An Old Debt

by Doriana Cantoni

  "Are you afraid Holst might have lied to us?"

  "It seems very strange to me that Else Mertens could invent that she saw it, just because she's neurotic. In my opinion, it would imply a very different goal. It would only make sense if she were the real culprit in the murder and wanted to divert us."

  "So let's go," Janssen said, offering Lene his arm, and she leaned against him, trying not to notice the smile that had just appeared on Søren's face.

  The first three families living in the neighborhood confirmed that they had spoken to Officer Holst that morning and told him that they had not seen any pick-ups, but the fourth one interviewed gave a completely different answer.

  "Yes, I'm sure. I told your colleague, too. I noticed that van when I was coming back from work, just after one o'clock yesterday," the woman repeated with a firm voice. "I wondered who it belonged to because we all know each other here."

  "Do you remember any details that might help identify it?" asked Poulsen.

  "I'm sorry, I only saw it for a second, then I walked into the house and started making lunch. I looked out again a few hours later, and it was gone."

  Lene said, "You've been a great help to us anyway," and after a few moments they left to return to the precinct.

  "We must inform the inspector of what we've just discovered. I'm afraid it's no longer possible to just keep an eye on those two rotten apples," Janssen said, quickly setting the car in motion.

  CHAPTER 11

  It was almost evening in Bishop Madsen's residence in Copenhagen, and he was finally alone in his private studio where only old friends entered. Despite the help of his trusted secretary Sebastian Bech, who had tried to filter the guests, the old prelate was exhausted by the comings and goings of people, members of the clergy and journalists, in his home. All this was caused by the death of Pastor Knudsen in Torslunde, a small town about thirty kilometers from the capital as one of those who were present had pointed out.

  The bishop had to grant several interviews and had also been briefly filmed by the first channel. He had tried to reassure both the other pastors and the population, explaining that this was an isolated case of violence and that the church was not in any danger.

  A few days before the funeral of Frederick IX, the old king who had suddenly died after an illness that at first seemed a trivial influence, his only concern was to prepare the speech he would give in the chapel of the palace of Christiansborg, where the body had been placed on the castrum doloris to allow all the people to give him the last tribute.

  Now the death of an obscure member of the local church, whom he had never heard of, posed problems with the press eager for news that they could exploit at will, especially when it came to fishing in the murky, stimulating the curiosity of the most naive souls.

  "I have finished with the interviews. If tomorrow any other reporter comes, you will say that I am out of the office, obviously stay vague about the place because they might want to check," he said to Sebastian who was still putting back in place the chairs in the large living room where the bishop usually received.

  "Of course, Pastor, they won't bother you anymore," the secretary replied as he entered the studio indicating that he had put the mail on his desk as usual.

  Bech was thirty years old, and that was his first important job, but since he arrived a year before his work had always been excellent.

  "Am I wrong, or did someone try to get into this room?" said the pastor again, beginning to check the letters.

  Madsen was very habitual and usually did so in the morning, but that day with all those visitors around the house he had to postpone.

  "You're right," replied Sebastian. "Just as you were giving the interview to the first channel reporter, one of the journalists from the press asked to use the bathroom, but he didn't really understand my directions. I noticed it immediately, anyway the room was still locked as usual when you' re not here."

  "It's still quite annoying," replied Madsen whose attention had just been captured by a large envelope above the other letters that had arrived. "Who brought this?" he asked the secretary.

  Bech looked at the envelope carefully and then said with certainty, "It was our usual postman. He had it with the other mail, but for that I had to sign."

  "It comes precisely from Torslunde, a truly strange coincidence," the bishop replied cautiously, instinctively tightening the heavy crucifix he wore around his neck. Then he added, after having put on his reading glasses and having read the sender twice, so as not to make a mistake, "Pastor Knudsen sent it to me."

  Immediately after, he opened it with the silver letter opener that he kept in plain sight on his desk next to a group of small pewter soldiers that he had bought over the years, and then he began to read. About ten minutes later, he looked up again and said in a serious voice to his secretary, "Call me the Prime Minister, you'll find his private number in my personal agenda, he should read these papers as soon as possible."

  In the meantime, in the town of Torslunde, Inspector Petersen was not yet aware of Knudsen's letter or its contents, but he had just been informed by Janssen with great discretion that Holst had lied to him about the black pick-up. Now they knew that it had been seen by another witness, besides Else Mertens.

  In addition, another strange incongruity had emerged. In the sergeant's office finally opened by the blacksmith Lars had not found any report referring to the alleged cousin of the drug dealer that the local cops had arrested a few weeks earlier on the highway.

  Toft, questioned about it, refused to reveal the name, claiming that the stakeouts were run solely by Sergeant Lassen and that he did not know exactly who the man was.

  "It seems to me you told us this morning that he was a known felon," Petersen challenged him.

  The boy had a jerky motion. He was sitting in the chair in front of the inspector, as if he was engaging in some kind of interview in the suspect's part, and he didn't like it at all.

  "The sergeant told it to me. He seemed sure, and I didn't ask him any questions, it's not my job," he said, crossing his arms.

  It was clear from his attitude that he had no intention of cooperating with them.

  "Can you show us your left wrist on the inside?" Lars asked him.

  Toft got up and immediately pulled down the sleeve of the sweater, so as not to show any flap of skin. He had expected any questions but not that, even if he looked at Petersen pretending he didn't understand.

  "We know you tattooed a swastika right there, there's no point in trying to hide it," Poulsen told him. She was sitting next to the inspector, while Janssen kept an eye on Holst. He was ready to land him, in case he tried to escape.

  "Anyway, it’s not your business," Toft said in the end with a look full of hatred.

  "Do you think we're stupid? We know that you are part of a group of extreme right-wing fanatics, along with Jonas Krogh, his three sons, and who knows how many others in this little town. Your career is now compromised, but do you really want to go to jail on charges of obstructing the investigation? Some of you good people have killed the pastor. If you don't talk, you'll pay for the others as well," Petersen said, trying to convince him.

  "I know nothing about the pastor’s death, and you can't arrest me for my political faith. I'm free to have my own beliefs," the boy repeated, still convinced that he could get away with it.

  "You still don't understand that your boss has run away. Do you really think he went to his brother's bedside? I'll tell you what happened. Lassen isn't a fool, he realized the gravity of the situation and left you behind, that’s all."

  "He would never do that, he's someone I'd put my hand on the fire for, and then I already told you that we have nothing to do with Knudsen's death."

  "Are you really sure about this? In that case, tell me where your sergeant was while you and your colleague Holst discovered Knudsen's body. The stakeout you told me about is just a big lie. It's clear that you're covering for him, and that alone is enough for me to keep you
in custody. Simply put, you will spend the night in a cell here in the precinct, waiting to be transferred tomorrow morning to Copenhagen. A judge will decide whether there are enough elements to indict you."

  "You're bluffing," Toft said, a little less comfortable this time.

  "Really? Why don't you ask your distinguished colleague here if it's not the right procedure, since you don't trust us at all?"

  The boy looked towards Holst who still wasn’t aware that he had been uncovered. The cop said, "I'm sorry, Ole, but unfortunately the inspector is right. I suggest you shut up, until you're defended by a lawyer."

  "You don’t want him to talk because he might involve you?" Janssen asked.

  Holst looked at him pretending to be surprised and answered, "I have nothing to hide. Since you got here, I've only helped you."

  "I can't believe we had a good Samaritan with us and didn't notice. Too bad we just found out about your little trick, Jens," replied the detective, then he turned to the inspector and said, "Do you want me to inform him, Inspector, or would you rather do it?"

  "You seem to be enjoying it, so you can keep going," replied Petersen.

  Seeing how they were handling that interview made Poulsen smile. They were two purebred mastiffs and for the first time she felt proud to be part of that team.

  "See my colleague on the side? She's the one we have to thank for this discovery. I admit that at first I thought that a woman could not be a good detective, that she did not have enough brain, but in these hours I had to rethink. She reminded me that we always tend to take for granted what others tell us, especially when they are colleagues. Instead, she wanted to go and check again in the pastor's neighborhood if you'd really inquired with the neighbors about the black pick-up."

  Holst didn't even let him finish the sentence and with a shot worthy of an athlete he tried to escape. Janssen managed to stop him as he was about to arrive at the door just because he had expected it, but he struggled to cuff him.

  "Take the weapons away from him and his partner," said Petersen.

  "It will be my pleasure."

  "What are you accusing him of?" Toft asked, handing over his weapon with resignation. Obviously the boy wasn't completely stupid, and he was realizing he had the wrong cards in his hand.

  "He tried to make us believe that the black pick-up that a witness had seen near the church shortly before the discovery of Knudsen's dead body, presumably the vehicle with which the murderer had arrived shortly before, had not been noticed by anyone else."

  "You told me we had nothing to do with the murder," said Toft, yelling at Holst.

  "You shut up. Do you hear me?"

  "Throw this gentleman into his cell right away. At the moment he's useless to us, and I don't want him to put pressure on his colleague to keep him quiet," said the inspector, and Janssen took him away.

  "Is there any chance I can get away with this?" asked Ole then.

  "You'll almost certainly lose your job, but if you work with the prosecutor I'm sure you can avoid being indicted."

  "I already told you that I know nothing about the murder. Today, I also helped you, as I discovered the body of Mrs. Rasmussen's dog. Why else would I do that? However, Sergeant Lassen arrived on the spot a couple of hours after we had found Knudsen's body, and he told me he had done a stakeout. He had already sold us the story about the drug dealer and his cousin several times in recent weeks. Jens and I laughed about it, thinking that he had invented it all not to come to work, so I thought he was late for the same reason. He usually stayed at home, then he only showed up at the office in the evening to check that there were no problems."

  "Did he really call you this morning?"

  "It sounded like him, but I'm not sure. The line was very disturbed, and then the communication fell."

  "Later on we'll have to go to his house, so make sure you get the right directions on how to get there," said the inspector to Janssen, who nodded.

  "He lives a few minutes from the village, on the same road we took to go to Krogh, only you don't have to turn left but right," said the boy.

  "Back to the swastika, when did you get that tattoo?"

  "A year ago, but it was just for fun," said the cop.

  "Almost six million Jewish deaths and several million military and civilian deaths in all nations could claim the opposite," Petersen replied indignantly.

  "Don't give me a history lesson. We are only against immigrants who now act as masters in our country, thanks to the policies of a weak and complacent government. They have more rights than us Danes, they take away our work, our subsidies, and they also want to teach us how to live," said Toft.

  "Who suggested these nice things to you? And don't tell me you've been thinking of them for yourself."

  "When I was assigned here, Sergeant Lassen was also just in. I knew Holst by sight, and I knew that he was a right-wing man. In fact, everyone in the village knew it and made fun of him, a bit like he was the fool of the village. But then he made me realize that he was right, it's the others who don't understand anything and don't see beyond their noses."

  "Is that the reason why you tattooed a swastika?"

  "Jens has a much bigger one right on his chest, and it looks like a work of art. He took me to the tattoo artist, he's a friend of him who lives in the capital," the boy said, lowering his eyes.

  "What about Sergeant Lassen instead?"

  "The sergeant was even more pissed off than Jens about the immigrants and our government. He had had problems in his old district with the beating of a foreigner, so he had been transferred to Torslunde. He told us that there is a network of patriots like us in Denmark and gave us the guts to think that together we could succeed."

  "What do you know about this network?"

  "Very little, he was the one who kept in touch with the leaders. Every now and then he would go to Copenhagen to meet some big shot in the movement, but I don't know his name or even who he was."

  "How many of those sympathizers were living here?"

  "The ones you said, plus some other comrades. We were a dozen in all, but I don't want to be a spy."

  "Do you really want to pay for all the others alone? You think they'd do the same for you, if they were in the same situation? Isn't Lassen's example enough for you?" Petersen asked him, in order to convince him to talk.

  "I don't know, but I'm not all the same at ease," Toft said, beginning to torture his hands, then he added, "All I can tell you without betraying anyone is that we met every week at Jonas' farm. We went there to discuss what to do."

  "And what were you going to do?"

  "Nothing illegal, we just wanted to make our point of view understood to the other residents of the town. We were planning some demonstrations."

  "How long has this been going on?"

  "Since before Sergeant Lassen came, I've been told."

  "Have you ever talked to each other about Pastor Knudsen?"

  "Never, I swear. We all had a very good opinion of him and when he died nobody thought the killer was someone we knew. Jonas had really been his friend for years. When we went to his house, he confessed to me that he and his three sons were carrying out a little investigation on their own. He said that if they found out who had killed the pastor he would murder him with his own hands."

  "Did you believe him?"

  "He's not a man who talks in vain."

  "So how do you explain that your colleague Holst tried to hide from us the clue about the alleged car used by the killer?"

  "I'm not explaining this to myself in any way. He didn't even want to comment on the sergeant's absence. Since you arrived this morning, we haven't talked about the case on our own."

  "I get it, you didn't know anything about it. Don't you really want to tell us the names of the other people who met with you at Krogh's? This could be important to the investigation."

  "I told you I need to think about it," replied Toft.

  "I believe it's good for you to think before you speak
, but you don't have much time. If we get to those names on our own, then you might skip the deal with the prosecutor," Lene Poulsen told him. "Besides that, we already have two other names."

  "Really? And who would they be?" asked the boy amused, with a mocking smile on his face.

  He didn't like the woman, it was an impression he had immediately, as soon as he saw her that morning. She'd have to consider him like a stupid if she thought he'd bite into her bluff like that.

  "I guess you think you're very clever, so you want to see if we really know. In that case, I'll make you happy right away; it's Michael and Else Mertens, our eyewitnesses," she said without haste.

  Petersen and Janssen pretended not to be surprised by the words of their colleague, while Toft was unable to hold back his anger.

  "How the hell did you know?" he almost screamed at her.

  "It wasn't that difficult. Today Else Mertens gave us some strange speeches about the color of the hair and of the eyes of both me and the inspector. It all sounded a little too much like old Aryan school, while Mr Mertens was more cautious. He also thinks he's very clever, a bit like you, and I'm convinced that he's the one who's manipulating his wife. He didn't speak well of you at all, if you ask me."

  "What did the old man say?" said Toft, irritated.

  Poulsen was taking him quickly where she wanted him, inspector Petersen thought pleased.

  "He said textually that you're a useless, as well as dangerous boy. We found out, thanks to Mertens, that you were a football star when you played in high school and that you got several girls into trouble. You thought you were untouchable until your knee broke, then you went back to being a loser."

  "He's still mad at me about Lotte," said toft, red in the face for anger.

  "Who was she?"

  "The daughter of his neighbors. It happened three years ago, and he made it into a tragedy. At one point I also feared that he would denounce me or even worse shoot me. He was so out of his mind, but the girl's parents had more common sense than the stupid man, and they eventually moved to another place. Since then, he's vowed to make me pay for that."