The Killing Bay

by Chris Ould

  “Yes, man. That’s what I’m telling you.”

  “Do you remember what time this was?”

  “I don’t know.” Drescher shrugged. “About five o’clock, maybe earlier.”

  He looked to Veerle, who agreed with a nod. “And I had a shower, also,” she said to Dánjal. “So…”

  “Right,” Dánjal said.

  “So have you finished now?” Jessen asked. “Are you satisfied? Or do you want to take our fingerprints and DNA?”

  “No,” Dánjal shook his head. “We’ll only do that when you’re arrested.” He stood up. “Thanks for your help.”

  Neither of the two men moved as Dánjal made for the door, but as he got there Veerle rose and followed him into the hall, going ahead to open the front door for him. It was raining and Dánjal paused to fasten his coat.

  “Do you know when the funeral will be?” Veerle asked, still holding the door. “Annika, who was here before, said she would let me – us – know.”

  “I don’t think it will be for some time yet,” Dánjal said. “A week at least. Perhaps more.”

  “Oh. Okay. I see.”

  Her voice was flat, almost disappointed. She didn’t move and Dánjal sensed that there was more she wanted to say.

  “Listen,” he said. “If you think of anything else that could help us – anything at all – you can call us any time.”

  “I… Yes, I will. I just wanted to say thank you to Annika, for when she was here before. She was really nice, you know? Kind. I thought—”

  “Veerle?” Lukas Drescher called.

  She turned her head quickly. “Coming.” And then to Dánjal, “Will you tell Annika? If she ever wants to come here, for coffee or something…”

  “Sure, of course,” Dánjal said.

  “Takk.”

  Dánjal stayed on the step for a couple of seconds after the door had closed. Something not quite right there, but he couldn’t put his finger on it.

  23

  THE CONFERENCE WAS HELD IN THE OFFICE ADJACENT TO THE main incident room. There were five of them there: Hentze, Remi Syderbø, Ári Niclasen, Oddur Arge and Sophie Krogh. They sat at two tables pushed together so they had a view of the whiteboards and when Remi called the meeting to order it was obvious he was going to keep this as formal as possible. Hentze had seen this before. Remi believed that formality brought order, as well as keeping things short.

  “We are thirty hours into this investigation so we need to define what we do and don’t know and decide on our next course of action,” Remi said. “First of all I think we should look at the evidence from the body. Anders Toft had to take the afternoon plane back to Copenhagen, but Hjalti has a preliminary report on the post-mortem results from Dr Hovgaard and I think that’s the place we should start. Hjalti?”

  Hentze put on his glasses to read from the notes Elisabet Hovgaard had emailed across. “As Remi said, this is just a preliminary report,” he told the group. “There are further tests to do and they’ll be carried out when Anders gets to Copenhagen, but in the meantime I think these bullet points will be enough.”

  The bullet points – time and cause of death, and the lack of indications of rape – were much as Elisabet Hovgaard had already outlined to Hentze at the mortuary, but there were a few more details about the stab wound.

  “It was a narrow-bladed, sharp-edged weapon: something like a filleting knife,” Hentze told the others. “The wound was 65 mm in depth, 10 to 15 mm wide and was directed upwards below the sternum but to the left of the heart.”

  “But definitely made after death?” Remi asked.

  “Yeh, without doubt, according to Elisabet. Everything else – DNA sampling and so on – will be done as soon as possible, so we should have some results within the next twenty-four to thirty-six hours at the most.”

  “Okay, thanks. Any questions?” Remi asked, addressing the others. “No? Okay, let’s move on.”

  Sophie Krogh was next, occasionally referring to an iPad on the table in front of her. “We’ve examined three sites,” she said. “The huts at Húsavík where the body was found; the boat shed at Sandoy where the jacket and hat were recovered, and the car used by Erla Sivertsen. These have produced a lot of samples that need to be processed, along with clothing worn by the victim. So, I can’t tell you anything from analysis yet. What I can say is that at the moment there’s no evidence that the site at Húsavík was where she was killed. The boat-house is also clean.”

  “So what’s your best estimation of events?” Remi asked.

  “Without a full analysis it would only be an informed guess.”

  “That’s okay, I understand.”

  “Well, in that case what I’d say is based more on what we haven’t found than what we have. I’d say she died at an unknown location, and I suspect that the body was put in the boot of her car, possibly so it could be moved to Húsavík. There are certain things that indicate this might be the case, but we need fibre and soil analysis to be sure. After that I think her body was placed where it was found and the clothes arranged to suggest a sexual attack. That may also have been when she was stabbed, but it’s not possible to say for sure.”

  “What about the graffiti?” Remi asked.

  “We’ve managed to remove the section of wood it was on for analysis. I didn’t think you would want it left there anyway. I don’t think it will show very much, though. Certainly nothing specific in terms of when the words were written.”

  “So it may or may not be related to the body.”

  “There’s nothing to say that it is,” Sophie said.

  “It must be,” Ári put in. “It’s too much of a coincidence for that not to be the case.”

  Sophie Krogh clearly didn’t think it was worth reiterating her previous statement so she just shrugged.

  “How soon do you think we might have some results?” Remi asked. “On anything.”

  “Perhaps twenty-four hours. I’ve asked for the samples which might provide the most information to be fast-tracked.”

  “Good. Thank you. Is there anything else we should note?”

  “Not directly relating to forensics, except for the cellphone SIM card in her car. It was found under the driver’s seat in a fold of the carpet after the car was brought back to be properly examined.”

  “When you say it was under the seat, do you mean it was hidden?”

  “Possibly, yes; or just lost. Of course, we don’t know how long it was there or who it belonged to yet, but Oddur has it for analysis.”

  “Okay, thank you,” Remi said. “Would you mind staying in case there’s anything we need to clarify?”

  Sophie shook her head. “No, I’m happy to.”

  “Okay.” Remi looked at the others. “So, now we come to our own investigation. Ári?”

  Ári Niclasen rose to his feet, moving round the tables to the whiteboard from where he could address the others. This was what he’d been waiting for, Hentze thought: his moment in the spotlight. Then he chided himself for being uncharitable. Still, it was hard to be generous in the face of Ári’s rather superior, lecturing tone, which suggested that he – alone amongst the others – had already seen the light.

  “We’ve collated more than forty statements from members of the Alliance, as well as Ms Sivertsen’s family and friends,” Ári said. “These have enabled us to compile a timeline for her last known movements, which is shown here.” He tapped a section of whiteboard with the end of a marker pen. “I can assume we’re all familiar with it?”

  He glanced round the room to confirm.

  “I think so,” Remi said.

  “Very well, then.” Ári nodded. “So, we’ve established that Erla must have returned to her room at the Fjalsgøta house some time after 16:30 hours. She didn’t speak to any other residents, but at some point she must have left again. There are no sightings or reports of where she may have gone, but as the post-mortem shows, between 20:00 and 23:00 she was dead. So, that leaves us with four to seven hours unacc
ounted for, during which time she either went to or was taken to Sandoy.”

  He moved to indicate a block of times written at the end of the whiteboards. “If we look at Saturday’s ferry timetable from Streymoy to Sandoy there are only four sailings she could have been on – either alive or dead. If she was on either the 17:15 or 19:15 sailings she was clearly alive; 21:00 or 23:45 she may have been dead, in which case – if Ms Krogh is right and her body was moved in her car – it would be the driver of the car we need to find. However, we’ve canvassed the Teistin’s crew and passengers as far as we’re able and no one remembers seeing either Ms Sivertsen or her car.”

  Again Ári Niclasen paused to let his audience assimilate this information, then he moved to another section of the board.

  “I think there are several other things worth noting. First, her car was found at Skopun, which could suggest that after dumping her body, the killer used it to return to the ferry and then travelled back to Streymoy as a foot passenger, leaving the car at the ferry terminal to distract us.

  “Second, we haven’t recovered her phone or her camera equipment, or any personal possessions that she may have had with her at the time of her death. Her pockets had been emptied.

  “Third, we’re now able to access her phone record and email account. Oddur?”

  Oddur Arge half made to stand, then decided against it and cleared his throat instead.

  “Her emails are what you’d expect: a mixture of personal messages to family and friends and those related to her work with AWCA. There’s nothing that jumps out as suspicious or odd. Her phone calls are more or less the same.”

  “But her cellphone service provider has identified the numbers she called,” Ári said, like a lawyer prompting a reluctant witness. Ári was making his case, Hentze realised; he had this planned out.

  “Yes, all but a few,” Oddur said.

  “So in the last week, who had she called besides AWCA colleagues?”

  Oddur cleared his throat again. “Her parents’ home and Finn Sólsker’s cellphone.”

  Hentze raised his mug and realised it was empty. He leaned forward to pump fresh coffee into it from the Thermos jug.

  “How many times?” Ári asked.

  “Her parents twice, Finn Sólsker eight.”

  “When was the last time she called him?”

  “On Saturday at 19:03.”

  24

  THE SEA WAS GETTING ROUGHER AS THE WIND BACKED TO THE west, but the beat and vibration of the Teistin’s engines didn’t vary. Outside the sky was heavy and leaden, almost all the light gone.

  The case, as Ári Niclasen had made it, was not without merit. Hentze acknowledged that. On top of the known history between Erla and Finn Sólsker, Annika’s report of her meeting with Martha was clear: Martha believed that her husband was having an affair with Erla Sivertsen.

  Obviously, this wasn’t known for a fact, as Ári had been at pains to point out. It was a wife’s suspicion. But when you also remembered that Finn had no alibi for Saturday evening, that he could offer no explanation of how Erla’s coat and hat had come to be in his boat shed, and that he refused to admit to having seen or spoken to Erla Sivertsen more than twice in the last two months… Well, something was clearly not right.

  Of course, Ári had said, if Finn was viewed as a viable suspect, then they could only speculate on what might have happened. The apparent staging of a rape, stabbing the body and leaving graffiti about the whales could all have been designed to obscure the truth. But whatever the case, if and when the technical lab matched samples to Finn, he would have no choice but to explain properly. In the meantime, Ári advised, it would be in everyone’s best interests to continue to hold Finn until the test results were known.

  “You want a coffee, Hjalti?” Sophie Krogh asked, bracing her knees against the roll of the ferry, a hand on the back of the vacant seat beside him.

  The rest of the police contingent had gone to sit in the forward lounge near the snack bar, but Hentze had gone to a table in one of the side galleries. It maintained the distance he had insisted on to Remi. He wasn’t part of the team and was only there because he wanted to speak to Martha.

  “No, thanks.” Hentze shook his head.

  “Company?”

  “No. Thanks.”

  “Okay. I’m going for a smoke then.”

  “Watch your footing on the deck,” Hentze told her.

  “Don’t worry, I’m told I’ve got the reflexes of a cat. At least, I think ‘reflexes’ was the word they used.”

  She gave him a grin, then moved on towards the aft deck.

  Hentze turned his head to look out of the window. In Remi Syderbø’s place, he would have made the same decision. With no other suspect and the weight of circumstantial evidence, it made sense to hold Finn in custody overnight pending DNA analysis and other forensic tests, and when this was decided the meeting had broken up. Remi had held Hentze back, though.

  “You agree?” he asked.

  Hentze nodded. “It’s the best way.”

  “You know we’ll have to search the house.”

  “Yeh. I’ll call Martha and get her to take the kids away if that’s all right with you.”

  “Of course.”

  “I also think I should leave the investigation. More now than before.”

  “I’ve told you, no one will question your impartiality.”

  “Not here, maybe, but if or when it goes to court a smart lawyer could use it to muddy the waters. That doesn’t mean I think Finn did it; just that if we can’t rule him out I think we should play safe.”

  Remi could see Hentze had a point. He didn’t seem to like it, but in the end he said, “Let’s talk about it in the morning when we see how things are going, okay?”

  “Okay,” Hentze agreed, although in his head he was already stepping aside.

  So now Finn was being driven to the holding cells in Klaksvík and Hentze was on his way to Skopun and a meeting with his daughter to which he was not looking forward. She had said barely half a dozen words when he called her to say that she should probably arrange for the kids to stay the night with friends. It could be disturbing for them to have several uniformed officers searching the house.

  On the table in front of him Hentze’s phone rang. It was Jan Reyná.

  “Hey, Jan,” Hentze said.

  “Hi. Can you talk?”

  For a second Hentze debated. “Not so much now.”

  “Okay. I just wondered if Finn Sólsker was going to be held overnight.”

  “Yeh, to the morning.”

  “Okay, thanks. Can I call you later or tomorrow?”

  “Tomorrow, yeh.”

  “When would be best?”

  Hentze decided. “Would you like to have breakfast?”

  “Sure. Where? Hotel Tórshavn again?”

  “No, there’s a café on Niels Finsens gøta: Smyrjibreyðsbúðin.”

  “You’re spreading your favours around?”

  “Ja, something like that. Is seven too early for you?”

  “No, I’ll be there.”

  “Okay, I will see you then.”

  Hentze rang off, then sat back in the seat and closed his eyes.

  * * *

  In the forward lounge of the ferry Dánjal Michelsen was sitting with Annika Mortensen, a table away from the three uniform officers who’d also been assigned to the search. Most of the other passengers – fewer than half a dozen of them – looked as if they were on the way home from work. The Teistin in choppy weather was no pleasure cruise.

  Dánjal tidied used sugar packets into his empty cardboard cup.

  “I forgot to tell you, I talked to Veerle Koning at the Alliance house earlier,” he told Annika. “She said you should call in any time if you felt like a coffee.”

  “The Dutch girl?” Annika asked. “Curly hair, looks like a milkmaid?”

  “Yeah, I suppose so.”

  Annika shook her head. “Don’t think I will. She’s a weeper, that one
. Turns it on too easily.”

  “You mean fake? She didn’t strike me like that.”

  “No, not fake: just too emotional. Anything will set her off.”

  “She was okay today,” Dánjal said, then shrugged. “Anyway, I said I’d tell you. And at least she was more cooperative than those arseholes she lives with: Jessen and Drescher. I don’t like being told I’m no better than a Nazi.”

  Annika nodded, but didn’t follow it up. Instead she cast a glance at the opposite table, then lowered her voice. “What do you think about Hjalti?”

  “What about him?”

  Annika gave him a look as if to question whether he was being purposely dense. “You think he’s okay?”

  “Sure,” Dánjal said, but then decided it needed qualification. “It’s not like Finn Sólsker’s a proper relative, is it? I mean, only an in-law. And anyway, if he did it I’ll swim home.”

  “You don’t think so?”

  Dánjal shook his head. “If he’d killed her he could’ve put the body on his boat, gone twenty kilometres out to sea and that would’ve been that.” He looked up as Sophie Krogh came to the table and sat down next to Annika.

  “Ask Sophie,” Dánjal said, swapping to Danish.

  “Ask me what?”

  “How would you dispose of a body if you lived here?”

  “Put it on a boat and take it a long way out to sea,” Sophie said, as if she’d worked this out a long time ago. “Strip it naked, weigh it down – chains round the torso is best – then over the side. I’d send the clothes after it with more chain, then sail away. Any help?”

  Dánjal smiled. “I must remember never to seriously piss you off.”

  “No,” Sophie said. “It wouldn’t be a good thing to do.”

  25

  “THEY’RE HOLDING HIM TILL TOMORROW,” I TOLD FRÍÐA.

  She hadn’t wanted to call Hentze herself, despite the fact that she probably had more of a legitimate connection to him than I did. She might have thought I’d get more information, copper to copper.

  “Is there… Did he say anything else?”

  “No, he sounded as if he was up to his eyes – busy,” I told her. “But I said I’d meet him tomorrow for breakfast. I’ll see if I can get more details then.”