Carl smiled. So there were limits to Lars Bjørn’s willingness to cooperate. Was he already thinking about how the police commander and head of communications would react if they were forced to explain on national TV why an unauthorized policeman had threatened a TV crew with a firearm to get them out of the way, not to mention the subsequent downpour of flesh and banknotes?
“Have you arrested James Frank and Birgit Zimmermann?” Carl whispered.
Bjørn nodded.
“And have they confessed?”
He nodded again.
“Then strike a deal with Borg-Pedersen and serve him those cases on a silver platter. Two solved murders have got to be better than nothing.”
Bjørn scowled and gestured the man over to him.
“I have a suggestion for you, Borg-Pedersen,” he said.
Assad and Carl turned around and looked at the colossal buildings that made up the University Hospital.
“Shall we just go up to her?” asked Assad.
Carl wasn’t sure. It was one thing that they had just tried to identify a couple of lumps of meat as the woman they had been pursuing, but it was quite another thing altogether to go up and be confronted with someone they loved and who was now only a shadow of her former self.
They stood silently on the way up in the elevator, trying to brace themselves for the hopelessness of the sight that awaited them.
Gordon was paler than ever when he met them at the elevator. But he also seemed strangely grown-up for the first time.
“What’s the situation?” asked Carl almost reluctantly. Why ask when he didn’t really want to hear the answer?
“I don’t think they’ll let you see her.” He pointed at the intensive care unit. “There are a couple of nurses and a doctor by the monitors outside her ward. You’ll have to ask them. Rose is in the first examination room.”
Carl knocked tentatively on the glass window of the nurse station and held up his badge against the glass.
A nurse appeared immediately. “You can’t question Rose Knudsen. She’s very weak and hallucinating.”
“We’re not here to question her. She is a very dear and valued colleague, and we’ve come to tell you something that we think might help her.”
She frowned in the authoritative way that only people with responsibility for the fate of others are capable of. “I don’t think we can allow that at this critical stage. You’ll have to wait outside the ward until I come to get you. I need to discuss it with my colleagues first. But don’t get your hopes up.”
Carl nodded. He could just make out Rose’s face in there on the pillow.
“Come on, Carl,” said Assad, tugging at his arm. “There’s nothing you can do just now.”
So all three of them sat down side by side in silence while the elevator went up and down, and all the white-clad people on the ward fought for their patients.
—
“Carl,” said a voice in front of him. He was already about to get up and receive the nurse’s verdict when he raised his head only to see Mona’s beautiful face and glistening eyes. Were those tears?
“I was here anyway and heard that Rose was here too,” she said quietly. “So you found her.”
He nodded. “Yes, but it was a joint effort between the three of us,” he said, nodding at his two faithful assistants. “I’m afraid they won’t let us talk to her. But the thing is, Mona, we’ve brought something that we think can really help her.” He attempted a boyish smile but didn’t succeed. “I know I shouldn’t ask, but maybe they’ll listen to you because you’re a psychologist and are familiar with the case. Do you think you could tell them that we only want what’s best for Rose, and that what we’re here for can only be a help to her? Would you do that for us, Mona?”
She stood completely still and looked him straight in the eyes. Then she nodded quietly and stroked his cheek so gently that he almost couldn’t feel it.
Carl closed his eyes and sank into the chair. The touch evoked so many feelings, but strangely enough mostly sorrow and an inexplicable sensitivity.
He felt a hand on his and realized that he was gasping for breath. After the unimaginable successes of the past few days, his body was now reacting irrationally, causing him to shiver and feel like his skin was on fire.
“Don’t cry,” he heard Assad comforting him. “Mona will help us.”
Carl opened his eyes and saw the world through a haze of tears that made it look unreal. He fumbled in his pocket, took out the pager, and gave it to Assad. “I can’t,” he said. “Won’t you go in and tell her everything if they let us?”
Assad stared at the pager as if it were a holy chalice that might evaporate and disappear forever if he touched it. When he blinked, his eyelashes suddenly looked so incredibly long and vibrant. Carl had never noticed that before.
Then Assad let go of Carl’s hand and stood up. He straightened his shirt and ran a hand through his curly hair a couple of times before walking over to the ward entrance. He stood outside the door for a moment as if trying to compose himself before disappearing inside.
He could hear voices from inside expressing discontent, but then he heard Mona’s voice cutting through and smoothing things over. Then it went quiet.
Gordon and Carl stood up a minute later. They looked at each other in support before entering the ward. Through the glass partition, they could see Mona’s back in front of the monitors, but Assad wasn’t there.
“Come on, Carl,” said Gordon. “I think we can go in now.”
They hesitated in the doorway, and when no one reacted they snuck in.
It was clear what was about to happen. The nurse who had tried to put them off earlier was standing in Rose’s room keeping a close eye on what Assad was doing. Carl could clearly see the way he was looking down at Rose, and how his lips were constantly moving. His face was expressing all kinds of emotion, and his eyes were as intense as his gesticulating hands. The story about a day a long time ago when Rose’s father was killed turned into a pantomime of words and emotions that Carl could easily decipher and recognize. Assad was amazingly patient in telling the tale, and the nurse looked at him nodding, as if he had spellbound her.
Then he held the pager out toward Rose. Carl could tell that the nurse was moved by his gentleness and care for her patient.
Then something happened that made Mona gasp and Gordon lean up against his shoulder for support.
Suddenly the monitor showed that Rose’s pulse increased rapidly, and in the room they could see her raising her arm slightly from the bed. It was clear that she couldn’t manage more than that, so Assad took her arm and put the pager in her open hand.
It remained there while he finished his explanation.
Rose slowly pressed her fingers around the pager while her arm fell back down onto the bed. The doctor and nurses observed the monitor that showed her pulse slowly and steadily decreasing.
Everyone in the room nodded at one another in relief.
—
Assad was ready to drop when he stepped out into the waiting room, where Mona gave him a long hug before he sat down heavily on a chair looking like he could fall into a deep sleep right there and then.
“Did she understand everything, Assad?” asked Carl.
He wiped his eyes. “I’d never imagined she’d be so weak, Carl. I was constantly scared of losing her in there. Scared that she’d close her eyes and never open them again. I was so afraid, I really was.”
“We saw her accept the pager. Do you think she understood what it meant? That the others abused her trust? And that the pager was a symbol of her innocence?”
Assad nodded. “She understood everything, Carl. She was crying all the time, and I almost didn’t dare to go on, but the nurse kept encouraging me, so I did.”
Carl looked at Mona. “Do you think Rose has a chance?”
She smiled, tears running down her cheeks. “You boys have certainly given us all hope, Carl, but time will tell. But I think from a psychological point of view, she might be recovering.”
He nodded. He knew full well that she couldn’t magically produce a different reality from the one they were faced with.
Mona’s face suddenly contorted with a pain he had never seen in her before. And then he suddenly remembered. Why hadn’t he thought about it earlier?
“Why were you here at the hospital in the first place, Mona? Is it your daughter?”
She looked away, blinking her eyes and pursing her lips. Then she suddenly nodded and looked straight into his eyes.
“Hold me, Carl,” was all she said.
And Carl knew that if he was going to hold her, it would have to be close, tight, and long.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Thanks to my wife and soul mate, Hanne, for her fantastic and loving support, and not least for her invaluable feedback.
Thanks to Linda Lykke Lundgaard for her professional insight and inspiration for the subject of the novel.
Thanks to Henning Kure for his skilled overview and speedy preliminary editing.
Thanks to Elisabeth Ahlefeldt-Laurvig for her research, all-around help, and resourcefulness.
Thanks also to Elsebeth Wæhrens, Eddie Kiran, Hanne Petersen, Micha Schmalstieg, and Karlo Andersen for their intelligent preliminary proofreading.
A special thanks to my indispensable and fantastic friend and firebrand at Politiken Literary Agency, editor Anne C. Andersen, for her loyalty and watchful eye and for being so uncompromising.
Thanks to Lene Juul and Charlotte Weiss at Politiken Literary Agency for their unfailing belief, hope, and patience. Thanks to Helle Wacher for her PR work on the novel.
My thanks to Gitte and Peter Q. Rannes and the Danish Centre for Writers and Translators for putting me up during the writing process.
Thanks to Superintendent Leif Christensen for his advice with police-related material. Thanks to Kjeld S. Skjærbæk for bringing a ray of sunshine to every day.
Thanks to Nya Guldberg for our fruitful cooperation over many years, and thanks to Rudi Rasmussen for adopting me and taking over.
Thanks to Laura Russo and her fantastic colleagues in Bilbao, Madrid, and Barcelona for help during difficult circumstances.
Thanks to Johan Daniel “Dan” Schmidt and Daniel Struer for their IT work. Thanks to Benny Thøgersen and Lina Pillora for new writing space in Rørvig.
Thanks to Ole Andersen, Abelone Lind Andersen, and Pelle Dresler for a fantastic tour and introduction to the workings of a steel plant. Thanks to Tina Wright, Zainap Holm, and Erik Pedersen for additional information.
Thanks to Eva Marcussen for the tour of the flat in Sandalsparken. Thanks to Malene Thorup and Cecilie Petersen from the Danish Immigration Service.
JUSSI ADLER-OLSEN is Denmark’s #1 crime writer and a New York Times bestseller with his Department Q series. His books have sold more than fifteen million copies around the world and have won many prestigious crime-writing awards, including the Glass Key award, also won by Henning Mankell, Jo Nesbø, Stieg Larsson, and Peter Høeg.
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The Scarred Woman Page 48