He nodded. “And then call one of Rose’s sisters, right?”
Carl tried to force a smile. No matter what, you could always count on Assad.
—
There was already a police constable outside Anne-Line Svendsen’s address. It was one of Carl’s old acquaintances from Station 1 who had now been transferred to uniform at HQ. He gave Carl a reserved nod and confirmed that the search warrant was in place before keeping a close eye on Assad as he gained entry to the property with the lockpick.
The nameplate on the main door informed them that Anne-Line Svendsen lived upstairs, and a small company called Ultimate Machines was situated on the ground floor.
There was no lock on the door into her apartment, which led straight into the sitting room on the first floor. And there was no one at home. On entering, they immediately noticed how neat and tidy everything was on the upper floor and her part of the first floor. Carl sniffed, noticing an odd smell that reminded him of a couple of bedrooms where he had once enjoyed the company of a woman. He had never managed to figure out if it was the combination of lavender and hand soap.
They noticed that the dishes had been done, the bed made, that everything seemed to have been thought through, and, most significantly, that the apartment had been cleaned of all the clues a detective normally looks for.
“She’s really gone to town with cleaning and tidying up, Carl,” said Assad. “There’s no laundry in the laundry basket, and the wastepaper bin and rubbish bin have been emptied.”
“Look here. The room at the back is locked. Want to take a look?”
Assad took out the lockpick and unlocked the door.
“That’s odd,” said Carl when they were standing in the small room, where all the walls were covered with metal shelves full of screws, nails, fittings, and other metal paraphernalia.
“I don’t think this room is part of Anne-Line Svendsen’s tenancy agreement. You saw on the sign down there what the other occupant does,” answered Assad.
“I’m afraid we won’t find anything here, then,” Carl said and asked Assad to lock the door behind them.
“When you look around the apartment, does anything spring to mind as missing or do you think there seems to be too much of anything?” he asked when they were back in her sitting room.
“Many things, actually. Firstly, I can tell that there’s a computer missing because there’s a monitor on the floor down there. And then it’s strange that the only untidy thing in the entire apartment is a DVD that’s been left out as if she wanted it to be the first thing someone noticed. Normally, you’d place it next to the TV or on the coffee table, wouldn’t you? So why did she leave it in the middle of an otherwise tidy desk?”
“I think she’s trying to create an alibi. I also noticed that there’s a key with her Ka registration number on the bulletin board. It’s probably an extra key, but it still makes me wonder whether a key was used in her car last night.”
“There was. We actually talked about it, but Ploug didn’t think it proved that it was the owner of the car driving. He went on about how stupid and careless some people can be, with car keys being stolen from their handbags or hallway tables while they’re sleeping.”
Carl was aware of that, but they still had to ask.
They went through her drawers and cupboards, but apart from some doctors’ notes, they found conspicuously little of a personal nature. It really wasn’t normal.
“I know the search warrant doesn’t include the ground floor and that she doesn’t live there, but shouldn’t we have a look anyway? What do you say?” he asked, looking around for Assad.
Assad was already halfway down the stairs.
They entered the mechanical engineer’s sitting room, which was full to the brim with machine parts. Carl didn’t understand how a grown man could live like that.
“I don’t think he spends much time at home,” said Assad understandably.
They rummaged through the piles and were just about to give up when they found a neatly sorted box of oil filters not unlike the one that was attached to the gun in the Ka.
“Well, I’ll be damned,” said Carl.
They looked at each other knowingly, and Assad took out his phone.
“I’ll just call her work again. Don’t you think people would be at work by now?” he asked.
Carl nodded and looked around the room. Nothing in the world could convince him that Anne-Line Svendsen had not been experimenting with oil filters in here, searching for the one best suited as a silencer. Imagine that he could still be surprised at how cunning and cynical human beings could be. Was it really going to turn out that this anonymous caseworker was the most cold-blooded murderer he had ever encountered?
He could sense that Assad, who was still holding the phone up to his ear, was trying to direct his attention to something over by the door.
Carl turned from side to side. He couldn’t see what he was supposed to be looking at.
“Thank you,” said Assad to the person on the other end. Then he hung up and turned toward Carl. “Anne-Line Svendsen has just called work to tell them that she won’t be in before this afternoon. She’s undergoing radiation therapy at the University Hospital and has an appointment at one o’clock.”
“Good! We’ve got her. You did say that this is strictly confidential and that they can’t breathe a word to anyone before we give the go-ahead, right?” asked Carl.
“Yes, of course. But strangely enough, Anne-Line Svendsen also told the receptionist that she was currently cycling around Copenhagen looking for her stolen car.”
Carl raised an eyebrow.
“Yes, for a second I also thought we were on the wrong track, but then I discovered that.”
Assad pointed back down toward the shelf a bit left of the door.
Carl bent down. Now he could see it.
There was a dark stain the size of a small coin on the back wall between two shelves full of motor parts. The experts would be able to tell them what had caused the stain, the angle at which it had hit the wall, and definitely also whether it was fresh blood.
“I think Anne-Line Svendsen missed a spot,” Assad said, smiling.
Carl rubbed the back of his neck. “Jesus Christ!” he exclaimed. This really put an end to any possible doubt. So her bicycle trip around Copenhagen and all her talk about looking for her stolen car was just her playing to the crowd, exactly like the DVD on her desk. She was certainly crafty.
Carl was pleased. They were onto the right perpetrator. No doubt about that.
“Well spotted, Assad.” Carl looked at his watch again. “We have exactly three hours before Anne-Line Svendsen’s appointment at the radiation clinic,” he said, then dialed Gordon’s number on his cell and put it on speakerphone.
As expected, the guy sounded sad, but now with a hint of hope.
“They’ve managed to revive Rose, but unfortunately, there are a lot of complications. Just now they’re concentrating on stabilizing her condition. They’re very worried about the number of blood clots, and about her legs and arms having suffered permanent damage.”
He was breathing heavily on the other end, apparently crying. If only Rose knew the affection he felt for her.
“Can you send us a photo of her, Gordon?”
“I don’t know. Why?”
“It’s for her own good, so try. Is it possible to communicate with her?”
“Not in the way you’d understand normal communication, no. They have had some communication with her, but they say that she seems to be mentally out of reach. They called in the hospital psychiatrists, who conferred with her therapists in Glostrup. They told them that it was paramount for Rose to work through the traumatic event in her past if she was to avoid falling into an eternal inner darkness.”
“‘Work through the traumatic event,’ you said. Did they say
anything about how she should do that?”
“No, not as far as I know,” said Gordon. There was a pause. Maybe because he needed to compose himself or maybe because he was thinking. “But I assume it means anything that might take the pressure off her,” he said.
Assad looked at Carl. “We need to try and keep a lid on what happened at the steel plant. Agreed?”
He nodded. It was almost like “different minds think alike,” as Assad might have put it.
—
Leo Andresen was standing with a bread roll in his hand when he opened the door. The epitome of retired morning bliss. They could hear a morning TV show blaring in the background, the type that still showed trivial and superfluous cooking features as the main content. When they entered the house, they could also hear the sound of a coffee machine spluttering and his wife shuffling around in her slippers. The entire table was covered in supermarket brochures—perhaps the top entertainment of the week.
“We need to get to the bottom of this, Leo. And let me tell you now that we don’t give a damn who you might hang out to dry, because the only purpose of our visit is to help Rose. So out with everything you know. Here and now. Do you understand?”
He glanced over at his wife, and even though she did all she could to hide it, Carl noticed that she shook her head discreetly.
Carl turned toward her and offered her his hand. “The nameplate on the door says Gunhild Andresen. Is that you?”
A small twitch at the corner of her mouth was supposed to resemble a smile and a confirmation.
“Good morning, Gunhild. Are you aware that you just gave your husband away?”
She certainly wasn’t smiling now.
“You just warned him that he should keep his mouth shut, and in my world that means he knows more than he’s telling us. And now he’s one of the main suspects in the murder of Arne Knudsen on May 18th, 1999.”
He turned toward Leo Andresen, who looked horrified. “Leo Andresen, the time is ten forty-seven and you’re under arrest.”
Assad was already rattling the handcuffs hanging from his belt, which had an immediate effect on both of them. They seemed frightened, helpless, and on the verge of fainting.
“But . . . ,” Leo exclaimed as Assad handcuffed him.
Then Carl turned toward his shocked wife, reaching for his own handcuffs. “Gunhild Andresen, the time is ten forty-eight, and I’m arresting you for withholding vital evidence relating to a murder case.”
And that was enough to really make her faint.
Five minutes later, the two of them were sitting at their usual place in the kitchen, shaking and despondent with their hands cuffed behind their backs.
“This is going to be a very long and hard day for all of us. Do you understand?”
The question didn’t revive them.
“Well, the first thing we’ll do is drive back to police headquarters in Copenhagen, where I’ll read the charges against you. Then you’ll be questioned and subsequently kept in custody. Tomorrow, you will be arraigned before a judge, who will decide whether to accommodate our request to keep you in custody. And when he has granted our request and a few weeks have passed, during which we’ll have made progress with our investigation, we’ll discuss what will happen prior to your trial. Your lawyer will probably want to . . . You do have a lawyer, don’t you?”
They both shook their heads. It was all they could manage.
“Okay, but you’ll be assigned a court-appointed defense lawyer to argue your case. Have you understood the procedure?”
The wife burst out crying uncontrollably. This couldn’t be true. They had always led an upright life and kept to themselves. So why them?
“Did you hear that, Leo? ‘Why us?’ Gunhild just said. Well, does that maybe mean that there are more of you involved?” asked Carl. “Because if the responsibility is shared, it might reduce your sentence a bit.”
That made Leo sing. “We’ll do anything you ask us to,” he implored. “As long as you . . .” He paused to choose his words carefully. “As long as you both . . . We have three grandchildren. They won’t be able to understand this.” He looked at his wife, who looked devastated, nodding to herself with a vacant expression.
“If we tell you everything, is that going to help us?” he asked. “Can you assure us that everything you’ve just told us won’t happen?”
“Yes, you have my word.”
Carl nodded to Assad.
“Yes, if you tell us everything, you have my word too,” he said.
“And it won’t affect any of the others?”
“No, we promise. Tell us the whole truth and everything will be fine.”
“Would you be so kind as to remove these?” he asked. “Then we can drive over to Benny Andersson. He doesn’t live far from here.”
There was a sound from Carl’s cell phone. Gordon had sent a photo of Rose’s face.
The sight made Carl forget to breathe. It was absolutely heartrending. Then he handed the phone to Leo.
—
The man definitely didn’t look happy when he opened the door and saw Leo Andresen’s pale face in front of the rest of the delegation.
“They know, Benny,” said Leo. “Just not how it happened.”
He would have slammed the door if he thought he could get away with it.
“Begin with the manganese poisoning, Benny,” said Leo when they were sitting down around the sticky, ash-covered coffee table.
“You can speak freely. Inspector Mørck has given his solemn word that nothing will be used against you or any of us.”
“What about that one? Does that include him?” he asked, pointing at Assad.
“I don’t know if I’d say it’s solemn, but you could try and ask me,” he said caustically.
“I don’t trust them one bit,” said Benny. “They can drag me to the police station and do whatever they want. I’m not saying a word, and I have nothing to hide.”
Leo Andresen had once been a foreman at the plant, and it showed. “Are you stupid or what? You’re forcing me to turn you in, Benny,” he said angrily.
Benny rummaged in his pockets and eventually found his matches. He blinked a few times as he lit his half-smoked cigar. “It’s my word against yours, Leo. You can’t prove a damn thing because there is nothing to prove.”
“Hey!” interrupted Carl. “This isn’t about you and what you have or haven’t done, Benny,” said Carl. “It’s only about Rose, and at the moment she’s in a terrible state.”
Benny Andersson hesitated for a moment and then shrugged as if thinking that it wouldn’t help her situation if he landed himself in it.
“What’s this business with the manganese poisoning, Leo?” asked Carl.
He took a deep breath. “It was before the millennium, when an occupational medicine physician and a neurologist discovered that working at the plant posed a health risk due to the dry manganese particles in the air. The manganese is added to the steel to fix sulfur and get rid of the oxygen, making the steel stainless and strong. But the doctors said that it was making people ill with Parkinson’s-like symptoms, even though it was actually a different part of the brain that was affected.
“It resulted in heated discussions between these two doctors and some of their colleagues, who thought it was sheer nonsense.
“It eventually led to some of the workers receiving industrial injury compensation, including Benny here, which proved too much for the company in the financial climate as it was then.” Leo looked at Benny with undisguised skepticism. The discussion about whether he had been exposed to poisoning or not would apparently never end. “Arne Knudsen was already dead by then, of course, but before that he had repeatedly claimed that he had also been affected. And he managed to convince everyone. In hindsight, it was employees like Arne and—pardon my saying so—also you, Benny, who ult
imately brought the company down.”
Benny Andersson put his cigar down in the ashtray. “That’s not true, Leo. You’re twisting everything.”
“Well, pardon me if I do. But things certainly went from bad to worse with Arne and the manganese case, and that was when Rose was still at the plant. Every time there was a discussion about it and we gave him a piece of our minds, knowing that he never came near the manganese dust, he went back to Rose and took it out on her. He did try to make an ally out of Benny, but Benny couldn’t stand the man.”
He turned toward Benny. “Would you agree with that?”
“Hell yes. I hated that prick. He was an asshole, and he hadn’t been poisoned. He was just a malicious bastard intent on ruining it for the rest of us who really were ill.”
“And Rose was having a really bad time because of her dad’s psychological abuse. We could all see it, so there were many reasons why we all wanted to get rid of Arne Knudsen. Get him the hell out of our lives.”
“Did you also want to get rid of him, Benny?”
“Are you recording this?” he asked.
Carl shook his head. “No. But we have two things we’d like to show you before we carry on. I’ve already shown them to Leo.” He slammed a photo on the table of Arne Knudsen’s body lying on a steel autopsy table.
“Good God,” said Benny at the sight of the man with his lower body completely crushed. No one would have been able to guess what they were looking at if they hadn’t been told in advance.
“And then there’s this photo. I received it half an hour ago.” He showed him the photo of Rose on his phone.
Benny Andersson reached for his box of cigars while his eyes lingered on the tormented face. It really got to him. “Is it Rose?” he asked, visibly shaken.
“Yes. The time between the two photos has been one long nightmare for her, as you can tell. Every day for seventeen years she has lived with the image of her mangled dad and taken the entire blame for his death. But the situation now is that her condition is extremely bad. And if you two don’t help us today, she will die inside. Do you believe me when you see this face?”
The Scarred Woman Page 46