect Tove, who would never hurt a fly, of having shaken Lea. Besides, we moved soon afterwards. In many ways it was a relief to get away from Snerlevej.’
It grew silent around the table. All they could hear was the cartoons from the television in the adjoining living room.
‘Then again, Frank Skov’s back garden never was very child-friendly,’ Herman Madsen said at length.
‘Why not?’ Søren asked, and remembered what his tenant Finn had said about it.
‘Because it was full of rubbish. Frank was a hoarder who collected all sorts of junk and piled it up at the bottom of the garden. He had read engineering at some point, or so he said, and he was always in the process of building something or other. It became a standing joke among the neighbours on Snerlevej. Frank was forever bragging about his specialist tools we absolutely had to borrow – a bevel box or pliers for constant-velocity joints, which no one had heard of – and he was always keen to offer you expert tips, as he called them. But he forgot to apply his good advice to himself. The front garden was nice enough and you would often see Frank outside the house fixing something, cleaning the windows or weeding between the flagstones, while the house itself was in desperate need of a lick of paint and the rubbish mounted up at the back. Their old garden shed had burned down because of an electrical fault and Frank had started building a new, completely over-the-top one. The garden looked like a building site while the burned-out remains of the old shed were left lying around. It would have taken no time to replace the scorched grass with fresh turf. I know it bothered some of the mothers on Snerlevej so much that they didn’t turn up for the get-togethers whenever it was Frank and Joan’s turn to host. Anyone with young children didn’t get a moment’s peace because they were constantly running after their kids to make sure they didn’t scratch themselves on rusty nails or drink caustic soda.’ Herman smiled at the memory. ‘Not that it was funny, it was just typical Frank Skov. He really was one of a kind. When the boy died, I do remember Frank making some progress with the chaos, but it didn’t last. New junk simply took the place of the old stuff.’
‘But surely it’s against the law to live in a place that’s dangerous for children.’ Birgitte was outraged.
‘No, my love,’ Herman Madsen replied. ‘A gun must be locked in a gun cabinet, and if it’s fired accidentally, the owner can be sent to prison for not keeping it safe. But there are no rules about living in a messy house and that’s just as well. It’s the parents’ own responsibility to look after their children. And how do you keep a nosy three-year-old safe from harm? Just take Max.’ Herman Madsen cast his gaze into the living room where Jasmin was still watching cartoons, like a good girl. Max, however, had quietly pushed his chair over to his grandfather’s bookcase, placed a pouffe on top of the chair, scaled the shelves and was in the process of removing his grandmother’s Royal Copenhagen china figurines from the top. Jacob and Birgitte shot up from their chairs.
‘We need to fix those bookcases to the wall before the children start having sleepovers at your house, Grandpa.’ Birgitte sighed when she returned after having shouted at Max and rescued the china figurines.
‘Life is a risk,’ Herman Madsen just said.
*
Søren and Jacob washed up and Jacob talked nineteen to the dozen.
‘Dad’s had a really good day today because you came. Thank you so much, Søren. I would hate him to continue beating himself up over this and I have a feeling that what you said did some good.’
‘Don’t mention it,’ Søren said.
When they returned to the living room, Herman Madsen was listening to the news on the radio. ‘Please would you take this photograph to Copenhagen?’ he said to Søren, as he turned down the volume. The unsent photograph of Tove and Lea lay on the coffee table.
Søren promised he would.
They had coffee and cake. When Max learned that Søren was a police officer, he begged him to tell him a riddle. ‘I’ve guessed all Grandad’s,’ he explained. ‘I’ve heard them over a million times.’
‘Now, now,’ Herman Madsen said, and smiled.
Søren said that of course he would and set the little boy a brain teaser.
Max thought until his head hurt, but it was his sister who came up with the right answer.
‘Bingo, Jasmin,’ Søren said, and winked at her.
*
When it was time to say goodbye, Søren had a moment alone with Herman Madsen while Jacob and Birgitte got the children into their coats. Søren said he had been delighted to see him again. Really pleased.
‘Likewise,’ the old man said. ‘I’m proud of you, Søren. And I’m sure you have strong reasons for resigning, but you need to reconsider. Having a talent puts you under an obligation.’
Søren looked at the old man in astonishment.
‘Jørgensen let the cat out of the bag,’ Herman explained.
‘It’s more complicated than that,’ Søren said. ‘I got greedy and now I’m paying the price.’
‘Nonsense. It’s not greed. You made a mistake. It’s what real people do.’
Søren held out his hand to Herman. ‘See you soon,’ he said.
*
When Søren landed at Copenhagen Airport at seven o’clock on Saturday evening, he had two missed calls from Bøje Knudsen’s number at the Institute of Forensic Medicine and a frantic message on his voicemail: ‘Fucketty fuck. Why the hell haven’t you been in touch, you layabout? I’ve sent you three emails now. Bloody well get on and read them, will you?’
Three emails? Søren checked his inbox immediately, but there was nothing from Bøje. ‘Hey, you old whinger,’ he emailed back, ‘I think you forgot to send me those oh-so-urgent emails. Please try again. I’m waiting with bated breath.’
Søren put the photograph of Tove Madsen and Lea Skov in the glove compartment and had just started his car when he received a text message from Anna. She wanted to know if he intended to come home at some point and was wondering where he was.
He felt only slightly sheepish when, rather than drive straight home, he twisted the knife by going to Palads Teatret to watch Avatar. If Anna could spend three whole days in a seaside cottage with David Hasselhoff, surely he could do his own thing for one lousy day. It was almost midnight by the time he arrived home and found her asleep on the sofa with a book on her chest. He sat beside her and gently roused her. Anna stretched, confused, and Søren thought how much he loved her when she let her guard down. For one moment she looked openly at him, as if sleeping had dissolved their disagreements, but then she retreated.
‘Where have you been?’
‘Has Lily come home?’ Søren asked.
‘Yes, she’s asleep.’
‘Has she had a good day?’
‘I think so. She seemed happy. Turns out Thomas and Gunvor won’t be moving to Copenhagen after all. Thomas has been offered a job at Bærum Hospital in Oslo so they’ll be moving to Norway instead. I told you so!’
‘What?’
‘Yes. Didn’t I advocate caution? I said there was no need for you to worry about joint custody and all that. I knew it! Thomas has never put his child first. Lily has to fit into his life.’
Søren could not resist gloating inside.
‘That makes you happy, doesn’t it?’ Anna smiled and yawned.
‘Yes, to be honest, it does. I can’t imagine Lily living somewhere else for several days at a time.’
‘Me neither,’ Anna said.
‘I thought you said it was a good idea?’
‘Listen, I might still be angry with Thomas for failing to take his share of the responsibility and perhaps I’m ultra-keen to strike while the iron is hot to further my career, so maybe that’s how it came across. But once I’d had time to think it through, I didn’t think it would work at all. It’s far too confusing for Lily. So I’m delighted that we don’t have to deal with it. Sometimes I forget I’m not alone any more. Being a single parent and writing my master’s – and then there was all the business with my parents – was really tough. Oh, and don’t forget the tiny detail that my supervisor was murdered. So I guess I was a little bitter when you met me.’
A little? Søren controlled himself because it was so rare for Anna to admit to anything.
‘But now I’ve got you, and that’s fantastic,’ she said, and kissed his cheek. ‘Nature in her wisdom requires two people to make a baby and I’m not just talking about conception, just so you know. It’s mindboggling how much easier it is to be two.’
‘Does that mean you want another?’ Søren said, before he could stop himself.
Anna had sat up on the sofa and looked at him inscrutably. ‘Not right now, Søren. I think that things need to be . . . running a bit more smoothly before we make that decision. Everyone says having two children is more than twice the work of one.’ Then she got up and disappeared down the passage.
Søren stayed in the living room. One day he would clock Thomas for all the hurt he had caused.
Before he went to bed, he quickly checked his emails, but there was still nothing from Bøje. Ah, well, he thought, it couldn’t have been that important.
*
On Sunday morning Søren slept late for the first time in years. He did not wake until just after ten and heard the tap running in the bathroom. There was a cup of instant coffee with milk on his bedside table, but it was almost cold, so it must have been some time since Anna had put it there. Was she waving a white flag or did she feel guilty because she already knew what would happen in the seaside cottage on Sjællands Odde? Søren leaned back in bed and closed his eyes. Every now and again he wished he could switch off his brain. Just for an hour. Soon afterwards Anna came into the bedroom. She was naked, except for a towel around her hair.
‘Good morning,’ she said, and disappeared into the wardrobe where she struggled to pull down the weekend bag from the shelf above the garment rail. He ate her up with his eyes and all he could think about was her climbing, damp and fragrant, under his duvet and staying with him for a long time, stripped of ambition and to-do lists, paying attention only to him.
‘By the way, Jørgensen called yesterday,’ Anna suddenly remembered. ‘Sorry, I forgot to tell you. He thanked me for the profile on Kristian Storm. I think he felt bad that the case had been closed before I’d had time to present it, but I told him not to worry about it. These things happen. They couldn’t have known that last week. Besides, it would never cross my mind to complain about wasted work that’s so well paid.’
‘Didn’t he want to talk to me?’
‘Sure, but you weren’t here yesterday. Where were you, incidentally? You never told me last night.’
‘In Aalborg.’
‘Aalborg?’
Søren looked at the weekend bag, which Anna had managed to get down and was busy packing. ‘How long will you be gone, did you say?’ he asked.
‘What were you doing in Aalborg?’ Anna wanted to know.
‘Investigating something in connection with the case.’
‘What case?’
‘Actually, that’s a bit difficult to explain,’ Søren said, and swung his legs over the edge of the bed.
Anna froze mid-movement and Søren was terribly distracted by her brown nipples.
‘Søren,’ she said, ‘would you ever cheat on me?’
The question stunned him. Why did she ask him that now? Was it the kind of question that revealed the thought had crossed her mind and she was now, in some weird, complicated psychological way, trying to turn it against him?
‘No,’ he said. ‘Why?’
‘I just want to know,’ she said. ‘Anders T.’s partner cheated on him last year and he found out. That’s why he’s been in such a state. He said something the other day that I haven’t been able to get out of my mind: that it wasn’t the first time it had happened. Anders T. says that, in his experience, if people can cheat once, they’ll do it again and that he was an idiot for giving the relationship a second chance. And then I remembered that you had cheated on Vibe . . . and . . . well, that was why I asked.’
Søren had no idea what to say. It was true that he had cheated on Vibe and that it had had huge consequences because the woman involved, Katrine, had got pregnant, but he did not see himself as a serial cheat who fitted into some convenient category invented by Anders T. It was just something Anders T. had said to undermine Søren and Anna’s relationship and thus pave the way for himself.
‘How long will you be gone?’ he asked again.
‘I’ll be back on Wednesday at the latest.’ At this stage Anna had got around to putting on socks, but nothing more and Søren had to avert his eyes. He hated being so attracted to her. ‘Hello? Is that all right?’ Anna asked again and Søren shrugged.
‘I guess so,’ he said. ‘It’s not like I’ve got a job to go to.’
‘Talking about jobs, I had the distinct feeling that Jørgensen really wants you back.’ She zipped up the weekend bag and finally finished getting dressed. Søren was desperate for the loo, but after watching Anna walk around in just her socks, it would be a while before he’d be able to pee.
‘Why?’
‘He pumped me for information.’
‘What about?’
‘About whether I thought you’d be willing to return to work if you could have your old job back.’
‘Are you serious?’
‘Of course.’
‘But that job has gone to Henrik. Jørgensen will fall foul of every member of the Police Union if he moves Henrik to reappoint me, especially now when Henrik has . . . when he’s . . .’ Søren ground to a halt. ‘Besides, I wouldn’t want to return to Bellahøj as the guy who elbowed a colleague out of the way. I made a mistake when I agreed to that promotion and I’m delighted to hear that Jørgensen thinks he made a mistake by offering it to me in the first place, but it’s too late now. It’s like infidelity. You can’t turn back time, can you? Some actions have huge consequences.’ Søren looked straight at Anna. ‘But I’ll start job-hunting after Easter. I’ll begin in Copenhagen and work my way outwards. It wouldn’t be too bad if I ended up in Hillerød, but there’s always a risk that I’d have to go to Odense or all the way to Jutland, where the soil is black and the echo on the telephone line is hollow but—’
Anna laughed. ‘You could always have a go at being a street poet on Strøget.’
‘Will you come with me if I get a job in Jutland?’ Søren asked her seriously.
‘Søren,’ she answered, just as seriously, ‘please can we deal with that one if and when it actually happens? I love Copenhagen and I’m seriously banking on a full-time contract at the institute once I finish my PhD, so right now it would be something of an upset. Please can I think about it once you’ve been offered a job in Tarm or anywhere else that the soil is dark enough? Besides, Jørgensen sounded as if he had no idea where Henrik was. Please would you talk to him before you move us all to the far-flung corners of Denmark?’
‘He couldn’t find Henrik?’
‘No. He asked if we’d seen him and I said we hadn’t. Funny thing was Lily disagreed. Thomas had just brought her back when Jørgensen called and she got involved in the conversation. She said that Uncle Henrik was probably hiding because you had given him a bloody nose. Did you give Henrik a bloody nose?’
‘No, of course not,’ Søren said.
‘Well, in that case, I’ve no idea what she was talking about. But I do think you ought to ring Jørgensen. He sounded really quite desperate and stressed and willing to offer you almost anything. Gosh, I’ve got to get a move on.’ Anna looked at her watch. ‘Anders T.’s picking me up in twenty minutes.’
‘But I thought you’d already packed?’ Søren said. ‘Or are you taking the furniture as well?’
‘No, but I still have to dry my hair and put on mascara.’
‘Why?’
‘Why what?’
‘Why do you need to wear mascara when you’re going to a seaside cottage to be nerds?’
‘Because I don’t want to look like crap,’ Anna retorted sharply. ‘Lily is watching children’s television, but only until eleven, then that’s enough for today. I don’t want her watching TV all the time.’ Then she grabbed her weekend bag and disappeared down the passage. Moments later Søren heard the hum of the hairdryer.
*
‘Pretty please, Lily, my love,’ Søren said, once Anna had left.
Lily looked at him and narrowed her eyes. ‘Only if I get an ice cream with three scoops and a marshmallow on top.’
‘There’s no way you can eat three scoops and a marshmallow,’ Søren objected.
‘Yes, I can.’
‘All right, then, it’s a deal.’
When Søren parked in front of the Institute of Forensic Medicine, Lily piped up in anticipation: ‘Can I stay in the car and play games on your mobile?’
‘No, not today, sweet pea. I’m expecting a call and you need to spend a little more time at secretarial college before I’m ready to hire you full-time.’
‘What’s secretarial college?’
‘A place where you learn to answer the phone without scaring people off. Just like Linda can.’
‘I’ve decided I’m not going to be a biologist when I grow up. I want to be a doctor,’ Lily declared. ‘Just like my dad.’
‘Did you have a nice time with him yesterday?’
‘It was all right,’ Lily said. ‘We walked right past BR Toys and he wouldn’t even let me go inside to have a look. You would definitely have bought me something, and that’s what I told my dad. Not a big toy, just a treat.’
‘I would definitely have bought you a giant toy,’ Søren said, with a smug grin. ‘A Barbie castle or a whole grocery shop in plastic.’
Lily took Søren’s hand. ‘No, you wouldn’t,’ she said, and laughed.
*
‘What are we doing here?’ Lily asked, when she and Søren reached the Institute of Forensic Medicine by Rigshospitalet.
‘Just saying hello to my friend Bøje.’
‘You really can’t be called that, can you?’ Lily said.
Søren knocked on the door to Bøje’s office, but there was no reply and the door was locked.
He took out his mobile and called Bøje’s number, only to hear the telephone ring behind the locked door.
‘He doesn’t seem to be at home,’ Søren said.
‘Does he live here?’ Lily sounded shocked.
‘No, no,’ Søren said. ‘Hey, sit down for a moment, will you? I need to knock on some other doors and it’s best if you stay put.’
‘Why?’
‘It just is.’
‘Boring. Please can I play on your phone?’
‘Nope,’ Søren said. ‘I’ll only be a sec.’
At that moment a young pathologist arrived whom Søren had met a few times before he was promoted to deputy chief superintendent and had stopped visiting the morgue quite so frequently. He was tall, with fiery red hair, and his name was Morten La Cour.
The two men shook hands and Søren said that he was looking for Bøje Knudsen.
Morten La Cour paled. ‘Oh, I’m terribly sorry, but Bøje had a heart attack last night and was admitted to the ICU. It’s not looking good.’
‘What?’ Søren exclaimed. ‘No!’
Lily came racing over and took Søren’s hand.
‘When did it happen?’
‘Last night in his office when he was writing post-mortem reports. I wasn’t there myself, but four junior doctors were next door performing an autopsy. They heard a loud noise coming from Bøje’s office and found him lying on the floor with severe chest pains. He was taken to A and E where he was stabilised and now he’s in the ICU. He’s still unconscious and it’s too soon to say if he’ll be OK. I’m really sorry to be the one to tell you.’
‘But he called me last night,’ Søren said. ‘Between six and seven. Four times.’
‘It happened just before nine o’clock,’ Morten La Cour said.
‘What is it, Søren?’ Lily asked.
‘My friend Bøje is ill,’ Søren said, picking Lily up. ‘He’s had something called a heart attack and that’s very serious.’
‘They’re already saying it will have consequences for management,’ Morten La Cour added. ‘I know it’s only just happened, but I believe there’ll be an investigation.’
‘Why?’
‘Because Bøje had worked seven days in a row. He stayed here every night and I don’t think he got all that much sleep, a few hours max. He didn’t even take the time to eat properly and his wastepaper basket is full of junk-food wrappers and Coke cans. There’s supposed to be some kind of safety net in the public sector so people don’t work themselves to death. I’ve barely been able to recognise him in the last few days. We’ve worked together for six months now and I’ve never seen him so stressed or with such a short fuse. His patience had run out, even with the junior doctors, and Bøje always stands up for the novices. He was totally exhausted yesterday, his skin grey. It’s a terrible thing to say, but it didn’t come as a great surprise.’
‘Bloody hell,’ was all Søren could say.
La Cour indicated that he had to go and Søren quickly asked about Kristian Storm’s autopsy report.
‘I’m trying to get an idea of what’s on Bøje’s computer. We need to finalise his reports. I promise to call you as soon as I’ve located it, OK?’
‘Thank you. It’s rather urgent.’
‘Everything is, these days,’ La Cour said, sounding as if he had turned sixty overnight.
*
Lily held Søren’s hand all the way to St Hans Torv and kept giving him anxious looks.
‘Are you very sad about your friend?’ she asked.
‘Yes,’ Søren said.
‘Then it might be a good idea for you to have an ice cream as well,’ Lily said, and Søren smiled. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had ice cream. They spent a long time admiring the colourful selection in the ice-cream parlour before Søren chose a modest tub and Lily picked her three scoops with a coconut marshmallow on top. They crossed the road and sat outside Café Pussy Galore where Søren ordered himself a double espresso. Five minutes later Lily dumped her half-finished ice cream on Søren’s saucer and went off to play.
‘Try not to get too wet,’ Søren called out.
‘I won’t,’ Lily said, as she made a beeline for Jørgen Haugen Sørensen’s fountain in the middle of the square.
Søren found Jørgensen’s private telephone number on his mobile and rang it, even though Jørgensen had warned him not to call that number on a Sunday unless the Queen had been kidnapped.
‘Hello, Søren,’ Jørgensen grunted, when Søren had introduced himself.
‘Have you heard about Bøje Knudsen?’ Søren said. ‘I’ve only just found out.’
‘I have. It’s not good.’
‘And what’s that about you not being able to find Henrik?’
‘I had to suspend him last Friday, I’m sorry to say. Ever since then we haven’t been able to track him down.’
‘Why on earth did you have to suspend him?’
Søren heard Jørgensen hesitate. ‘It’s supposed to be a confidential human-resources issue between the management of Bellahøj and Superintendent Henrik Tejsner but . . . I was about to call you to beg you to come back to work and hopefully you’re about to say, “Sure, when do you want me to start?” so you’ll need to know anyway. And, mark my words, I really am prepared to beg.’
‘Big words coming from such a stubborn man,’ Søren said. ‘But let’s start with Henrik.’
‘OK. As you probably know, Tejsner was on loan to Station City for most of last week. They’re rushed off their feet with the student rapes, as they have been christened by the ever-tasteless media, and the commissioner has asked all stations in Copenhagen to contribute manpower. Tejsner has handled the assignment very well, with credit, in fact. I know that you and Tejsner don’t always get on, but he’s a good police officer, Søren.’
‘Henrik is a good police officer,’ Søren agreed. ‘A really good man in the field. And I’ve never claimed otherwise. He’s just a horrendously bad manager, but that probably reflects more on those who appointed him.’
‘And blah-blah-blah,’ Jørgensen said irritably. ‘But right now I’m not interested in your opinion of my managerial skills, Søren. Last Thursday, they finally got a breakthrough in the serial rapist case. They found some CCTV footage of the rapist’s most recent victim, Emilie Storgaard, talking to a man. They couldn’t identify the man from the footage, but something important happens in it. One of our confidential informants, a black guy called Solo, suddenly wanders into the frame and proceeds to greet the man Emilie Storgaard is talking to like a long-lost friend. Solo comes from some godforsaken place on the Ivory Coast, but has been granted permission to stay in Denmark in return for reliable intel from the drugs scene on Vesterbro. He speaks fluent Danish and is fairly observant, and even though we know he deals cocaine, we look the other way because he’s helped us on several occasions. We brought him in, of course, and he spent all of Thursday refusing to talk. Rathje and Hansen, the investigators tasked with interviewing him, tried everything, but he said not a word. Even threatening to deport him had no effect. “Let me tell you something. If I give you the name of the man in that film, I’ll be dead before sunrise,” he said. “I’d rather be sent home. At least there I’ve got a chance to see the week out.”
‘At one point Tejsner went to the loo and on his return he went straight for Solo and managed to break his nose and knock out both his front teeth before Rathje and Hansen got him under control. Afterwards Tejsner refused to explain what had triggered the attack and Station City had no choice but to report him to his superiors. Rathje drove Tejsner back to Bellahøj where he was sent to my office to explain himself. I confiscated his warrant card and sent him to HR to hand in his service weapon, but he never turned up. Since then I’ve called him dozens of times, but his mobile is switched off. The irony of it all is that I have good news for him. When Rathje and Hansen resumed questioning Solo – now with a brace on his nose and no front teeth – he immediately gave us the name of the guy on the CCTV footage. He’s Martin Brink Schelde, some hotshot lawyer from a highly regarded law firm in the city, whom we arrested last Friday afternoon and he’s been sweating in Station City ever since. He’s denying everything, of course, but we got a tongue scraping, so it’s only a matter of time before we get a DNA match. We all think he did it, so the powers that be have decided to overlook Tejsner’s stunt. This is Denmark, don’t forget, so we’re not allowed to play good-cop-bad-cop, but for once a broken nose and two missing teeth were a godsend. The justice secretary has publicly praised us for our arrest, the public’s rating of us has risen by six per cent in two days and Brink Schelde hasn’t even confessed yet.’
‘Listen to yourself,’ Søren said. ‘Anyone would think you worked in advertising. But let’s get back to Henrik. I think I know what’s going on. I’ll find him and have a word with him.’
‘Good,’ Jørgensen grunted. ‘And what about you? Can I persuade you to give me a helping hand? It’s bad enough that I’ve had to manage without a DCS, but now that Tejsner is down, it won’t do and—’
‘Fine. I’ll return to work,’ Søren interrupted.
‘That was easier than I expected!’
‘Yes, but I have some conditions.’
Jørgensen heaved a deep sigh. ‘Let me have them,’ he said.
‘I want my old job as superintendent back, but only until Henrik returns from paternity leave.’
‘Paternity leave?’
‘Yes, his wife had a baby last Friday.’
‘Jesus Christ, that explains why he’s hiding. And what happens when Tejsner’s paternity leave is over?’
‘We’ll have another brainstorming session.’
‘But am I right in thinking you don’t want to be deputy chief superintendent any more?’
‘One hundred per cent correct.’
‘Even if it means a lower salary and a smaller pension?’
‘Yep.’
‘I don’t get you, Marhauge,’ Jørgensen said. ‘Everybody else is busy fighting their way up the greasy pole. Anything else?’
‘Yes, I want total freedom to reopen Henrik’s cases. The deaths of Professor Kristian Storm at the Institute of Biology and of Joan Skov at Snerlevej in Vangede, which happened the same evening.’
‘But both cases have officially been closed.’
‘Do you know how to spell “giant cock-up”? Bøje Knudsen hasn’t even submitted the official autopsy report yet.’
‘Autopsy reports for suicides?’
‘Alleged suicides, not confirmed,’ Søren said. ‘Small word, big difference.’
Jørgensen considered it. ‘But surely Tejsner wouldn’t have closed two cases without first getting the green light from the Institute of Forensic Medicine?’
‘If you ask me, Henrik’s suffering from stress and I believe one of the symptoms is a diminished sense of reality and a tendency to rush decisions.’
‘Stress?’ Jørgensen thundered. ‘Who the hell doesn’t suffer from stress these days? It’s a national disease, Marhauge! You think I’m not stressed? That doesn’t mean I can’t do my job.’
‘So you didn’t sign off his reports?’ Søren asked sweetly. ‘Funny . . . It looked like your signature.’
‘You bastard,’ was all Jørgensen said.
‘Then we have a deal,’ Søren said.
*
When Søren had hung up, he went to rescue Lily. She was soaking wet and her teeth were chattering, so he threw her over his shoulder and jogged back to his car outside the hospital.
‘I told you not to get wet,’ Søren scolded her. ‘You’ve just been ill.’
‘I didn’t do it on purpose,’ Lily wailed.
‘No, of course you didn’t and Dumbo has small ears.’
‘No, he hasn’t.’ Lily carried on howling.
When they got to the car, Søren made her take off all her clothes and climb onto her car seat wearing only her pants. She complained pitifully. Then he took off his jacket and sweater and turned the car heating to maximum. By the time they reached Vibenshus Runddel, Lily had stopped whingeing.
‘Tomorrow and the day after, Granny will be looking after you,’ Søren said, as they drove down the Lyngby motorway.
‘Yippee!’ Lily cried.
*
On Monday, 29 March, Søren walked down the corridor to the briefing room at the Violent Crimes Unit at Bellahøj Police Station as if nothing had happened. It was five past nine in the morning and he was five minutes late because the detour to Nørrebro to drop Lily off at Cecilie’s had proved a big mistake in the rush-hour traffic. The police officers were waiting for the morning briefing to start; a few were reading newspapers and the rest were batting small talk back and forth across the table. Søren knew them all well, except a new sergeant from Aarhus, Inge Kai, to whom he had been introduced but hadn’t worked with. Søren hung his jacket over a chair and cleared his throat. ‘Good morning,’ he said. ‘I’m your supply teacher this week because your usual teacher is ill.’
Most people laughed and there was even scattered applause.
‘You can call me Acting Superintendent Søren Marhauge. Shall we get started?’
‘So what you’re saying,’ Mehmet taunted him, ‘is that not only have you been demoted, you’re also on probation?’
‘Something along those lines.’
‘So where is Superintendent Tejsner then?’ Sergeant Sara Holbæk wanted to know.
‘He’s just had a baby,’ Søren replied.
The gathering fell about laughing.
*
When Søren had said hi to Linda, assured her that she was not hallucinating and that he had indeed returned to work, he went to search Henrik’s office. The room was dark and smelt sour, so Søren opened the window and adjusted the blinds. Henrik’s desk was a frightful mess of loose-leaf paper, case files, crushed Red Bull cans, screwed-up paper and more case files. In the middle of it all, the Penal Code lay open: without any obvious logic, Henrik had marked at least two hundred of the three hundred paragraphs with yellow Post-it notes. Søren opened the desk drawers. The top left one was locked. Søren briefly considered forcing it, but dropped the idea. He already had an inkling of what it contained.
Instead, he put on his jacket and went down to his car.
Fifteen minutes later, he parked outside Henrik’s stairwell on Amagerfælledvej 27 at the Urbanplanen Estate. There was no reply when he rang the doorbell. When a young guy came thundering down the stairs, Søren slipped inside the stairwell before the door slammed. First he checked Henrik’s postbox and, as far as he could see, it had been emptied. On the fourth floor he rang Henrik’s doorbell hard before he peered through the letterbox. In addition to an unmade-up mattress on the floor and Henrik’s biker boots, which he had refused to part with even though he had sold the bike long ago, Søren spotted half a dozen empty or nearly empty bottles of spirits. There were no curtains in front of the window and even through the letterbox he could detect the stale smell of alcohol. Søren tried the door, but of course it was locked.
Back in the street he found a corner shop where he bought a copy of Politiken and Euroman, a cup of coffee and a chocolate bar. Then he made himself comfortable in his car and waited for Henrik. It had just gone twelve, so he braced himself for a very long afternoon.
He had received a text message from Anna, telling him she had arrived safely at Sjællands Odde, but apart from that, Søren had heard nothing from her. Their days of frequent, frantic text messages were over. Søren had not had time to give their relationship much thought today, but as he sat in the silence, it crept up on him. He downloaded the Facebook app to his smart phone and logged on. The photograph of Anna was like a punch to his stomach. Her cheeks were flushed and she was wearing her running top against a picturesque background of bark steaming with frost and the sense of spring. Anders T. had tagged her and the caption simply read: Bella.
Suddenly Søren sensed a shadow in the side window and turned his head.
Henrik was standing outside. He had lost weight and his gaze was manic. Søren made to get out of the car and tried to open the door, but every time he did, Henrik would push it shut. Finally Søren rolled down the window.
‘Please can I get out?’ he asked calmly.
‘Leave me alone,’ Henrik said. ‘Don’t ever talk to me again.’ Then he turned on his heel and walked back to his stairwell. Søren closed the window, got out of the car and locked it with a click.
‘Wait,’ he called after Henrik, but Henrik had already disappeared up the stairs and the door had slammed. Irritated, Søren systematically rang every single bell and got all the way down to the ground floor before he had any luck. ‘Police,’ he said brusquely, and was admitted after a brief hesitation. An elderly woman looked at him sceptically from the gap in her door and he quickly flashed his warrant card at her and said, ‘Hello, madam,’ before he took the stairs two steps at a time.
Søren banged on Henrik’s door. ‘Did you get my card?’ he shouted through the letterbox. ‘Come on, let me in. I want to talk to you.’
There was no sound from the flat and when Søren looked through the letterbox, he saw only the scene from earlier.
‘Henrik,’ he called. ‘Let me in. I know you and Jeanette have split up. Why the hell didn’t you say anything? Henrik, God damn you, open the door so I don’t have to stand out here shouting at you.’
There was still no sound from the flat so Søren sat on the steps, trying to work out his next move.
He could call a locksmith. He could drive back to Bellahøj and fetch ‘the big key’, as it was known at the station: an iron pipe with handles the police would sometimes use during raids. Or he could kick down the door.
So that was what he did. He pushed down the handle and aimed his kick at the lock; at his third well-placed attempt the door flew open.
From the hallway he could see directly into the room with the mattress, the bottles and the biker boots. To his left, overlooking Amagerfælledvej, there was another room, unfurnished except for a dilapidated sofa and a low coffee table. On the table lay a mirror and a razor blade. Henrik was nowhere to be seen.
‘As you’ll be aware, I have the right to shoot you in self-defence.’ Søren spun around. ‘Section thirteen of the Penal Code. Self-defence when a person or their property is attacked.’
Henrik was sitting up against the wall behind the door. His pupils had contracted to pinpoints and he rested his hand on one knee as he pointed his service pistol at Søren. He took a swig from an almost-full bottle of whisky on the floor.
‘Lower your weapon,’ Søren said.
‘Lower your weapon,’ Henrik mimicked, with a snarl, but showed no sign of doing so.
‘You have a son.’ Søren found his mobile and held it in his outstretched arm so that he could search for the picture of Olivia and Sara cradling their newborn baby brother while maintaining eye contact with Henrik. ‘A bouncing baby boy weighing four kilos. His name is Storm.’
‘I don’t want to see him,’ Henrik roared. ‘Put that phone away or I’ll fucking off you. Trust me, I’ve nothing to lose.’
Søren changed tactic. ‘I know you’re doing cocaine, Henrik.’
Henrik looked deadpan at him, but Søren sensed a hint of surprise behind the flat expression.
‘You thought you could hide it, did you? That makes you just as stupid as every other drug addict on the planet. Besides, I took a blood sample from Lily’s hat, which you used as a compress last Wednesday. Your nosebleed gave you away and I got Bøje to confirm it. I’m guessing you’ve got a habit. I’m guessing that the top left drawer of your desk at Bellahøj is locked because you can no longer get through a day’s work without a line or two. And I’m guessing that you’re snorting confiscated cocaine, which you stole from the evidence room.’
‘No shit, Sherlock. Did you ever think of joining the police?’ Henrik quipped sarcastically, then took another gulp from the bottle.
For a while, the two men said nothing while they stared each other down. Søren had rarely felt so ridiculous.
‘I panicked when Jeanette told me she was pregnant,’ Henrik suddenly said. ‘I didn’t want another bloody baby. Sara and Olivia had finally grown old enough to enjoy a lie-in and they can make their own breakfast, then Jeanette decides she wants to go back to square one. Nappies and bottles and puke? I’m just not good with babies. I go mental when they wake up screaming at night.’ He jabbed himself in the temple with his free hand. ‘At long last, our sex life was starting to pick up again. And then she tells me she’s bloody pregnant. She claims she told me she’d stopped taking the pill and asked me to take precautions, but that’s a big fat lie!’
‘I thought the two of you were good,’ Søren said. ‘That you were all right after . . . your affair. Because that’s what you said. You were over the moon when you told me you were having another baby.’
‘What choice did I have? Jeanette might be telling everyone she’s forgiven me for the affair with Line, but the truth is she’s been punishing me non-stop ever since. Whenever I screw up, she makes it all about her and how I betrayed her two years ago. Even the girls are on my back. “Where are you going, Dad? Isn’t it a bit late to be going to the corner shop, Dad? Dad, you’ve made Mum cry again.”’ Henrik spat out the words. ‘Besides, I’ve had it up to here with your and Anna’s jammy little lives. Makes me want to vomit the way you go on about her. You and I haven’t had one night out since you started living with her. We haven’t gone for a beer on Friday after work once. You don’t want to play squash any more. It’s not normal, man. Before you met Anna, you’d hang out with your mates every now and again. But now you’re too busy to waste your time on us losers. Jeanette agrees with me that you’ve become stuck-up. We haven’t had dinner once since you and Anna moved in together. Because we’re not good enough for your intellectual girlfriend? It’s not like you went to university, either, you prick. And do you remember me telling you that Jeanette wanted fake tits? You swallowed it whole. As if that would ever even cross Jeanette’s mind. You know her. She’s a nursery-school teacher and gets organic vegetables delivered every week, for Christ’s sake. But I saw the look on your face. You’ve become such a bloody snob since you moved in with that bitch.’
He took another swig from the bottle.
Søren was astonished. There was no point in him saying he hadn’t known how to react when Henrik had mentioned Jeanette’s new breasts. What did he know about women’s midlife crises? was all he had thought at the time.
So he just said, ‘You’re wrong, Henrik.’
‘Jeanette and I had a massive row about that baby,’ Henrik continued. ‘I told her to get an abortion and she went mental. Eventually I walked out, and if you hadn’t been such a crap friend, I might have called you and asked if we could go for a beer. Instead, I got drunk on my own somewhere on Vesterbro and did coke with a random guy who offered me some; quite a lot, as it turned out. At one point that night I got the urge to screw a hooker, so that’s what I did. I would have killed for just half an hour of being the boss of my own life. And do you know something? I felt totally free. I was king of the world, right until the condom burst and I found myself on top of some twenty-year-old black girl who couldn’t even look me in the eye.’ He laughed a hollow laugh. ‘I went to the doctor immediately and the first test was negative. The doctor gave me a post-exposure prophylactic injection and told me only to have safe sex until I got the final test. But I couldn’t start wearing rubbers when I was with Jeanette, could I? The first few weeks were all right because Jeanette had morning sickness, but when that passed, she couldn’t understand why I wasn’t in the mood. She would whine and accuse me of not loving her any more, of having another affair – who was she and where did she live? She irritated the hell out of me. In the middle of it all I got promoted. And thank God for that. I started working twenty-four/seven and didn’t have to go home. I even rented a room on Nørrebro where I could sleep, and whenever Jeanette complained, I said I had a camp bed in my office, that this promotion was a once-in-a-lifetime chance and that she shouldn’t expect me to give up my big break to change nappies.’
‘I wish you’d told me about you and Jeanette,’ Søren said.
‘Why? So you could play at being my therapist and fuck with my head? I don’t think so. But what a boost to my career, eh? I’ve always hated taking orders from people, especially you, but now finally I was in charge. I had my own digs where I spent more and more time, I was on a roll, and the best thing was that no one knew a thing. When Jeanette’s best friend called to ask what the hell I thought I was doing, I blurted out that I had met someone and told her to mind her own business. That shut her up. Then I found this flat where no one ever tells me to take off my shoes when I get home, no one changes the channel without asking me first, no one makes me eat broccoli and no one leaves their disgusting jamrags with the red side upwards in the bathroom. Finally Henrik Tejsner was living it up with a little help from his friend.’ To illustrate, Henrik pressed a finger against one nostril and sniffed.
‘But then that girl was raped in north-west Copenhagen,’ Søren said.
Henrik drank some more whisky. ‘I couldn’t handle it,’ he said after a while. ‘Fourteen years old. Same age as Olivia. I met the girl’s father, a gentle Syrian guy who just sat there while the tears rolled down his cheeks, and there was nothing I could do. If it had been my daughter, I would have killed myself. But he just sat there, saying he knew we were doing everything we could. But what could I tell him? The rapist was still at large. I spent half the night at Bella trawling through old microfilms. I searched high and low on the Net. I interviewed the family again, hoping we had missed something. I spent far too much time on that case and I fell badly behind with everything else. Besides, I was running out of money . . . So you’re right, I nicked the bag from the evidence room. I never thought anyone would find out.’
Henrik got up and went over to the sofa. He lifted a sofa cushion and fished out the confiscated bag of cocaine. Søren saw the numbered police evidence tag dangling from it. Henrik looked at Søren with disdain, then lined up a fat stripe, which he distributed between his nostrils, taking care to keep his service pistol and the whisky bottle within reach.
‘What happened at Station City?’
‘I was the boss.’ Henrik cheered and clapped his hands hard. ‘I was Bernt’s new golden boy. I aced that case. I was one hundred per cent better than you and your stupid backwards knitting.’
‘What happened to Solo?’
‘I could tell from his face that he knew something. Rathje and Hansen were far too easy on him. We didn’t owe him shit. There are plenty of potential CIs out there who want to work for us. But Rathje and Hansen treated him like bloody royalty. Little coke-pushing creep contaminating Denmark from the inside . . .’
‘So you went to the Gents and snorted a line to build up some Dutch courage, and when you returned, you knocked out Solo’s teeth and broke his nose.’
Again Henrik looked deadpan at Søren before he suddenly moved the pistol to his own temple. ‘I’m not going back to Jeanette,’ he said. ‘It stopped being fun long ago. And I’ve lost the girls. Jeanette has turned them against me with all that guilt crap. I haven’t got a snowball’s chance in hell of winning them back. And the boy? Jeanette will turn him against me too. Just you wait and see.’
‘Give me your gun,’ Søren said quietly.
‘And now I’ve got the sack.’
‘Give me your gun,’ Søren said.
Henrik looked at him blankly.
‘Give me your gun now,’ he said again.
‘I’m a man,’ Henrik said, pressing it harder against his temple.
‘Solo gave us the name of the man on the footage,’ Søren said, ‘and we’ve arrested a young lawyer who works in the city. Martin Brink Schelde. Jørgensen asked me to tell you that your suspension has been lifted. You can go back to work again.’
‘You fucking liar.’ Henrik looked emptily at Søren for a moment and then he pulled the trigger.
Søren squeezed his eyes shut.
Then Henrik laughed. ‘You’re such a prick. Did you really think I was going to shoot myself? The chamber’s empty, you idiot. You should have seen your face. Oh, I can just imagine you telling that bitch of yours how you almost saved me.’
For a moment Søren stared at him in shock, then anger took over. ‘I’ve told Jørgensen that you’re on paternity leave for a month.’
Henrik scoffed.
‘That means you have a month to sort yourself out. Get your shit together. I’m giving you one chance. If you don’t take it, I’ll report you for the theft of eighty grams of cocaine from the evidence room. You’ll get a two-year custodial sentence minimum and your police career will be over.’
Henrik was still looking at him with contempt.
‘And Anna isn’t a bitch,’ Søren added quietly.
‘Anna isn’t a bitch,’ Henrik mocked, and took another swig from the bottle.
‘And I’m nothing like what you said,’ Søren continued.
‘Get out. You’re not my friend. You never were.’
‘Do you know something?’ Søren said. ‘You were never my friend either.’
Then he left.
*
On his way into town Søren was shaking so much that he had to stop at a service station to compose himself. When he had calmed down, he called Lea Skov, but his call went straight to voicemail. It was only five thirty so he decided to stop at her flat and try the doorbell. He checked that the photograph of young Lea and Tove Madsen was still in his glove compartment and it was. But Lea Skov was not at home, or she was not answering her door. Søren did not want to leave the photograph in Lea’s letterbox: it required an explanation. Instead he drove out to Lily and Cecilie on Nørrebro.