The Scarred Woman

by Jussi Adler-Olsen

  “Shouldn’t we file a missing person’s report?” asked Assad on the way down to the car.

  “Yes, we should. But . . .” He hesitated for a moment. Just like Assad, he was shocked by Rose’s suicide and organ donation notes. Although there were indications that she might have changed her mind, you never knew with someone who was mentally ill. And Rose was, whether they were willing to admit it or not. Carl looked at Assad with a serious expression. “But if we do it, everything about Rose will come out in the open. And what if she’s just sitting in some hotel trying to clear her head? Then we’ll have destroyed her career.”

  “You think so?” He sounded surprised.

  “Yes, it’ll be more than difficult for her to return to her old job if all her secrets get out. Bjørn would never accept that. He does things by the book.”

  “That wasn’t exactly what I meant, Carl. Do you think there’s a chance she’s sitting somewhere trying to clear her head? Because if that’s the case, Carl, then she might still be considering suicide. I think we do need to file that missing person’s report.”

  Assad was right, and it put them in a difficult position. Carl sighed as they walked past the parked cars. There was a woman sleeping in a small Ka a few cars away from theirs.

  He wished it was him.

  46

  Monday, May 30th, 2016

  Jazmine was at her wit’s end. Denise had been gone for hours without checking in. What the fuck was she doing? And what did she imagine Jazmine should do? Denise had forbidden her to call because it might give her away if she was hiding. But what about her? The woman out there in the bathroom was moaning. She looked really off-color, had nasty red blotches on her thighs, and her fingers were almost blue.

  To be honest, she was really worried that if she gave her water she might choke on it due to her weakened state.

  Jazmine didn’t like thinking about it because if the woman died they would suddenly be guilty of double murder. They would be facing lifetime sentences, and that would mean that life was over. What could she do when they released her at forty-five without an education and with the sort of record she could never shake off? Would she even be able to save up for anything in prison, like a ticket to the other side of the world or something like that? Could she ever become anything other than a prostitute? She certainly didn’t want that, but what else would there be? If Denise didn’t return within an hour or two she would just make a run for it. She would take all the money and get the hell out of here. It would be Denise’s own fault.

  She gathered the money and put it in a canvas bag of the sort old ladies thought were chic thirty years ago. No one would suspect that it contained anything but crap. And then she would take the S-train to the central station and take the Vejle bus from Ingerslevsgade. There was one leaving at around ten, which she could easily catch.

  Once she was in Jutland, she would have many more opportunities to continue south without being caught—and south was where she was headed. Out of the country. Far away. Just disappear and never come back. A discounted green ticket to Berlin with Abildskou Buses cost only one hundred and fifty kroner, and from there she could go anywhere in the world. Right now she was particularly tempted by Italy. It was swarming with beautiful men who liked girls like her, and place names like Sardinia and Sicily sounded spellbinding.

  Now the woman out there was whimpering again, but sounding weaker and weaker.

  Jazmine tried to focus on something in the room that could distract her from what was going on in the bathroom.

  “Should I or shouldn’t I?” she said quietly to herself a few times before going to the kitchen to get a glass of water. One last time and then she would leave the rest to fate.

  She had just leaned in over the steel sink to fill the glass when she heard someone knocking on the door to the next-door apartment.

  Jazmine lifted the kitchen curtain slightly to look out and immediately pulled back when a dark man on the walkway looked in her direction.

  Jazmine held her breath and hid in the corner next to the fridge. Did he see me? she wondered. Then a shadow slid past the curtain. She could hear clearly what they were saying out there. She was so scared her heart almost stopped. The two voices were male, and one of them said he hadn’t seen anything. Then the doorbell rang.

  Now the woman was moaning in the bathroom again. It was very muffled, but Jazmine could hear it. Could they also hear it outside?

  The men on the walkway were having a discussion.

  She got such a shock that it made her flinch when they suddenly hammered on the door and one of the men shouted through the mail slot that he had seen someone in there. He wanted to ask questions, he shouted, but Jazmine had no intention of talking to anyone, so she didn’t answer.

  Go away! she screamed internally when the other man asked if there was anything to see through the mail slot. It was a good thing that she hadn’t gone into the hallway, because then the game would have been up.

  It seemed as if the shadow behind the curtain was moving again—as if someone was trying to look into the kitchen—and then she heard someone tapping on the window. Jazmine looked at the counter under the window. There was nothing to see except dirty dishes and mugs with cutlery in them. What could he get out of that?

  “Maybe you didn’t see anything, Assad,” she heard him say out there when the other man had stopped knocking. He said it very clearly, and he also said that they should have brought the key for the apartment. The other one answered that he had a lockpick down in the car.

  Jazmine nearly fainted in shock. If they went down to get it, her life would be over. Yes, the woman in the bathroom was alive, but still. Jazmine had just imagined herself surrounded by colors and hot-blooded men with black hair, but it turned out none of it was real. That was going to be hard to swallow.

  But then the first man said that he would leave it to their colleagues in homicide, after which their voices grew fainter. Jazmine thought she heard them enter the next-door apartment. Yes, now she could hear their voices faintly through the wall. It meant that she was off the hook for now—but maybe not for long. One of them had hinted that there would be people from homicide coming out here. But what did they actually know, since they would do that? Was it something about Denise? Why didn’t she just call? It was driving her mad. It had all sounded so simple. Denise was just meant to blackmail Anne-Line and if necessary do the same thing to her as they had done to the woman in the bathroom. Keep her hostage until she gave in and handed over the lottery money. But she could still call, so why didn’t she?

  Stupid bitch! It was her own fault, because Jazmine couldn’t stay here. If she took all the money from the robbery, Denise could keep Anne-Line Svendsen’s money. Jazmine didn’t care. Weren’t they meant to split everything when Denise returned anyway?

  She frowned, going over everything in her head again. What did they mean when they said that homicide would be paying a visit? Had something gone wrong at Anne-Line’s place somehow? Was that what this was about?

  They had agreed that if Denise didn’t turn up, Jazmine should make an anonymous call to the police and blow the whistle on Anne-Line Svendsen. But did she dare? They could trace her call, and it was even easier if you called from a cell phone. Denise obviously hadn’t thought about that.

  The way things were going, Jazmine didn’t give a fuck as long as she could save her own neck. Hadn’t she done what she was supposed to? Hadn’t she arranged for them to have the names in their passports changed later tonight on their way to the bus station? So it was just tough luck that Denise wouldn’t get hers.

  Now the woman in the bathroom was moaning again.

  “Shut up,” she hissed as she walked past the bathroom door. If the police were coming, they could give the woman some water. She also stank of piss and shit, and Jazmine couldn’t stand it.

  It took her only five minutes to pack her
clothes.

  One quick glance out of the window revealed that the coast was clear. She could still hear the muffled sound of the men’s voices through the wall, so she would just have to be quick.

  She slung the canvas bag with the money over her shoulder, grabbed the suitcase, and lifted the kitchen curtain again.

  Just as a precaution, she glanced down at the parking area. There didn’t appear to be any other police, because there was just one car with a light on the roof. The other cars were just the regular sort you expected to find in the suburbs. Not the type Jazmine would drive when she finally made it to Italy. She smiled to herself thinking about convertibles with white leather seats. She had always wanted a car like that.

  Suddenly she heard the two men leaving and locking up the apartment next door. Then they had a brief conversation with a woman on the walkway.

  Just wait until they’ve left and the coast is clear, she thought as she tried to follow what was happening outside.

  She heard a few suppressed sighs from the bathroom, as if the woman had started crying. Jazmine did feel sorry for her, but what could she do? Maybe Denise would kill her when she came back and realized that Jazmine had done a runner. She could just imagine how she would react when she realized that there wouldn’t be a false passport waiting for her and that the woman in the bathroom was suddenly a threat because she knew too much.

  But that was Denise’s call, not hers.

  She saw the police car leaving and pulled the curtain back a little more so she could make sure they were really gone.

  Then she suddenly noticed a figure moving in a small car a few spaces to the right. And when the woman removed her sunglasses and looked up toward her, Jazmine froze.

  It was her caseworker, Anne-Line! But then where was Denise?

  Jazmine felt sick. What should she do?

  The woman in the car was looking directly up at her, and the look in her eyes said it all. Anne-Line Svendsen was not scared. She looked perfectly composed, so Denise couldn’t have succeeded in her mission. But where was she? Jazmine thought the worst and was overcome with panic.

  She just had to get out of there. And there was only one way out apart from the main door: over the balcony and down.

  She ran to the bedroom and grabbed all the sheets from the cupboard.

  She tied some sheets together, hoping it would be enough to reach the ground. Then she rushed into the sitting room, tied one end around a door handle, pushed the balcony door to one side, threw the makeshift rope and her suitcase over the side, slung the canvas bag over her shoulder, and climbed down.

  The friction from the sheets chafed her hands, but then Jazmine had never bragged about her acrobatic prowess.

  She looked around as she clambered down. Thankfully there didn’t appear to be anyone at home in the downstairs apartment. Then she saw that the suitcase had sprung open from the fall and that her clothes had been flung in all directions.

  I don’t have time to pick them up, she thought. So when she reached the ground she just started running.

  When she had made it past the buildings and saw that there was no one on the sidewalk leading toward the S-train station, she thought with relief that she was safe.

  She noticed a spot where the grass on the roadside had been churned up.

  This must be where Michelle was killed, she thought before hearing a car speeding up behind her.

  47

  Monday, May 30th, 2016

  “Come on, Rose, it’s Vicky! Come out now. Dad has left for work. He’s on the night shift this week.”

  Her shivering fingers reached for the key in the door to her room, but she didn’t turn it. Was he on nights? Was it really already Thursday? And who was shouting out there?

  The voice had said it was Vicky, but that wasn’t true because she was Vicky. So why did the person out there think she was Rose? Who would even want to be Rose? No one liked her, whereas with Vicky . . . it was different.

  When I can come out, I’ll put a shirt on, she thought. Today should be a yellow-and-black-checked shirt buttoned down to show off my cleavage. She giggled. She would make people’s eyes pop out.

  But I’ll just smile when they stare and tell them I plan to marry a certain actor. I don’t remember his name just now, but never mind. He knows I’m the one for him. Oh yes, he knows.

  They say Vicky is so beautiful, so therefore I’m beautiful. Rose is just Rose. It’s a shame for her. She can’t help it; it’s just the way she is. Dad has said so often enough, and he’s right, so I’m glad I’m not her.

  Who would want to be her? Have I said that already? Well, I certainly wouldn’t. And now Dad is on nights, so I’ll just go out dancing. Thankfully, they don’t have any say in that. None of them do.

  Then the uncomfortable burning sensation in her throat returned. She wasn’t really sure whether it was part of the image she had just been thinking about. She certainly hoped not, because it was going so well. Only a moment ago, she hadn’t been in any pain at all, but now the pain had returned.

  Ouch, I vomited again. When will it stop? Oouuch!

  Rose opened her eyes. Everything around her was blurry. Her eyes were dry and her whole body ached. Or did it? Wasn’t it only her throat and tongue that hurt?

  Somewhere in the distance, she could hear a female voice cursing. Was it real or was it a dream again?

  Am I drifting off again already? She seemed to have done that many times over many hours now. In fact, she had no sense of time and only a vague sense of where she was.

  The overwhelming facts were that she was tied up, her crotch and throat felt like they were on fire, and she couldn’t feel the rest of her body. As far as she knew, it was at least twenty-four hours since she had been able to feel her hands and legs. But how long had it actually been?

  Now the woman out there was talking again and sounded very angry. She was swearing and cursing the one called Denise. But then this must be reality, and if it was real she only hoped that she could stay here. As soon as she disappeared, she saw her father lying there on the floor, his flesh and bones crushed and with a wide grin on his face directed right at her. Those staring eyes burning their way into her and never fading. They glowed more and more intensely each time she slipped into the dream. Of course, she knew that her sisters would come to her aid every time. Suddenly, they were inside her and she was inside them, and then she felt at peace. And peace was the only thing she was looking for. Come as it may.

  “Where the hell is she?” said the angry voice.

  What was the name of the one who was talking? Was it Michelle? No, she was the one they had said was dead. Or was that also something she’d dreamed?

  She said, “Mmmmm,” from behind the duct tape, meaning that she was thirsty, but she was drowned out by the woman’s voice, which just continued on. But then it hadn’t normally been her who had put the straw in her mouth. That much she could remember. Maybe she had done it once, but that was all.

  She felt her stomach cramping up and the burning sensation returned in her throat with a vengeance. At least her body could still react—everything was connected.

  Rose opened her eyes wide. Her heartburn had pulled her out of her stupor.

  She looked around. The light was already dim in the hallway. Did that mean that it was early morning or late at night? It could be hard to determine at this time of year when it was light almost around the clock. It was that time of year when summer was waiting just around the corner, people fell in love at first sight, and everyone was full of anticipation and joy. She had experienced this once in her life, and the memory made her happy. Falling in love was often described as something that happened by itself and countless times. That wasn’t Rose’s experience, but she had felt that joy inside even though her father put an end to that too.

  Now the woman out there was talking again—almost shouting,
in fact.

  Rose frowned. No, that wasn’t right. It wasn’t a woman shouting at all. She looked out through the doorway toward the hallway. There was nothing out there, and still a voice filled the entire space. The voice was much deeper than the woman’s, and she recognized it. It was Assad’s voice, wasn’t it? Why would she suddenly hear that voice? And why would he suddenly be shouting that he knew there was someone in the apartment and that he just wanted to ask some questions?

  Was she only dreaming, or was Assad really trying to tell her that he knew she was in there? Or did he want to ask her questions? Then why didn’t he just come in and ask? She would happily answer him. He was her friend, after all.

  She mumbled, “Mmmmm,” and this time it meant that he should just come in. He should come in and remove the tape from her mouth so she could spit out the vile taste in her mouth and answer his questions. She would love to do that.

  Come on and ask me something, Assad, she thought, feeling her dry eyes welling up and her chest heaving. It felt good.

  Then she heard another voice far away that almost sounded like Carl’s. She felt moved when she heard it. So moved, in fact, that the tears ran down her cheeks. Could this be real? Were they out there somewhere? Did they know she was in here?

  If that was the case, maybe they would force their way into the apartment. And finding her there in her humiliation, would they still hold her tight?

  She hoped they would.

  She listened for a long time, trying to make sounds that were louder and more meaningful than inarticulate groans. She was wide-awake, and the adrenaline pumping through her kept her in the real world.

  Then the pain suddenly rushed into her shoulders and back. It was a violent onslaught of insistent protest from her joints and muscles. All her nerves came to life, and Rose groaned in agony behind the duct tape.

  She saw the silhouette of the woman walk past the bathroom door. She seemed to be moving differently. She seemed hectic and tense. “Shut up,” she hissed at Rose as she passed, and a few minutes later she could hear noise coming from the sitting room. A click and a few bumps and then it went quiet.