It was almost midnight that Friday evening before Søren left Bellahøj Police Station. He offered to drive Tim Salomon and Marie Skov home, but they wanted some fresh air and he saw them disappear up Frederikssundsvej holding hands. It had taken Søren and Inge Kai almost three hours to get the whole story in place because, although Marie and Tim had supplemented each other very neatly, several pieces were still missing before the picture could be completed. Which made it all the more annoying that Ébano Salomon had dropped off the face of the earth. They had issued his description to every police station, border crossing and airport in Denmark, and Søren gave Ébano three days max. Then he caught himself hoping that, for once, he was wrong. Tim had wept over his brother and Marie had said, ‘We mustn’t forget that the real criminals are Sixan Pharmaceuticals and Peter Bennett. Storm would have said the same.’ And she was right. Bennett had exploited a rejected brother’s yearning for a better life.
Søren drove home. He had called Anna and left several messages, but her only response had been a text message in the late afternoon: Leave me alone, Søren.
It was over.
When he got home, Søren was starving but he had no appetite. He ended up reheating the leftovers from Anna and Karen’s dinner the other night and washed them down with a cold beer. He sat in the kitchen for a long time without moving.
‘I’m going to sprinkle some happiness on your house,’ Anna had said, when she moved in.
‘Our house,’ Søren had corrected her.
‘Mi casa es tu casa.’ Anna had grinned and hung up a chain of colourful fairy lights over the kitchen window, bought shocking pink scatter cushions for the living room and chucked out a dead mind-your-own-business, in return for a promise always to buy fresh flowers. And she had done. Until recently.
‘That’s just how it is,’ she had responded, when Søren had asked about the fresh flowers. ‘At the start of a relationship, you make a huge effort. Then it becomes routine.’
‘Oh.’ Søren had been hurt. ‘So I could have kept my plant, after all?’
‘But why?’ Anna had replied. ‘It was dead.’
He decided that he had to be the problem. He was hard to love. He couldn’t even keep a pot plant alive. Perhaps Anna had never loved him. Was that why he had had to reel her in like a stubborn perch? But if she really loved him, she shouldn’t have needed convincing.
Søren, for example, had not needed convincing at all. He had just rolled over with all four paws in the air. He loved Anna just as much today as he always had. Even when she called him a monumental prat.
Søren took another beer from the fridge and walked down the passage. He closed the door to Lily’s room. Anna would have to come for her things one day when he was out. He leaned his forehead against the closed door and couldn’t even cry. The pain was numbing. Suddenly he heard a noise and spun around.
The door to the bedroom opened and a sleepy-eyed Anna appeared in the doorway. She was wearing jeans and a T-shirt, and she scratched her head.
‘Anna,’ Søren exclaimed, stunned. ‘I didn’t think you were home.’
‘Karen said I was chicken,’ Anna said. ‘She said it was beneath my dignity not to grab the bull by the horns. So I came home. Lily stayed with her.’
‘Well, then, let me hear it,’ Søren said bullishly. ‘Get it over with.’ Suddenly the devil got into him. ‘Come on, I’ll help you pack,’ he said. ‘I think we’ve got some boxes here.’ He opened one of the built-in cupboards in the passage and found a box that had previously contained their new Hoover. ‘Let’s start in Lily’s room. Afterwards you can rip out my heart. Will she be taking all her teddies?’ Søren had turned on the ceiling light in Lily’s bedroom and started throwing books, teddies and various objects into the cardboard box. ‘Or do I get to keep one, so she has a teddy whenever she visits me – if she’s allowed to visit me, that is?’ Søren held the box under one of Lily’s shelves and swept everything into it.
‘What the hell do you think you’re doing?’ Anna screamed. ‘Are you out of your mind?’
‘Are you out of your mind?’ Søren roared. ‘We live together. We have Lily together. I love Lily! You promised this would never happen.’
Søren got ready to empty the next shelf into the box and braced himself for Anna’s reaction. Napalm. But she did not say one word. She just stood there staring at him.
‘What did I promise would never happen?’ she said.
‘You promised you would never stop loving me,’ Søren said.
‘I never, ever promised that,’ Anna said.
‘You promised you would not take Lily from me,’ he added.
Søren had turned to the window where the curtains had yet to be closed. The front garden was dark, and hundreds of monsters and demons were waiting on the other side of the glass.
‘But I still love you,’ she said. ‘I thought that you—’
‘But please can we be friends?’ Søren snarled. ‘Spare me, Anna. I know that you screwed Anders T. I know he slept here. How can you stoop so low? A totally ridiculous poser who highlights his hair.’
Anna looked at him in shock. Then she started to laugh. ‘Don’t tell me you’re jealous of Anders T.,’ she said.
‘And what if I am?’ Søren yelled. ‘I’m not done with you. I love you, Anna.’
Anna crossed Lily’s room and went straight to Søren. ‘Number one, you have no cause for jealousy,’ she said, putting her arms around him. ‘Because I love only you. And number two, Anders T. is gay.’
*
They made love on the floor in Lily’s bedroom. Afterwards a small plastic ocelot was stuck in Anna’s hair, but Søren decided not to say anything. They sat down in the living room and spoke without a break for two hours. Anna couldn’t believe that Søren hadn’t realised that Anders T. preferred men.
‘He’s about as gay as they come,’ she said. ‘Anyone could tell from miles away. He has a diamond stud in his right ear! I’m sure I told you!’
Last year Anders T. had discovered quite by accident that his boyfriend had cheated on him with a guy they both knew. Even so he had decided to give their relationship another try. Soon afterwards he learned that it was not the first infidelity and that his boyfriend was a notorious slut, who had screwed half of ‘Cosy Bar’, as Anders T. had put it.
‘Anders T. then ended the relationship for good, but he was totally cut up about it. I didn’t know him very well at the time, but that evening when we wrote the song for the head of the department’s party, we drank some wine and he told me the whole story. At one point he produced a bag of cocaine and sniffed some. I had a bit, but I didn’t like it. Partly because Anders T. kept lining up more, but also because of you. Imagine if someone had found out there had been drug-taking in your house. And, besides, Lily was at home at the time. “Don’t be so such a prude,” Anders said, before he finally accepted that I didn’t want any. Since then he’s denied that he’s still doing cocaine, but I know that he gets off his face every weekend. That’s why he feels like crap for the first three days of every week. Recently I had to inform our supervisor, and we agreed that I would make it clear to Anders T. that if he doesn’t get his act together, he’ll forfeit his PhD. The first twenty-four hours we were at his parents’ cottage were OK, but then he got fidgety and kept wandering outside, and I’m not an idiot, am I? I gave him an ultimatum. Either he pulled himself together or it was the end of him and me working together. He went straight to our supervisor last Wednesday and I believe he’s going into rehab somewhere on Fyn. He’ll have to take leave, but at least there’s a small chance that he might finish his PhD later. Meanwhile, I hope I can find a study partner who takes their work a bit more seriously.’
When Anna had finished, Søren told her about Henrik. About the missing bag of cocaine from the evidence room, about Jeanette’s call and about the blood test from Lily’s Hello Kitty woolly hat, which had confirmed Søren’s worst fears.
‘But that’s massively illegal,’ Anna said, and looked closely at Søren. ‘Isn’t there a risk you’ll get into trouble as well? Now that you know he stole it?’
‘Yes,’ Søren said. ‘But only if Henrik lets the cat out of the bag, and he won’t. Besides, I can always deny it. No one knows I visited him in his new flat. I want to give him one last chance, Anna. Everyone deserves that.’
‘I feel simply awful that I haven’t called Jeanette,’ Anna said. ‘Trust me, I kept meaning to. But I thought she was busy nest-building, enjoying Henrik and her bump. Why on earth didn’t she call us? I know we don’t see them very much, but we’re still friends.’
‘I’m starting to believe they didn’t see it that way,’ Søren said.
‘I’m going to call her,’ Anna declared.
They sat for a while in silence.
‘We need to talk about us,’ Anna said at length.
‘Yes,’ Søren said.
They fell silent again.
‘You go first,’ Anna then said.
Søren cleared his throat. ‘I think you’ve started to pull back,’ he said. ‘You keep finding excuses for going to the university or burying yourself in work when you’re at home and Lily’s in bed. It’s hard not to see it as a sign that you’re avoiding me. And surely you had a child so that you could be with her, and even though we’ve fallen into a routine, ultimately we’re a couple because we want to be together, aren’t we?’
Anna got up abruptly and closed the curtains.
‘Please don’t get angry,’ Søren said. ‘Not now.’
‘But I am angry,’ Anna said. ‘Because I had Lily with the wrong man. I should have waited for you but . . . then Lily wouldn’t have been Lily, would she? Fortunately you love her as if she were your own.’
‘Yes, I do,’ Søren said.
‘Well, then, why isn’t it OK for me to pull back a little? I’d been a single parent for years when I met you. Neglected my studies, put my career on the back-burner and gone to bed early every single Saturday night – yes, some might say, “Tough, that’s what life’s like when you choose to have a kid.” But I never planned on being a single parent, did I? Thomas abandoned us without warning and moved to another country. Since then he hasn’t taken on anything that looks remotely like serious responsibility, but now I have you and you love Lily unconditionally, she loves you and I love you both. That’s wonderful. So I’m taking the opportunity to work hard. I can see that Lily is thriving and I thought that you adored being with her. I really want a career now. And I can do it, Søren. I’m good. That’s all this is about. I want to be with you and I want this.’ She pointed to her head. ‘And I think that’s OK. I give you my child, the most precious thing in my life, and the price you pay is that you take on half the work, and you do, more sometimes, so I don’t really see what the problem is.’
‘I think I’ve just been missing you,’ Søren said. ‘And I adore being with Lily.’
‘But I’ve missed you too,’ Anna said, and sat down next to him on the sofa.
‘If that’s how we feel, then why do we argue all the time?’ Søren said.
Anna looked surprised. ‘You think we do?’
‘Yes,’ Søren said. ‘We argue far too much.’
‘I rather like that we know how to argue,’ Anna replied. ‘Thomas was completely uptight. Every time I raised my voice, or felt anything that wasn’t a hundred per cent positive, he’d shut down and practically give me a sedative. As if my temper was a disease. I love . . .’ Anna thought about it ‘. . . I love that you’re a real man who can still get a hard-on for me even though I’m angry about something.’
‘That’s one way of looking at it,’ Søren said, with a grin. ‘But even so, I don’t want Lily to grow up with a mum and a dad who argue.’
‘But why not?’ Anna persisted. ‘We always make up. And she sees that as well.’
They sat for a little while.
‘Now it’s your turn,’ Søren said.
‘I’ve been wondering if you’re suffering from depression,’ Anna said frankly.
‘Depression?’
‘Yes. Sometimes you sit there,’ she pointed to the furthest dining chair by the window, ‘staring out into the darkness, into nothing. And I don’t think you’re even aware of it. But you give off some seriously . . . bad karma. I’ve tried guessing what could be wrong and, of course, I thought I had something to do with it. We haven’t had as much sex recently and usually that . . . Well, what I’m trying to say is, in the past whenever I’ve wondered if you were bored with me, I’d remind myself that you still fancied me. In the months before Thomas’s sudden departure, we had no sex, and he seemed as if . . . he no longer fancied me. So I’ve been telling myself that no matter how stressed you seemed or how irritable you were, you were always interested in sex. But in the last few months you seemed to have lost interest. In fact, I was convinced that you had met someone. Especially after I met up with Jeanette last Wednesday. It sounds stupid, but I suddenly imagined that you and Henrik had set up some kind of bachelor pad where you partied all the time.’
Anna smiled at her own embarrassment.
‘Being unfaithful to you would never even cross my mind, Anna,’ Søren said. ‘That time with Vibe was . . . different. I’m not the unfaithful type and I think even Vibe would agree with me on that. But I needed to end that relationship and . . .’ Søren shrugged his shoulders. ‘I’m not proud of what happened and it will never happen again. You mean far too much to me.’
‘Then why aren’t you happy?’ Anna asked cautiously.
‘But I am happy,’ Søren said. ‘I love living here with the two of you. I love that we’re a family, but . . . You’re right that something’s nagging at me. Only I don’t know what it is. A feeling that . . . I’m out of step with myself.’
Søren lay down on his back and folded his hands under his neck. Anna snuggled up to him.
‘I have a confession to make,’ she said, when they had been lying like that for a while.
‘Now what?’ Søren said, with bated breath.
‘It’s my fault that Lily got German measles. I forgot her booster vaccination when she turned four. I feel incredibly bad about it. How much of a crap mother are you allowed to be? Thomas will hit the roof if he finds out. He’s very particular about such matters.’
Søren laughed.
‘What’s so funny?’
‘Because for a moment I thought . . . Never mind.’ Søren grew serious. ‘You’re not a crap mother, Anna Bella, and who gives a toss what Thomas thinks? He’s not part of our life. Besides, German measles doesn’t kill you. Or it doesn’t at our latitudes,’ he added.
They lay for a while in silence.
‘What happened back then?’ Søren asked at last. ‘When Thomas walked out on you.’
‘I don’t know,’ Anna said.
‘You don’t know?’
‘No, and that’s why it’s so hard to talk about it.’
‘Try,’ Søren said.
Anna mulled it over for a while. Then she said, ‘It was Christmas and Thomas’s parents were visiting us from Jutland. We had a discussion about something and we disagreed strongly. I got worked up, but not half as much as I had done at least a thousand times before, when, for example, I’d been discussing politics with my dad, but enough for Thomas’s parents to leave the next morning. In fact, I haven’t seen them since and I don’t think Lily has either. A few weeks later, Thomas got a job in Sweden and announced that we were no longer a couple. He said he couldn’t live with my emotional meltdowns and I ought to seek professional help. I knew that he had grown up in a home where people were terrified of showing their feelings, but even so I was in shock. I begged him to change his mind. I lost eight kilos. I nearly died, or that was how it felt. But it was no good. I had broken some unwritten rule and made a fool of myself.’ Anna half got up and cupped Søren’s face in her hands. ‘Love me for who I am, Søren,’ she pleaded with him softly. ‘I’m sorry I fly off the handle every now and again but, believe me, I really am trying to control my temper. I had no idea that it got on your nerves. Shortly after we’d started seeing each other, you said that your and Vibe’s relationship had been far too restrained. You said you welcomed a relationship with more passion.’
‘Did I really say that?’
‘Yes,’ Anna said.
‘That was probably just a ruse to snare you,’ Søren said, with a smile.
‘Well, it worked,’ Anna said, and settled down with Søren’s arm around her once more.
Shortly afterwards, Søren got up and lit the fire in the wood-burner, and Anna fetched two glasses of wine from the kitchen.
‘I’m working on this case,’ Søren said, when she came back and they had made themselves comfortable on the sofa. ‘At first we thought it was suicide, but it turned out to be murder. As part of the investigation, I’ve stumbled across a secret. This family lost a son in 1986. He died in a tragic accident in the family’s back garden, in the shed, when a metal toolbox fell from a shelf and killed him instantly. However, his two younger sisters were told that he died from meningitis. They were only two and three years old when it happened and don’t remember anything. Now, that has nothing to do with the case, at least not directly. The problem is that now I don’t know whether to tell the two sisters the truth. I have a feeling that the whole family is constructed around that secret, and I’m frightened that I might do more harm than good by telling them what I’ve discovered. It’s a nightmare.’
Anna sipped her wine. ‘I’m probably the wrong person to ask,’ she said, ‘but perhaps that’s why you’re asking me.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Because you already know my answer.’
*
They went to bed and snuggled up to each other. When Anna was asleep, Søren got up and sat down with his laptop.
Dear Marie,
Do you remember me telling you that I prefer to keep things separate? It is almost four o’clock in the morning and there is something I need to tell you. Not as a police officer, but as . . . your friend?
Your brother, Mads Skov, didn’t die of meningitis. He died on 27 June 1986 in an accident in your parents’ garden. In your father’s shed. I have read the police report and I know that a shelving unit keeled over. A toolbox hit Mads on the head and killed him instantly. The police report states that Julie witnessed the accident. I have been wondering a great deal about whether you and Lea were there, but the report doesn’t say. It was an accident, an utterly tragic and horrible accident.
Best wishes, Søren
Søren noticed that he had received an email from Klaus Mønster from the Department of Forensic Genetics. It had been sent just before six the previous evening.
We have completed the DNA sequencing of the three hairs. I can’t send you the final report, which includes the official forensic genetics statement, until Monday when everything has been double-checked, but I thought you would like to know the results now. The hairs stem from a woman who is related to Joan Skov, but they are not Joan Skov’s own. So there you are. Good luck finding the owner.
Best wishes, Klaus
Søren opened the attachment while he drummed his fingers on the table. He had been hoping to take a day off tomorrow, but it looked like he could forget about that.
*
Just after noon the following day, Søren was sitting at his desk at Bellahøj Police Station, his heart four planets and a tank lighter than the day before. He printed out the report from the Department of Forensic Genetics and entered the DNA sequence into the police’s DNA database. No match. When he had come to terms with his disappointment, he looked up Julie Claessen in the criminal records register, but there was no entry for her; neither was her DNA on file.
Next he looked up Lea Skov and here he was in luck. The entry related to a shoplifting incident in 1997. Lea and her friend had been out walking her friend’s dog on Strandvejen and had come across an already broken shop window; the girls had nicked shoes and jeans and got fifty metres down the street before the police arrived. The girls had been taken to the station where a report had been made, their fingerprints taken along with pictures and a DNA sample, which was standard police procedure for minor as well as major offences, but even so Søren got the distinct impression that the duty officer had done this mainly to give the girls a warning fright. However, it meant that Lea Skov’s DNA was registered in the police database.
Søren drummed his fingers on the table. The hairs originated from a woman who was related to Joan Skov, but he could eliminate Lea because she was in the register – they would have immediately matched her records when they ran the DNA from the strands. And it could not be Marie Skov because she was bald. At that moment his mobile rang. It was Jesper Just.
‘Oh, hello,’ Søren said, as he remembered the business card that Jesper Just had tossed into the bin. ‘What can I do for you?’
‘I couldn’t sleep last night,’ Jesper said, ‘for several reasons, but partly because your people found propofol in my mother-in-law’s blood. I’ve remembered something my brother-in-law asked me two months ago. It was about injections. He said he had noticed that doctors in TV series and in films always push a little fluid out of the syringes prior to injecting and he wanted to know why. My brother-in-law works in a hospital, but he’s not the sharpest knife in the box, so . . . Anyway, I explained to him that this practice is to prevent blood clots caused by air bubbles, and afterwards we spoke no more about it.’
‘And now you’re wondering why he wanted to know?’
‘Yes,’ Jesper said. ‘In the light of . . . Well, I don’t know. It’s dreadful even to suggest that my own brother-in-law . . .’
‘Thanks for your call,’ Søren said.
When he had ended the call, he saw a text message from Marie: Thank you was all it said.
Søren sat for a moment, then called Inge Kai, but she did not answer. Forty-five seconds later she popped her head around his door. ‘Peekaboo,’ she said.
‘I thought today was your day off,’ Søren said.
‘Funny, I thought the same thing about you,’ Inge Kai said. ‘And you would be right. But I couldn’t sleep last night so I came to work early this morning to look into Peter Bennett. He’s rich, powerful and doesn’t give a damn about anyone. I’ll die a slow, agonising death if he escapes justice.’
‘We’ll get him. We have Ébano’s electronic ticket from Bissau to Copenhagen, the reversed-charges calls, the instructions from Ibrahima N’Doye. One day we’ll be able to prove that Bennett hired Ébano to do his dirty work.’
Inge Kai shook her head. ‘I’ve checked everything, lock, stock and barrel. The ticket was paid for in cash at a travel agency in Paris, but on the same day Peter Bennett gave a lecture at a university in the US, so unless Bennett can time travel . . . Even the visa invitation, which made it possible for Ébano to enter Denmark, can’t be traced. I’ve just spoken to the head of the Centre against Human Trafficking and he was able to confirm that, on 1 March 2010, the centre did indeed receive a request from Stanford University to invite Ébano Salomon, professor in African-European human trafficking at the Universidade Colinas de Boé, to their conference, so they did. But that’s just standard practice and no one knows who at Stanford made the request.’
‘Right,’ he said. ‘Then we’ll have to rely on Ébano’s evidence when we catch him. How far can he have got? As far as Poland? The moment he tries to get into Germany, the trap will shut.’
‘He’s back in Bissau,’ Inge Kai said.
‘His plane took off yesterday at twelve fifty-five, he changed in Lisbon and caught an evening flight to Bissau at twenty-two fifteen. It’s all been confirmed.’
‘But I thought he had no money,’ Søren said.
Inge Kai looked at him under a raised eyebrow. ‘Baby brother bought and paid for his ticket online from the computer in the airport two and a half hours before the plane took off.’
Søren was speechless. ‘Tim Salomon sent his brother back to Bissau?’
‘Yes.’
‘Do you think Marie knows?’
‘I’m sure she does.’
‘They let him go?’ Søren was livid. ‘Ébano killed Storm. He tried setting fire to the house where Marie’s ex-husband and son were asleep. Jesus Christ, he stalked Marie. He sent her a noose! And they let him go?’
Inge Kai said nothing.
‘And you think that’s all right?’ Søren said indignantly.
‘I think it’s about catching and punishing the guilty,’ she replied after a pause. ‘That’s why I joined the police force. Ébano is poor. Exploited. Disenfranchised. He did the deed. But is he guilty? I really don’t know.’
‘Well, we need to get Tim back to the station,’ Søren said, slamming both palms on his desk.
‘That’s going to be a bit tricky,’ Inge Kai said.
‘Why?’
‘He flew to Lisbon at six fifteen a.m. The flight connects directly to a TAP departure to Bissau at eleven forty a.m., which is now thirty-five minutes ago. He’ll be landing in Guinea-Bissau in three and a half hours.’
‘Bollocks, that’s—’
‘But I have an idea,’ Inge Kai said.
‘Oh, good,’ Søren said. ‘And what is it?’
‘We follow the money,’ Inge Kai said.
*
Just before three o’clock that afternoon, two civilian police cars pulled up outside the Claessen family’s terraced house on Hvidsværmervej in Rødovre. Søren and Inge Kai walked up the garden path while officers Bundgaard and Larsen stayed in the second car. To Søren’s relief it looked as if the Easter lunch had been called off. Through the kitchen window he could see the two girls watching television, but the table was not set and no candles were lit. Søren rang the doorbell.
‘Yes?’ Camilla had opened the door.
‘Hello, my name is Søren Marhauge and I work for Bellahøj Police,’ Søren said. ‘This is my colleague, Inge Kai.’
For a moment the girl stared blankly at them, then turned to the stairs leading to the first floor and screamed, ‘Daaaaaaaaaaaad, it’s that police officer from yesterday,’ after which she asked politely if Søren and Inge Kai would like to come inside and if she could take their coats.
Shortly afterwards Michael came thundering down the stairs. ‘Oh, it’s you again. Now what?’
‘Actually, we wanted a word with your wife. Is she in?’
‘Yes, but she’s locked herself in the bathroom.’
‘Has your Easter lunch been cancelled?’ Søren asked.
‘Yes – I think it’s safe to say so.’
‘Why, if I may ask?’ Søren had noticed two sweaty patches under the armpits of Michael’s shirt.
‘Well, it was meant to be held at my father-in-law’s, wasn’t it? In Vangede. But it turned out he had also invited Lea, the wife’s youngest sister, and the two of them don’t get on. So we left.’
‘What was the row about?’
Michael ran a hand over his short hair. ‘I’ve got to be honest with you, I’m really shocked. Turns out my wife’s little brother . . . I guess I can tell you, can’t I? I mean, you are a police officer?’
‘Yes, absolutely. The police have a duty of confidentiality,’ Søren said.
‘Right. I did know that the wife’s little brother had died, yeah? She never stops talking about him. How sweet he was, how cute. But I always thought he died from meningitis. It was only today we found out that he died from something completely different.’ Michael leaned forwards and closed the door to the living room so that, for a moment, they stood in darkness.
‘Oh, where the hell is the switch? Here. Turns out Lea bloody went and killed him,’ Michael whispered. ‘Can you believe it?’
‘No,’ Søren said, surprised. ‘How did she kill him?’
‘She had been naughty and broken something. But she wouldn’t say sorry.’
‘But she was only two and a half!’
‘Yes, but good manners are very important to Julie so Lea knew the word “sorry”, only she refused to say it. So Julie put her doll on the top shelf in my father-in-law’s shed. The kid climbs up to get it and knocks the whole shelving unit down and the wife’s baby brother gets a toolbox on his head and dies on the spot. I’m really shaken,’ Michael said again. ‘No wonder the whole family is gaga. Normally the wife won’t shut up, but when we drove home from my father-in-law’s, I couldn’t get a word out of her. But she did say that it’s one of those, you know, family secrets. Shit, man, a two-and-a-half-year-old killer, I ask you.’
‘Do you know why it was kept secret?’
‘My mother-in-law couldn’t bear to be reminded of it. I was told she went out into the garden just after it had happened and refused to let go of the dead kid. It took two Falck emergency crew members to make her release him. It wasn’t much fun for the other kids either, and that’s why my father-in-law and Julie decided to keep it a secret. It must never come out. Julie has no idea how her sisters discovered it.’
‘Where’s the bathroom?’
‘On the top floor,’ Michael said.
Søren walked up the stairs and heard Inge Kai say, ‘Michael Claessen, the time is fifteen twelve. I’m arresting you and charging you with being an accessory to the murder of your mother-in-law, Joan Skov, on the seventeenth of March 2010. As you are now under arrest and have been charged, you do not have to speak to the police and you have the right to a solicitor.’
‘Eh?’ Michael said. ‘Are you taking the piss?’
‘No,’ Inge Kai said. ‘Come on, we’ll walk out to the car, nice and easy now, and get into it. No point in upsetting your daughters, is there? Is there someone we can call who can come over and pick them up?’
‘Well, there’s my mum,’ Søren heard Michael say.
*
The terraced house was on three floors and, on the first, Søren discovered two girls’ bedrooms with everything pink and sparkly. Through the window to the front garden he saw Inge Kai march Michael Claessen down the garden path; Bundgaard and Larsen got out of their car. Søren walked up to the top floor and stepped inside a typical IKEA bedroom with a double bed, a white bedspread and a wardrobe with sliding doors. The door to the en-suite bathroom was locked.
‘Julie Claessen,’ Søren said, as he knocked on the door, ‘I’m Søren Marhauge from Bellahøj Police.’
No response. Søren tried looking through the keyhole to catch a glimpse of Julie, but all he could see was a basket of white towels on the windowsill.
‘I want to talk to you,’ Søren said. ‘Please would you open the door?’
No reply.
A sudden impulse made him place a well-aimed kick above the lock, practically taking the door of its hinges. Julie was sitting on the closed toilet seat; her head flopped against the wall. Her breathing was shallow. Colourful pills were scattered across the floor and on the edge of the sink was a small perforated injection vial. Julie had tied a fitness band tightly around her arm and a syringe just touched the skin in the crook of her elbow; one swift movement and the needle would go in.
Søren perched carefully on the windowsill next to the towels. ‘How are you?’ he asked.
Julie snorted with derision. ‘Everything started going wrong when Marie got breast cancer,’ she said drowsily. ‘Mum got even worse. She’d cry and scream for no reason, as if she was possessed. I gave her a few more pills, but it didn’t work. And then Lea decided to stick her nose in, with all her useless suggestions about rehab and closure and all that claptrap. Mum couldn’t take it on board, and every time I had to pick up the pieces. Mum would sit in her armchair staring at the telly, which wasn’t even on. “Lea says I’m the one who is sick,” she would say. “Is that right, Julie?”
‘In the middle of it all, that idiot Herman Madsen called from Aalborg, wanting to give Lea some photograph. Mum had just spoken to him when I called in to organise her pills. She wanted to know why we had no photographs from when we were kids. We had been over this a thousand times before. Mum herself cut them up, but previously we had always told her that the photo albums had been in the shed when it burned down. So that she wouldn’t feel bad, see. She got it into her head than someone might have stolen the photographs. She started wandering around the house, tearing her hair out until I managed to calm her down and—’
‘Calm her down with what?’
‘One red, one blue and one purple.’ Julie had closed her eyes, but Søren was convinced she was still watching him. ‘Just after Mads had died, I would give her the prettiest pills, but only until she stopped screaming. If I gave her all of them, she would go all groggy and I didn’t like that.’
‘Go on,’ Søren said gently.
‘The last week before Mum died, she started losing her mind and I had to go to Snerlevej constantly. But I also had my own family to take care of. Michael likes dinner on the table at six thirty and the girls always need taking somewhere. I couldn’t supervise Mum all the time, could I? Michael complained about the number of ready meals we were eating and I also have a full-time job. The day after that business with the photograph, Michael told me about a drug they use a lot at Bispebjerg Hospital. He couldn’t remember what it was called, but he’d heard a consultant say it was a brilliant sedative because it didn’t make you too groggy. Michael had thought straight away that it might be something for Mum. Shortly afterwards he came home with a couple of vials. I walked around with the vials and the syringe in my handbag for weeks, and I kept meaning to look up the dosage. Only I never had the time. Camilla fell ill and then . . .’
‘You don’t have to justify yourself to me,’ Søren said evenly.
‘That Wednesday afternoon, Mum rang and screamed at me down the phone. At first I tried to calm her down as best I could, and when that didn’t work, I tried getting hold of Dad, but his mobile was turned off. Eventually I jumped into the car and went to Snerlevej where I found her on the living-room carpet. She was rocking herself back and forth saying, “Your dad’s a liar. Liar, liar, liar,” in a deep, throaty voice. I don’t know how I managed to get her to her bedroom, but I did. When she was in bed, she refused to swallow her pills and lashed out at me. “Lea says you’re poisoning me,” she yelled. “That you’ve always been poisoning me.” Every time I managed to get a pill into her mouth, she spat it out. In the end I had to force her to swallow them. She tore out some of my hair. Finally the pills started working and she settled down a little. She said she just wanted to sleep, and it was then that I remembered Michael’s medicine. “This will make you really relax,” I promised her, “and you won’t be groggy at all.”’
Julie’s eyes filled with tears.
‘When I found Mum dead the next day, I knew it was my fault. But then again, I never did become a proper nurse. I’m no good at anything.’
‘Does Michael know?’
Julie looked straight at Søren. ‘He hasn’t mentioned the drug since he gave it to me,’ she said. ‘But a couple of days after Mum’s death, he said, “Nice to have a bit of peace and quiet at last, innit?”’
Julie stared vacantly into space.
‘Give me the syringe,’ Søren said.
Suddenly Julie straightened up, still keeping the syringe pressed against her skin. Her eyes flashed. ‘You sit there, all holy. But I know exactly what you did, and at least I only killed my mum, not both my parents.’
‘I have no idea what you’re talking about,’ Søren said.
‘Oh yes you do. Your grandmother told Mum and a couple of the other women from the street the whole story at a garden party, and I heard everything because I was lying in a tent in the garden. They were all pally, as if they suddenly wanted to be friends with Mum, but it was to trick Mum into sharing her secrets. The women in that street were all gossips and your grandmother was the worst.’
‘You must be mistaken,’ Søren said calmly. ‘My grandmother was a decent woman.’
‘Ha! You didn’t even know you killed your parents, did you?’ Julie said.
‘Of course I didn’t kill them,’ Søren said. He began to ache all over.
‘Oh yes you did. You and your parents had spent a week in a cottage and your father had driven around with you on the country lanes without making you wear your seatbelt. When it was time to go back to Copenhagen, you had to wear your seatbelt again. You refused and your father told you off. You then climbed onto the passenger seat where your mother was sitting. But your mother was heavily pregnant so there was no room for you. Your father got even angrier and ordered you to get back to your own seat and put on your seatbelt and – bang. He had overlooked a give-way sign near the main road and been torpedoed by a lorry. You were trapped in the car for over an hour before the emergency crew cut you free. Your father survived long enough to tell them what had happened. Then he died.
‘Your granny was wringing her hands, saying they should have told you the truth, but now it was too late. And that was when Mum told your granny all about how Mads really died. Ha! I can tell from the look on your face that you didn’t know a thing. I almost feel like gloating!’ Julie grinned.
Suddenly Søren spotted Marie standing in the doorway, outside Julie’s field of vision.
‘What do you get for murder?’ Julie wanted to know. ‘Twelve years? After all, I’m not a child who can get away with it. Not everyone is as lucky as you and Lea.’ Julie pressed the needle harder so it was no longer resting on the skin, but had perforated the vein.
Søren slowly got up.
‘Mads’s death was a tragedy,’ he said. ‘The system should have taken care of you. It wasn’t fair to let a little girl try to fix the broken pieces. You’ll be acquitted.’
‘You’re lying, double murderer,’ Julie said furiously.
Søren took a step towards Julie.
‘One more step and you’ll be a triple killer,’ Julie hissed, clutching the syringe.
‘There’s nowhere near enough propofol in that syringe to kill you. Your mother was severely underweight and heavily medicated. At most, you’ll pass out.’
Søren took another small step. ‘What was going through your mind when you injected your mother? You wanted to calm her down? In Denmark, you’ll be punished according to your intent, and you didn’t intend to kill her, did you?’
‘Yeah, right,’ Julie said. ‘I’ve spent the last twenty-seven years of my life protecting my mother, only to kill her in the end. What do you think?’
‘I think it was an accident and that’s why you won’t be punished.’ He took another step towards Julie. He could tell from her gaze that she was listening.
‘You will be charged with manslaughter, according to Section 241 of the Penal Code. But you’ll be acquitted. I promise you.’
Julie wavered and Søren seized his opportunity.
He grabbed Julie’s wrists. She tried kicking out at him, but he pinned her down.
‘Marie,’ he called.
Marie was in the bathroom and at her sister’s side in three strides.
‘Hello, Marie,’ Julie said, and suddenly sounded completely normal.
Very carefully Marie removed the syringe from Julie’s arm and pressed her finger against the needle mark. It was not until then that Søren let go of Julie, picked up the syringe and left the room.
‘Oh, Julie,’ he heard Marie say. ‘Darling, darling Julie.’
‘Why do you say it like that?’ Julie said. ‘You sound so worried. You don’t have to worry about me, you know that.’
Søren found Inge Kai outside the house and handed her the syringe. ‘For analysis,’ he said.
‘Are you OK, Søren?’ she asked. ‘You’ve gone all white.’
‘I just need to . . .’ His legs gave way.
Inge Kai caught him as he fell and supported him to the threshold where he sat down.
‘Are you ill?’ she asked, frightened.
‘No,’ Søren said. ‘I just need . . . some air.’