Tuesday, December 1, 2020
“There was a copy of the case in the archive, Carl.” Rose threw it on the desk in front of him. “Gordon and I read it this morning. It says that you were the first to arrive at the scene?”
“Yes, apparently.” He nodded and pointed at Marcus’s copy. “This report has been gathering dust in Marcus’s various offices for all these years. You probably know what that means?”
“Yes, he hasn’t been able to let it go,” answered Gordon unnecessarily. “And now he wants us to take it off his shoulders.”
Carl gave him a thumbs-up. “Spot on. And that’s why we’re taking over, putting everything else to one side, and solving it. And there you have it.”
“Put everything else to one side? Isn’t that a bit drastic, Carl?” mumbled Rose. “Don’t you think we’ve got our hands full as it is just now?”
Carl shrugged slightly. She might be right but it was the chief of homicide who called the shots, and the case had also struck a surprisingly sensitive chord in Carl. So many years later, and it was still immensely painful to think about the little boy and his mother, who had lost what she held dearest. He could not shut his eyes and think about the terrible accident for very long before he felt her shivering as vividly as if it were yesterday. Was it because he was now a father himself?
“I suppose you’ve seen what Marcus has highlighted at the bottom of the fire incident report, so no need to explain the priority of this aspect of the case. And not only for Marcus’s sake, but just as much for us and Department Q.”
“You mean the kitchen salt?” asked Gordon.
Carl nodded. “Rose, you’ve been here in Department Q since 2008, so it must ring a bell, doesn’t it?”
“The kitchen salt?” She shook her head.
“Well, look into it, because I know for sure there was a case some years back that was shelved that had something to do with salt. Marcus also remembers it. But, as I said, it must have been ages ago because we can’t quite remember when. Give the older cases a look, starting with those from 2000 to 2005, and you might hit on something.”
“Something about salt?” She didn’t look happy.
“Yes.”
“Wow, what an amazing task to be given. Thanks a lot, Carl. And now that I think about it, there’s actually a huge pile of salt in my cousin’s yard. Are you going to arrest him now?”
Carl raised his eyebrows. If she was in that mood, he would just have to put his foot down.
“Thanks for the sarcasm. Just think about what Marcus has done for you, Rose. He’s got you back on the job in more or less the same shape you were five years ago—back in the field and everything that goes with it. So don’t you think Marcus deserves that you do everything within your power to take this case off his mind?”
She sighed. “You were easier when you were a bitter old asshole instead of a sanctimonious bitter old asshole. But, yes, if you want to torment me by making me review old cases while Assad solves the ones on our desks, I’ll oblige.”
She turned on her heel before he could retort. Bloody annoying.
He turned to Gordon, who looked like he expected to take the fall for her.
“And you, Gordon,” he said with an emphasis that made the guy jump, “you’ll help me.”
Gordon relaxed his shoulders.
“You need to find the widow of the guy who owned the auto-repair shop. And then you need to locate the old woman who attended the funeral the other day—Maja Petersen’s cousin. And when you’ve done that, you’ll bring them both to me. Pronto!”
Carl’s new office on the first floor was identical to all the others, with standardized, wipeable furniture. He opened the window, placed Marcus’s report on the windowsill, and started from the beginning. It took him almost a quarter packet of smokes to read it because it was unusually meticulous, just like all the reports Marcus Jacobsen had written during his time as criminal superintendent. Still, he seemed to have taken even more care with this one, probably because he had nearly been a firsthand witness and because he had never forgotten the despair of the young mother.
On the first page, Marcus had already expressed his dissatisfaction with the then chief of homicide stopping his investigation and having the case recorded as an accident.
The many pages that followed were excerpts of Marcus’s interviews with witnesses, but objectively, there was not much meat to any of them—if any at all.
What did you see? and What do you know? Marcus always asked the people he interviewed. And for this case: Do you know about anything that might have led to this violent explosion? No one gave him any leads. The young woman who had lost her child explained why she had gone to the repair shop. It was something to do with a rear shaft on her Citroën Dyane that needed changing because it was corroded. And every time she came to the point where she had to tell him about the moment of the explosion, when the stroller with her three-year-old son was ripped out of her hands, she broke down.
This was followed by some explanations from the widows of the deceased mechanics, and all in all, there was nothing to indicate that they had been anything other than an industrious and skillful young shop. They often worked overtime, but the wages were always paid on time, and it was not a bad wage—on the contrary, said one of the wives.
Carl underlined that fact in particular.
“It wasn’t difficult to locate the widows, Carl. The one who was married to the owner of the repair shop has remarried and changed her last name, but, thankfully, she’s still at the same address.”
“When will she be here, Gordon?”
“She’s here already. She’s waiting in Rose’s office.”
Carl gave him an approving nod. He would soon have to admit that the youngest member of their department was no longer completely wet behind the ears.
“And the cousin who placed the obituary in the newspaper will be here within the hour. She was a bit nervous and confused about why you want to talk to her, but I told her that you normally don’t bite.” He grinned.
Normally don’t bite? thought Carl. He smiled halfheartedly. Perhaps Gordon was still damp behind the ears after all.
“Send her in.”
Carl closed the file so the widow would not see the unsettling photos of the bodies at the scene.
He had no idea what she had looked like thirty years ago, but for a sixty-something-year-old woman she was unusually youthful. Not much of her face could have been created by God, he thought when she removed her face mask. She did actually try to smile, but it never quite materialized.
He struggled through the usual questions for the first few minutes, but then he thought, Nothing ventured, nothing gained. So he asked a question that did not appear on the report. A shot in the dark.
“Your husband handled a lot of money during that time, but how did you experience it?”
She brushed her hair back behind one ear while a single wrinkle on her forehead tried to make an appearance. “But we did pay all our bills on time, if that’s what you mean?”
“No, I’m thinking about all the perks. Car, dishwasher, new clothes, all that kind of stuff.”
She looked relieved at the offer of concrete options.
“Well, Ove did buy the holiday home. It’s the one I still have in Tisvilde.”
Carl whistled. “That must have been the optimal time to buy a holiday home in Tisvilde. You can’t get your hands on them for love nor money now.”
She held her head high.
“How much did you pay for it? Do you remember? You bought it with cash, right?” he prompted.
She nodded, looking thoughtful. She was an easy one to lead down the path.
“Just over a hundred thousand, I think.” She nodded as if to confirm the statement.
“So the repair shop was doing well?”
She nodded. “Ove worked a lot. They all did.”
The rest of the interview lasted twenty minutes, and it would probably be the last with her.
“I think they were busier than most repair shops,” he said to Rose when the widow had left.
She was not listening. “Do you realize what you’ve asked me to do, Carl?” Rose had many expressions, and the one she was wearing right now was not to his liking. And she was talking about grumpy assholes?
“The cases from 2000 to 2005 haven’t been digitized yet, so I’m leafing through report after report. Don’t think that you can get out of paying me overtime if you want me to do this quickly.”
“Just let me know how many hours you spend and continue with your exquisite work.”
Did she stick her tongue out at him?