Tuesday, December 22, 2020
“Sorry, Carl, but I have to ask you one more time. Did you have anything to do with that suitcase that you need to tell me about?”
This sort of insistent questioning normally had no effect on Carl. It was like water off a duck’s back. But with Mona it was different, and it hurt. He had actually been racking his own brain all night with similar questions, but his hazy memory didn’t exactly offer new insight to events lost in the mists of time.
“Seriously, Mona? It was so many years ago, and you know full well how it’s been for me since Hardy, Anker, and I were shot. There are gaps in my memory, and, no matter how hard I try, I just have no idea how that suitcase ended up with all that shit in it. Hardy and I did have our suspicions that Anker had his own moral compass, and it wasn’t uncommon for us to have to stop him doing something or other: when the blows to someone we had detained for questioning were getting too rough, or when he lied to the chief of homicide, like when his reports were rose-tinted fairy tales. But that he was the sort of hardened criminal the suitcase implies—I could never have imagined that.”
Her expression did not convey the relief he had hoped for.
When Mona had left to bicycle with Lucia to nursery, Rose called. She sounded elated.
“The victim we’ve been looking for is a man by the name of Maurits van Bierbek. No doubt about it. Everything adds up, even the day he went ‘missing.’ ”
Carl knew from the way Rose said ‘missing’ that she was undoubtedly making air quotes with her fingers when she spoke.
“And also the way he went ‘missing.’ Yeah, everything actually. We’ve struck gold. So here’s the plan: Assad and I are driving to pick you up and then we’ll head off. We have an appointment with van Bierbek’s wife in twenty-five minutes.”
Rose hung up before he had the chance to come up with any objections.
As the three of them drove to the van Bierbek family house, Rose jabbered away nonstop. It was as if it was already Christmas and the call from van Bierbek’s wife had been the best present she could have received in this otherwise unforgiving year.
“They hadn’t seen any regular TV in ages, Carl,” explained Assad. “It was the daughter and her friend’s mother who put two and two together; van Bierbek’s wife seems pretty shaken by it all.”
And that was exactly what she was.
The sense of shock was discernible from a distance, almost as if a fog of desperation hung over the grandiose, Greek-inspired architectural mishmash of a mansion in the most exclusive area of the suburbs.
The woman recognized Carl immediately and almost ran up to him with outstretched arms, as if wanting to cling tightly to someone who might take away her pain. Carl quickly maneuvered to the side to remind her that the corona restrictions were not something that only applied on TV.
“Start from the beginning again,” said Carl when she had sat them in front of a window with a vista out toward a parklike garden that would impress anyone from the city center.
It was difficult to obtain a completely intelligible account from the confused woman, so it was fortunate that she was backed up by a teenage girl who did not have the same need to twist every question beyond recognition before she could offer a straight answer.
“A limousine arrived to pick him up on December twelfth. I remember the date so well because it was exactly halfway to this shitty Christmas.” The girl looked at them with a seriousness that her mother was in no state to match. “The car was black, and you can see it on the video surveillance. In fact, you can see it driving down the hill. I’ve saved the file on this memory stick.”
She handed it to Rose, and Carl considered adopting the girl on the spot.
“I’ve also saved all the emails that Mom and Dad have written to each other.”
“Have you copied them too, Laura?” said the mother, looking very vexed.
The girl shrugged. That was all she thought about that question.
“You shouldn’t just leave your passwords lying around everywhere.”
“Why did your dad leave?” asked Rose.
“He’d been talking with someone from an organization in the U.S. that wanted to take over his company. We thought he’d flown to the U.S. to negotiate with them.”
“I understand. But the thing is, Laura, your dad never left the country. We’ve checked. Do you know who he was going to meet that day?”
“Are you saying he’s been in Denmark all this time?” She looked down at the floor as she took in this latest information. “But, no, I don’t know. I think it was someone from this company.” She handed Rose a note.
“Global Rea Inc., Wisconsin, U.S.A.,” Rose read aloud. “Isn’t that the huge company that produces reality shows for the global market?”
“Yes. But my dad’s company is pretty big too. He’s developed reality TV for almost every country in Europe, as well as Asia, Australia, South America, and . . .” She hesitated for a moment when she saw Carl, Assad, and Rose exchanging glances.
This must be our guy, thought Carl. The man produced trash TV and fit the description of someone whom the killer would like to wipe from the face of the earth.
“What’s your husband’s company called?” Carl asked the wife, who was staring blankly into thin air.
“Unbelievable Corporation. They’ve developed Paradise or Hell, Reality Prison, and lots of other shows,” she said with something resembling pride. However, Carl presumed it was rather a sign of her elementary awareness of the massive profit that she treasured more than anything else.
“Yes, and Cougars and Youngsters, which my mom was in if you’d like to see her without her clothes on,” interrupted Laura. She looked at her mom reproachfully.
“Your attorney, Claes Erfurt, is here,” interrupted a tiny Filipino woman. “Can I show him in?”
But the man was already rushing over to greet the lady of the house.
“Victoria, what is all this? It’s terrible.”
Their embrace lasted a few suspicious seconds too long, and Laura rolled her eyes.
“Yes, I’m sorry, but I need to have Claes with me. I need to know what my legal position is just now,” said the wife, as if her husband were already dead and buried and that it was far from the worst thing that could have happened.
If this woman doesn’t stop, I’m going to have to call Mona and say I’m bringing her daughter home with me, thought Carl.
They did not get much more from the meeting. The attorney was holding the wife’s hand, patting it every ten seconds. Maybe his instinctive calculator was already settling the estate. There was no way they would be able to elicit from Victoria’s muddled brain who had picked up Maurits van Bierbek and whom he was going to meet.
“Do you have somewhere we could sit and deliberate?” asked Assad. “We’d like to set up base here, if you don’t mind. The atmosphere at police headquarters is a bit strained at the moment, if you know what I mean. And it’s very important that we’re close by if you manage to get in contact with the kidnappers, Victoria. Unfortunately, we don’t have much time.”
Laura was the only one who looked happy at the suggestion.
“My dad’s office is huge, and no one else goes in there when he’s not at home. I can show you where it is. They can stay there as long as they want, can’t they, Mom?” She turned on her heel without waiting for a reply.
“Brilliant thinking, Assad,” said Carl as he sat down amid an array of photocopying machines, computers, and flashing lights from routers that could undoubtedly carry loads of terabytes in and out of the room.
“Now Marcus can’t monitor where you are or what you’re up to. And we can just leave Gordon at the office in case something comes up. We can get him to send images of our whiteboard and whatever else we need, and we can print them out on that.” Assad pointed at a wondrous machine that probably printed formats as large as A2. If the investigation unit wanted equipment like that, the minister of justice would have to relinquish at least two annual salaries.
Rose looked away from the TV playing in the background. “It’s unbelievable! Maurits van Bierbek’s company only produced shit TV with the sole purpose of challenging the boundaries of the contestants and the audience. A lot of what he produced bordered on pornographic. And strangely enough, he managed to get TV channels and streaming services across the world to throw their usual morals to the wind and purchase his concepts. I can see on Google that one of them, Did She Really Say That?, has been sold to more than fifty countries. And many of them have adapted the concept to local culture and language.” Rose shook her head.
Carl was pleased that he had never jumped on that bandwagon, even though it would have proved beneficial in their current situation.
“Have you seen any of his shows, Assad?” asked Carl, pushing the list over to him.
Assad scrutinized the titles so thoroughly that it would be easy to think he was picturing the shows in his mind.
“No, my satellite dish doesn’t pick up any of these,” he said dryly.
“What about you, Rose?”
“I’ve checked out a couple of them. But there’s nothing there really for anyone with even the most basic education. It’s nothing but trash. But I do know that several of them are so immensely popular that the more traditional reality programs on the satellite channels have been left in the dust.”
“Which means?” asked Assad.
“That they can run for ages as long as there are still enough people who are a few beers short of a six-pack.”
Assad looked no less confused.
“I have van Bierbek’s company accounts here,” said Carl. “His net worth has more zeros in it than I can count. If he really had found a buyer for his company, he would’ve become one of the richest people in Scandinavia. Which one of you is going to call the company in the U.S. that allegedly wanted to negotiate a takeover?”
“I’ll ask Gordon to do it while Assad and I read through the email correspondence between Maurits and his wife. Sound good? And you can look at the surveillance video while we get on with that, Carl.”
There was a discreet knock on the door, and Claes Erfurt edged into the room. He was a heavyset man in a far-too-tight marine-blue suit. He finally offered his hand to introduce himself properly and flashed a row of shockingly bleached teeth that could put some of the contestants on van Bierbek’s reality shows to shame.
“Sorry for the intrusion,” said the attorney insincerely. “Just a small point about you setting up shop here in Victoria’s home. Shouldn’t you have brought a warrant if you’re going to be rummaging through Maurits van Bierbek’s private affairs?” He did not wait for a reply. “I think you should have, so it would be best if you pack up your stuff and leave. Can we agree on that?”
Assad stood up and stared at him. “Listen up, stud. Can’t you wait for a roll in the hay with the wife until the man has been killed? We’re actually trying to save him here so you won’t have to stretch your trouser pockets to make room for all the millions you’re counting on stuffing them with. But maybe you don’t want to keep your trousers on? So if you’d be so kind as to tell us what you hope to get out of all this, and if you don’t you can—”
Assad stopped when he saw Carl’s contorted face.
“What my colleague is trying to say is that you have the chance to give your career a hell of a boost by pretending to fight for your client’s life,” said Carl. “So I have a suggestion you can’t possibly turn down, and then you can leave us alone. As my colleague pointed out to Victoria earlier, we don’t have much time.”
“Are you sure that was wise, Carl?” asked Rose when the attorney had plodded out the door. “You’re going to let him announce to the public that Maurits van Bierbek is the person you said you were looking for on national TV and that we have a strong suspicion that the poor guy will be killed on Boxing Day?”
“Wait and see. As long as there’s no mention of Department Q, Marcus can allow himself to believe that the information comes from somewhere else and cover his back. The benefit is that the entire country will be mobilized as soon as the attorney mentions that the family is offering a ten million kroner reward for information leading to the whereabouts of Maurits van Bierbek. And his safe return, that is. Don’t you think every Dane will go out of their way to land the reward, especially now during corona, when Christmas is also canceled and they have nothing else to do?”
“Ten million! Marcus is going to have puppies,” Assad said hesitantly.
“Have kittens, Assad. But close enough.” Carl smiled. Was Assad pulling their leg again? “I agree that it’s not normal procedure and that it’s an insane amount of money, but Marcus is clever enough to keep quiet as long as our names are not mentioned. We’ll be able to get on in peace while the rest of the country plays detective.”
“What if the killer throws their principles out of the window and kills Maurits earlier?” asked Rose.
“Are we still talking about Sisle Park as the potential perpetrator?”
The others nodded.
“That woman won’t compromise on anything regarding her mission. I’m damn sure of it. But obviously she’ll realize that we’re starting to breathe down her neck. So from the moment the attorney makes his announcement, we’ll have to put Sisle Park under surveillance. From now until Boxing Day, we need to stick to her like glue, okay? You’ll have to divide the shifts among you as best you can. You have a family, Assad, so you take the day shifts between eight a.m. and four p.m. Rose, you take the evening shift between four p.m. and midnight, and Gordon can take the night shift between midnight and eight a.m.”
“I think it’s better if I swap with Gordon,” said Rose. “If he takes the first shift this evening instead, Assad and I can get on with reading the emails between Victoria and Maurits. I’ve already arranged with Gordon for him to leave his car parked by Sisle’s with the key on the front tire, which means we’ll be able to follow her if she leaves the house in her car. He’ll just have to go back and forth to Sisle’s house in a taxi like the rest of us. He doesn’t mind as long as he doesn’t have to pay the fare himself.”
This was their good old Rose. Not only had she arranged the transport, but she even volunteered to take the night shift. Nothing fazed that woman.
Carl had hoped that Laura van Bierbek had only copied the clip in which her father was picked up, but he had now been staring for half an hour at a grainy recording of a street where nothing had happened except a dog walker passing by who had forgotten the poop bags at home.
“Come on, little car,” he said over and over. Maybe they should have asked for a print of van Bierbek’s phone calls first. At least then they would have known the approximate time he had been picked up by the fake consultant from Global Rea Inc. But how were they supposed to get hold of a phone record quickly? His experience told him that it could be a very long time before they received it. So his main concern right now was to stay focused and not close his eyes from sheer boredom.
He glanced for a moment at the imposing windows facing a different part of the parklike garden. It would get dark soon, and the workday would have been over under normal circumstances.
Normal circumstances! Carl mulled over the words. Would anything ever be normal again?
Carl pricked his ears. He could hear from the floor below that the seriousness of the situation was finally sinking in for Maurits van Bierbek’s wife, who alternated between wailing and ranting about how terrible the whole thing was.
Maybe it was the monotony of the woman’s drawling voice that had made him nod off, but he gave a start when his phone rang and brought him back to reality.
“Listen to me, Carl,” said Mona in a hushed voice. “The police have just been here with a warrant for your arrest. They asked if I knew where you and your colleagues are. They gave me strict instructions to let them know if I hear from you. I’m sure they’re tapping both our phones, so turn yours off and get rid of it so they can’t trace your whereabouts. I also want to let you know that I don’t doubt your innocence for one second.”
He was just about to say something, but she interjected before he could speak. “I know exactly what this case means to you, Carl. I know you. You’re innocent, so just stay out of sight until you’ve found the poor man waiting to die. And tell Assad, Gordon, and Rose to look after you and also turn off their phones. Goodbye, darling. See you on the other side of this hell. Kisses from me and Lucia.”
There was a beeping sound and she was gone.
Carl breathed deeply. Yes, he had expected his busybody colleagues to come for him at some point, but not this quickly. Carl nodded to himself. The reality he found himself in would get anyone down, but at least he had Mona’s unwavering support. That and her heads-up was exactly what he needed.
He focused on the other end of the large room, where Rose and Assad were working their way through the many emails to find even the smallest lead. But no matter how tirelessly they worked, they knew just as well as he did that they would not succeed. Why would the people behind the kidnapping have dropped their guard when writing?
“Hey, you two. I’ve got to tell you what Mona just said to me.” And within seconds they had turned off their phones.
“I’m sorry I’ve landed you in the soup. But the situation is such that unless you decide to stand down here and now and cease any further contact with me, you won’t be able to go home until this is over. It’ll probably be worse for you, Assad, with Marwa and the kids at home. So what do you think?”
The dilemma left Assad momentarily dumbfounded. He did not look happy. Then he turned to Carl.
“Well, the thing is, I’m just a bit embarrassed, Carl. I really don’t know why you’re suddenly talking about soup.”
There was a brief silence, and then he stood up and cracked a smile. Then he gave Carl a big squeeze and whispered into his ear that of course he would not let him or the investigation down. Carl had to use all his effort not to break down in tears.
“I’m staying too, Carl,” said Rose. “We’re with you all the way. But we’ll have to pressure the van Bierbek family into letting us stay here.”
Carl tried to muster a thank-you, but the lump in his throat stopped the words from coming out.
“By the way, Rose spoke to Gordon while you were taking a kitten nap,” said Assad.
“Yes, and he said that no one in Global Rea Inc. management recalls having been in contact with Maurits van Bierbek about buying Unbelievable Corporation. On the contrary, they said that after van Bierbek promoted his latest idea—something along the lines of Who Dies First?—it was probably the last merger in the world they would embark on.”
“Okay. That does sound like a bad title. Never mind, at least we can rule that out,” said Carl. “Just like we expected, the whole merger story was a setup from the beginning. Oh, and did anyone remember to tell Gordon to turn his phone off?”
“Yes. He’s using another one with a prepaid card. I’ve got the number here,” answered Rose.
Carl breathed a sigh of relief. “Has he left yet to shadow Sisle Park?”
“Yeah, he left the office twenty minutes ago, and he knows that he might be tailed by the police. He said he’d do everything he could to shake them.”
Carl realized that he must have been napping for at least half an hour. He sighed and turned to the screen where the video surveillance recording still only showed the street in front of the van Bierbeks’ house in gray and white.
He looked at his watch and considered watching the file from the beginning—and then it happened. A black, gleaming Lexus slowly glided up in front of the entrance to van Bierbek’s house. Unfortunately, due to the position of the surveillance camera, it was not possible to see the driver’s seat or who was behind the wheel—and there did not appear to be anyone else in the car. Carl noted the time in the corner of the screen. It was exactly ten. Then the recording showed Maurits van Bierbek from behind walking down the steps from the main door with a folder under his arm and getting in the car.
Carl now paused the recording second by second.
“Please give me a clear shot of the license plate,” he whispered as the limousine moved forward in small jumps.
Now it turned out toward the middle of the road so that the rear lights came into sight. Carl paused the recording and stared at the license plate: FB 5 followed by four indecipherable numbers.
“Come over here for a minute, you two!” he shouted. “We have the license plate.”
Rose nodded when she saw the black Lexus and license plate. She would be able to trace the owner in no time.
Carl leaned back and stretched his arms above his head with the word “success” in his mind. He sat there relishing the only real progress they had made that day. Until Rose returned.
“I’m sorry, Carl. The car was only rented out for a few hours and paid for with a fake credit card under a false name from a Spanish bank. The rental company didn’t suspect the woman because the passport she used as ID seemed legit. It was only the following day that they realized they’d been conned. But they were happy that at least the car hadn’t ended up in Poland or some other faraway place. The only thing they could remember about the woman who rented the car was that she was in her midforties, but otherwise quite plain.”
Carl lowered his arms. “Not exactly a description of our Sisle Park, is it?”
They shook their heads simultaneously.
“Okay, there’s not much else we can do other than wait for the attorney’s statement on the news, unless Gordon has something for us. I’ll call him in an hour. But in the meantime, let me know if you come across anything interesting in the emails Maurits and his wife sent to each other.”
“Nothing whatsoever so far,” said Assad. “But it seems like the wife is extremely gullible. She buys every silly excuse for why they can’t call each other.”
“She didn’t give a shit,” added Rose. “Actually, she asks her husband at least ten times how much he reckons the takeover will bring in. And when he finally replies that it’ll probably be around three hundred million dollars, she stops asking about it. She probably ran around the dining table screaming for joy with her arms in the air.”
Carl grunted. “Okay, but what next? Can you convince Victoria to put us up for a couple of days? Try to win her over by telling her that we’ll get her on prime time TV when things have calmed down a bit. And tell her while her kids are listening that we’ll do everything we can to get her husband back.”
Rose looked skeptical. “I wouldn’t make too much of the latter, Carl. Anyway, don’t you think you should focus on your own situation? Have you spoken to Hardy yet? You could use van Bierbek’s landline.” She pointed at a monstrosity that not only looked like it was gilded—it actually was.
Carl nodded. Calling Hardy was the next logical step in that toxic case.