by Sara Blaedel
‘It may also have something to do with the fact that we’d like to keep things quiet so we can work the case,’ Louise interrupted.
‘I’d be happy to fill you in on what the mother said, if you’ll tell me what happened.’
‘Enough already, Camilla. I’m not telling you anything. Whatever you get on this one has to come from Suhr. But I have the feeling that there’ll be some information later today. Your phone call put enough pressure on Suhr that he’s insisting we come up with something to tell you.’
‘Good,’ Camilla said, clearly satisfied that her call had triggered a reaction. As a result, she decided to fill Louise in on the details of the mother’s phone call.
‘She told me she found her daughter in a pool of blood, with her hands and feet tied behind her back, beaten and gagged. The guy who did it had tried to suffocate her by stuffing a block of wood in her mouth—’
‘Stop!’ Louise cried into the phone. ‘No pool of blood, no attempted suffocation! Outside of the police report, I mean. You don’t need to tell me any more. Save yourself some trouble and don’t put your name on that garbage, you’ll just end up having to retract the whole story later.’
Camilla was so audibly disappointed that Louise guessed she must have finished writing most of the article already.
‘It’s nowhere near as sensational as all that,’ Louise said, trying to sound convincing as she pictured Susanne’s puffy face. ‘The most dramatic aspect of the case is that the girl has a mother who is an unbelievable blabbermouth.’
‘Maybe,’ Camilla cut her off; ‘but obviously the mother didn’t fucking arrange for her daughter to be raped so she could enjoy her fifteen minutes of fame.’
‘No, of course not; but now that the opportunity has presented itself, she certainly doesn’t seem to be being shy,’ Louise countered.
‘That may be,’ Camilla said pensively. ‘I think I’m going to have another chat with her.’
‘You won’t get anything out of her. Michael Stig is with her now, and he is usually quite effective at persuading people to put a lid on things.’
‘Ha,’ Camilla said dryly. ‘Okay, I’ll agree to sit on the story until after I’ve talked to Suhr. But not if I can read it anywhere else.’ Louise understood that agreeing to sit on a story involved a calculated risk. ‘And I would appreciate your keeping me in mind, once you guys are finally able to talk about whatever actually happened to that poor woman. Oh, and hey, is there any chance you could watch Markus this weekend?’
The change in topics was so abrupt that Louise shook her head, trying to switch gears. On the spot she couldn’t think of any fixed plans they had for the weekend, so she nodded to herself and said, ‘Sure thing.’
Camilla sometimes had to work weekends at the newspaper, and then she had a childcare situation because she lived alone with Markus. The boy’s father, Tobias, had him every other weekend, and he was usually able to help out whenever Camilla had to work. When he couldn’t, Camilla was forced to make other arrangements because her mother lived four hours away in Skanderborg in Jutland, and her father was not interested in shuttling grandchildren around.
‘Drop him off on your way to work,’ Louise said.
‘I’m not actually going to work. I’m going to be home, but I’m having some company.’
‘You don’t say,’ Louise laughed, surprised. ‘What’s his name?’
‘Now let me just think for a moment if there’s any reason at all for me to share that information with you,’ Camilla replied sarcastically.
Louise pictured Susanne’s battered face for a second and said, ‘As long as this isn’t someone you met online.’ As soon as she had finished her sentence, Camilla went ballistic.
‘What the fuck is that supposed to mean? You’re the one who’s always harping on at me to find someone I want to go out with.’
Louise thought about it, but couldn’t remember ever pressuring Camilla to date.
Camilla continued her rant: ‘Now I tell you I actually have a date and suddenly it can’t be with someone I met the same way over half a million other people meet. What’s so wrong with that? If that even is how I met this guy?’
‘Nothing,’ Louise said, trying to sound conciliatory. ‘I just wasn’t aware that you’d caved and started doing the whole online dating thing,’ she said, immediately regretting the use of the word ‘caved’, seeing as how she was clearly already treading on sensitive turf.
‘Well, I’m not saying I have or anything, but it is the most obvious way to meet someone new.’
Louise tried without success to get a word in edgeways, but Camilla continued with her tirade: ‘I just heard about a couple where the husband is the CEO of a big grocery-store chain and his wife is some important sales mogul for the fashion industry. Nice people, both with cushy incomes, and they actually met each other online because they didn’t have time to go hang out in bars.’
Louise refrained from commenting on the torrent of words filling her ears. Instead she focused on trying to find a way to say that, obviously, there was nothing wrong with it all the times it worked out well, but it could also end really badly if you were unlucky. She knew full well that she couldn’t say that, because Camilla would immediately detect that the warning had something to do with Louise’s job – and her good friend was sharp enough to guess the rest. All the details Susanne’s mother didn’t – and probably shouldn’t – know.
‘There’s nothing wrong with meeting people online. I just mean that you should exercise a little caution when you decide to meet the actual person who’s been hiding behind the profile.’
‘Oh, for Pete’s sake, you sound like some ridiculous pamphlet from the Council for Greater Water Safety.’ And that was the end of that.
‘I think this might be one of those cases where the person we’re looking for just vanishes into thin air. This Jesper Bjergholdt doesn’t exist,’ Louise said to no one in particular, after she hung up with Camilla and reflected on the entire situation.
Lars was busy reading a stack of papers and looked over at her, confused. ‘Doesn’t exist?’ he asked, a little taken aback. ‘Well, Susanne certainly didn’t hog-tie herself.’
Louise smiled at him and explained, ‘Of course it happened, but this Jesper Bjergholdt could be anyone. He’s made-up. We don’t have a goddamn thing to identify him with. He could live in Ålborg and be named Bjarne for all we know. If there’s no DNA match in the system, and his fingerprints aren’t in AFIS, then he’s out of our reach.’ AFIS was the Danish police database containing hundreds of thousands of fingerprints.
‘We’ll see,’ Lars said, setting down his stack of papers. ‘It’s pretty rare for people to completely disappear.’
‘We’ve seen it before,’ Louise said again. ‘And even in a case that was similar to this one.’
‘You mean that guy Kim from Hørsholm?’
Louise had told him about this cold case before, which had involved a woman from Rødovre in suburban Copenhagen who had met a man online. He had called himself ‘Kim Jensen’ and claimed that he came from Hørsholm. They had started a relationship that ended up with her being horrifically brutalised. When the police later went after him, it was like he had vanished from the face of the earth. His profile had been deleted, his mobile number wasn’t in use, and there was no evidence other than fingerprints and a DNA sample, which they couldn’t identify.
‘His sample is stored in the archives, just waiting,’ Louise said, nodding toward their unsolved-case files. It frequently happened that they would catch a rapist because he was brought in for some other type of case that necessitated checking his fingerprints. And then, voilà, the computer would find a match, and in a split second they would have a name and Danish national ID number for the perpetrator.
‘I can’t remember the description of that perpetrator,’ Lars admitted, ‘but if he had dark hair then we’d better get in touch with the woman. Perhaps it’s a serial-type thing.’
Louise was
already out of her chair, trying to remember which one of the thick three-ring binders the Rødovre case was filed in. She found it in the third folder she pulled down from the steel shelves, which took up a whole wall in their office. She’d been on that case two years ago and remembered at the time fearing that there would be many more like it. You never knew who, or where, the people you were talking to were any more. You thought they were sitting at home when they called, but really they were calling from a summer home way up on the north coast of North Zealand in Rågeleje or something.
Louise had experienced that once herself, one time when she’d been riding her bike home from work and had just pulled out onto Gammel Kongevej when her mobile phone started ringing. It was Peter, and she knew he was at a sales seminar in North Zealand. She stopped and was leaning on her bike on the sidewalk as they talked. After a couple of minutes, he suddenly exclaimed that it was wonderful to see that she smiled when they talked to each other. At first she hadn’t responded, but then it occurred to her that he must be able to see her. And, sure enough, he’d come home early and had just walked out of the corner grocery shop when he spotted her on her bike.
At first she grinned, but then she was struck by an uneasy feeling. In her mind, he had been in North Zealand, and it had not occurred to her in the slightest that he could be anywhere closer. It was very unsettling to find that he was right there, watching her; when she thought about that, she realised how much people base their assumptions on where they think people are. When those assumptions are shaken up, the whole picture in your mind crumbles.
Louise went in to see Heilmann and took along a photocopy of the suspect’s description. She gave Heilmann a quick report on what Susanne Hansson’s mother had told Camilla.
‘I don’t think any of what Jesper Bjergholdt told Susanne about himself was true,’ Louise said, reminding the chief investigator about the similarities between Susanne’s assault and the Rødovre case.
‘Looking into that case again is a good idea,’ Heilmann said. ‘They may be related. If we profile the kind of perpetrator who would commit this type of crime, he would probably be flagged as a potential repeat offender. If he gets away with the crime once, he’ll try again – sooner or later. It’s part of the psychological power play that goes on between the rapist and the victim. He possesses and exercises his power; and when he succeeds, it whets his appetite to possess again, and the cycle begins anew.’
‘Couldn’t he just be a sexual deviant? Maybe he craves that power element?’ Louise suggested. She’d never done much with profiling, herself, but she respected Heilmann’s contributions whenever a case called for it.
‘He had handcuffs and a gag with him in his bag, which definitely constitutes forcible means,’ Heilmann explained and started reading the description of Kim Jensen.
‘The description isn’t all that great,’ Louise hurriedly admitted.
‘It may be dangerous to try and push this guy out of hiding,’ Heilmann continued. ‘If he starts feeling threatened, his need to control will increase, and then there’s no telling what he may do.’
‘We’ve got to find him,’ they heard from the doorway, where Lieutenant Suhr was somehow now standing, although neither of them had noticed his arrival. ‘We lure him out on a date using Louise as bait, and have her nab him, right before he has a chance to off her.’
There was something shrill about his voice, and they both looked up at him but didn’t respond. Okay, that would be crazy, Louise thought and suspected that Suhr also sensed that they were facing a case in which the perpetrator had appeared out of nowhere, like a genie from a lamp, and then vanished again into thin air. Suhr could tell what this case was going to require and didn’t want to accept that it was turning into one of those complex cases that drained all his resources.
‘I just talked to the forensics lab about the DNA,’ he said in a more normal tone of voice. ‘They’re working on the hairs that were found, and we shouldn’t count on there being enough material in the semen stains for them to extract any DNA, but they promised to expedite it. We’ll have something at the end of next week.’
Louise sighed. She had been hoping the lab would have their DNA profile ready sooner.
‘Until then, we should be approaching this from all angles,’ he continued, an edge of frustration already in his voice. ‘He can’t be that fucking impossible to find. Toft and Stig will contact the regulars at the places he emailed from. We have a list of IP addresses. He must have fucking talked to somebody or at least been noticed, damn it.’
Heilmann nodded. They obviously agreed on how to approach the case.
‘You have to get Susanne to say more,’ Suhr told Louise. ‘Familiarise yourself with how people meet online, if you’re not already up to speed on that.’
He didn’t look at her as he spoke, so there was no point in her shaking her head to convey that she’d never even looked at any of the numerous online dating sites people were using these days.
‘If we’re going to do a thorough search, that will take time,’ she said, thinking about the massive amount of work it would take to go through all the relevant profiles that matched Susanne’s vague description.
‘So take the time!’ Suhr blurted out, throwing his hands up in the air. ‘Print out pictures and profiles of everyone who sounds interesting. Show them to Susanne. Maybe she’ll recognise someone.’
Louise sighed and was about to leave when he changed the topic.
‘What are we going to tell the press?’ He started pacing around Heilmann’s office. ‘I think we’re going to have to tell them that they knew each other,’ he said, without waiting for a response.
‘We could also just not tell them anything,’ Heilmann suggested. ‘You could just say that she was raped in her home by an unknown assailant, and that we have more or less no leads.’
‘That’s not …’ Suhr tailed off, irritated. He hated looking like he didn’t have any leads.
‘Yes, it is,’ Heilmann said decisively. ‘We need some peace and quiet so we can work. We don’t need anyone fanning the flames until we’ve managed to contact the other girls who have been exchanging emails with our guy. Toft is already working with the people who run the website, and thinks they’ll have a list for him later today. After that, we can go to the press, but right now it’s too early.’
Suhr stood still, mulling over Heilmann’s argument.
‘Fine,’ he said, turning on his heel.
Before he reached the door, Louise asked if she’d understood him right, that he wanted someone to run pictures over for Susanne to look at, of all the dark-haired men in the right age range who had posted pictures online at the various dating sites.
Suhr turned back and looked at her in irritation. ‘Obviously I don’t want that. Just the relevant … the ones that match Susanne’s description.’
Louise put her hands to her temples, picturing thousands of dark-haired men flashing in front of her eyes. In a huff, she kept her distance, detouring around the lieutenant and out of the office. She sensed him standing there, watching her go, not sure what he’d said wrong.
9
‘I think we ought to stop by Tivoli and see if we can find out which restaurant they ate at,’ Louise suggested.
The stack of papers in front of Lars had grown. He put his finger down to keep track of where he was on the list he was studying.
‘Do you mind going over there alone? I’m trying to figure out what times the perp was online, logged into his profile. I was hoping that there might be a pattern, but at first glance the times seem to be completely random, all different times of the day and night; but I haven’t included any of these yet’ – he placed his hand on the pile of papers – ‘so it’s too soon to give up.’
Louise stood there for a moment, contemplating. She should drive out to Valby to pick up a decent photo of Susanne, but maybe that wasn’t necessary. She pulled out the pictures taken when Susanne was examined at the hospital. One of them showed her
from her less-swollen right side. Louis stuck it in her purse and said that she would be back as soon as she’d asked around the restaurants in Tivoli.
It only took a second to walk from police headquarters to the back entrance of Tivoli Gardens, across the street from the red-bricked Glyptotek art museum. She flashed her police badge to the cashier, who gave her a friendly nod and let her in. The screams from the roller-coaster near the entrance drowned out all other sounds in massive waves, so she could only feel the crunching of the gravel under her feet as she weaved along the path among the strollers and amusement-park visitors munching candyfloss. She’d been counting on this being a quieter time of day over by the restaurants, since it was late afternoon, but as she approached the concert lawn at Plaenen and the restaurants came into view, she realised she’d been completely off. Obviously the majority of the lunch rush must be over by now – after all, it was after four-thirty – but there were still tons of people eating. Some people were having a traditional afternoon coffee and cake; others were eating a late lunch or an early dinner.
Louise stood in the doorway of the first restaurant, somewhat at a loss as she tried to figure out who was in charge. But all the employees looked the same, so she decided it didn’t matter too much who she approached.
*
The head waiter gathered all his staff together and asked the whole group who had worked the evening shift on Monday. Four people said they had, and they willingly came over to study the picture Louise was holding out. None of them recognised Susanne, but they assured Louise that that did not mean the woman in the picture hadn’t been there.
‘We had three turns per table that night,’ one of the waiters said, his brow thoughtfully furrowed.
Louise waited for a translation. She wasn’t sure what he meant by ‘turns’.
‘Every time you seat a party at a table, serve them, and then clear the table, that’s a turn. On a night with weather like we had on Monday, each table gets turned about three times, on average. So if there’s nothing that really stands out about the customers, it’s almost impossible to keep them all straight.’