by Sara Blaedel
The door opened and a nurse peeked in. She told Louise that she had been the first one to see the woman when she arrived in the ambulance.
“At first glance it doesn’t appear that she’s endured any serious harm, but she is suffering from exposure and of course is in shock,” she said. “I’ll send the doctor in as soon as she’s done with the patient in the next room.”
Louise nodded and turned back to the young woman, but didn’t have a chance to say anything before the interpreter opened the door.
The interpreter smiled at Louise and walked over to the chair and said hello to Hana. The girl crept farther into the bathrobe every time a new person stepped into the hospital room, but when the interpreter started speaking Czech, Hana’s shoulders seemed to relax a little.
“Have you spoken with Pavlína since that day?” the interpreter asked Louise as she took off her jacket and laid it over the back of the chair.
“Pavlína!” Hana exclaimed and seemed desperate as she spoke a long stream of Czech words directly to the interpreter.
Louise leaned forward in her chair and listened, even though she didn’t understand the slightest bit of what was being said. To her it sounded like chains of wood being pulled through the room, rising and falling in strength. Hana gesticulated madly, and the interpreter’s face turned serious. She pulled her chair all the way over to Hana while Louise stayed back. Finally the flood of words ebbed, and the woman started shaking. Louise stepped over to the crying woman and introduced herself. The doctor slipped in quietly.
“Louise,” the doctor said quickly. “Would you mind waiting outside while I examine her?” She looked at her through small gold-rimmed glasses. “But I’m sure I’ll be needing your help,” she said to the interpreter.
It was fifteen minutes before the door opened again. Louise asked if she could come back in.
The towel around Hana’s head had come loose, and her long blonde hair hung like a fraying rope down her back.
“It turns out that Hana here knows a Pavlína, and I think it must be the same Pavlína we talked to because she also mentioned a Miloš,” the interpreter explained.
Louise raised an eyebrow and looked at the young Czech woman. Her head was bent as she studied her hands folded in her lap. It wasn’t until Hana raised her face holding out her empty cup to the nurse who came in to offer her more hot chocolate that Louise recognized Hana from the airport and their brief encounter on the street.
“Ask her if she’s Pavlína’s sister,” Louise said.
The Czech woman shook her head, and the interpreter explained that they were just friends. “She lost her cell phone in the water, so she can’t call Miloš Vituk and tell him what happened. She wants to know if we can call them so they’ll come get her. She doesn’t know where they live.”
“Of course,” Louise said. “But let’s go down to Police Headquarters first so we can take her statement. That’s where Miloš’s phone number is, anyway. If you didn’t bring your own car, you can ride with us. You’ll have to come so I can ask her about what happened at the harbor.”
At HQ they ran into Toft in the hallway. He had just returned from the harbor and was on his way into the small room where they were monitoring the wiretap.
He greeted Hana politely and told Louise that several witnesses had seen the Audi at the wharf, but no one had seen the woman being thrown into the water.
Louise nodded toward the office where Igli was sitting, listening in on the wiretap.
“Has there been anything?” Louise asked.
“Surprisingly little,” Toft admitted.
“I’m on my way to call Miloš Vituk and tell him what happened. Then he or Pavlína can bring Hana some dry clothes. I’ll come see you after I’ve taken her statement,” Louise said, disappearing into her office and shutting her door behind her.
24
IT DIDN’T TAKE LONG. HANA SIMROVÁ WAS EIGHTEEN AND FROM Ústí nad Labem in the Czech Republic, just like Pavlína. She had come to Denmark to visit Pavlína and was staying with her at Miloš Vituk’s apartment. That morning, right as Pavlína and she had reached the front hallway of the building on their way outside, a car pulled up to the curb in front of them.
“What time did this happen?” Louise asked, watching her.
Hana didn’t know. Maybe 10:00 or a little after.
“It all happened so quickly,” the interpreter explained. “She thinks they must have been watching them. Two big, muscular guys jumped out of the back seat and grabbed hold of her. Pavlína screamed, but they hit her so hard she fell down. And then they drove away, leaving Pavlína behind. Hana doesn’t remember anything else.”
Louise asked about the plastic ties Hana’s wrists were bound with.
“They twisted her arms behind her back before she had a chance to fight. They put them on in the car, and it hurt. But she was so scared that she just closed her eyes, because she didn’t know what was going to happen or what they were going to do with her.”
“What did they look like?”
Hana shook her head and sniffled a little as she apologized for not paying closer attention. She was just so scared.
“What about the guy driving the car? Was he big and muscular too?” Louise asked, focusing intently on the Czech woman.
Hana shook her head and said that only the other two men were.
“The third guy just sat behind the wheel.”
Hamdi, Louise thought.
“She never really noticed him; she saw him only from behind, but his hair was short and straight, and he drove really fast the whole way.”
The car had driven down to the harbor. But even there the woman didn’t understand what was happening until she was in the water and the car was speeding off, its tires screeching.
“Tell us what happened after they drove away,” Louise asked. “How long did it take before the German man rescued you?”
Hana closed her eyes for a second, as if she was trying to run through the whole scenario for details, but then she shrugged her skinny shoulders and shook her head.
“Not that long,” the interpreter said. “She says she kept her mouth closed and focused on trying to stay afloat. But she has no idea how long it was before she heard someone jump into the water and felt herself being pulled in toward the wharf.”
Louise accepted that Hana couldn’t provide any more information. The young woman still seemed quite shaken and was pale and weak from exposure.
“How long will she be in Denmark?” Louise asked, looking back and forth between the interpreter and Hana as the question was translated. Again the woman shrugged, her gaunt shoulders moving up to her ears.
“That hadn’t been nailed down yet. They invited her in the first place because Pavlína was missing her girlfriends from home, and Hana was actually thrilled to get the invitation and the airplane ticket they sent. This trip was her first step away from a life on the streets, and once here she could see how well things had gone for her friend.”
Louise watched Hana, wondering how much the woman knew about Pavlína’s ordeal before she met Miloš.
“Ask her if she’s here just on vacation,” Louise instructed the interpreter.
Hana nodded and looked at her a little uncertainly.
Louise smiled apologetically at her. Just then the front desk called and announced she had a visitor. So Louise got up to go down and meet them so Hana could get her clothes.
Miloš Vituk was alone as he approached with a white plastic bag in one hand. His mouth narrowed, and Louise could see that he was angry about the assault on Pavlína, even though he was mostly preoccupied with Hana right now.
“What happened?” he asked after greeting Louise. “Is Hana hurt?”
Louise shook her head and said she was mostly in shock.
“Why do you think this happened?” Louise asked, looking at him for a long time.
It took quite a while before he responded.
“Could it be anyone besides the Albanians?” he
said. “I don’t really have any enemies in Denmark, but I’m guessing those two have it in for me because I’m taking such good care of Pavlína.”
“Have they asked you for more money?” Louise wanted to know.
He shook his head, his shoulders drooping.
Louise refrained from pointing out that the Albanians probably thought he was a long-term source of money now, since they’d already pressured him into paying far more than their original demand. Now they were setting his limits, not Miloš.
“They don’t have anything to do with Hana, but still they hurt her,” he said. “Pavlína is really upset and scared.”
Hana stayed in her seat when they came into Louise’s office, but she smiled cautiously at Miloš, pulling her bathrobe even tighter around her, as if she suddenly realized that all her wet clothes were in a bag.
Miloš walked over and kissed her head, where her hair was now mostly dry. He held out the dry clothes, and the interpreter offered to accompany her to the bathroom, where she could get dressed.
Louise studied Miloš when they were alone.
He had taken a seat and looked miles away. His thoughts were obviously elsewhere.
“They’re not going to leave us alone,” he finally said, looking at her despondently. “This will continue as long as Pavlína and I stay in Copenhagen. But I won’t stand for it. They have all the control, and they’re violent with the girls. Pavlína was badly hurt today—I think they broke her nose. I’m going to take her to the doctor after we’re through here.”
When Hana returned she was wearing a light dress that revealed that her skinny body could have belonged to a child. There were no breasts or hips evident under the material. Miloš offered her his sweater when he noticed her shivering again. His sweater was almost longer than her dress, a little bit of yellow peeking out the bottom the sweater. Miloš took Hana under her arm and they walked close together as Louise followed them out.
“We’ll put tails on the Albanians,” Willumsen began once the whole group was present. He nodded at Toft and Stig and then his eyes moved on to Louise and her partner before he continued:
“You two keep an eye on Miloš Vituk and the girls. We don’t want to risk anything else happening to them, and it doesn’t seem like these guys are going to leave them alone until they’re sure they can’t get any more money out of Miloš. Mikkelsen’s got his people on the street, and our interpreter is monitoring the wiretap.”
He nodded to the room behind him.
“And then I think it’s time we drag those two Albanians in for questioning. It’s about fucking time we find out where they were when those two murders took place and confront them with the fact that they were seen at the wharf, right?” continued Willumsen, who had raised his voice while looking at each of his detectives in turn.
“The car was there but we don’t know for sure who was in it,” Toft corrected, pointing out that no one had seen Arian or Hamdi, just the two gorillas who’d roughed the girls up so badly. “Until we have some evidence that they’re somehow involved in prostitution, it’s just going to hurt the investigation if we start talking to them about their connection with those two killings.”
Willumsen was about to say something, but Toft beat him to it.
“We can’t bring them in for questioning until we have enough evidence,” he said. “If we strike too soon, they’ll close up shop. And right now we don’t have enough.”
Willumsen grumbled a little as he contemplated the situation.
“Fine. But I want to see photo documentation of them receiving money from the girls. Pictures of conversations on the street and of the girls heading off with their johns, whether to cars or down into the booths at Club Intim. And they’d better be fucking close-ups.”
25
THE NEXT DAY, THEY WERE STANDING IN A DOORWAY ON Valdemarsgade, each with their to-go coffee and a sandwich. They’d been waiting a long time when Miloš finally came down the stairs in the early afternoon. He opened the door and stood with his back to the street, waiting. Pavlína emerged shortly thereafter. She was walking slowly, her head bent. Out on the sidewalk he took her arm and started walking so fast that she was having a hard time keeping up. Her eyes were trained to the ground, but Louise saw bruises on her face.
“I’ll follow them. You stay here and keep an eye on Hana,” Lars offered, crumpling up his sandwich wrapper, having taken his last bite.
Louise stepped out into the street a couple of times and looked up at the apartment’s windows. One had been opened a crack before Miloš and Pavlína came down, but otherwise there were no signs of life behind the dark panes. She assumed Hana was still up there, and she figured they would be back soon so their young guest wouldn’t be left on her own for too long following her experiences the previous morning.
Louise ate the rest of her sandwich, leaned against the wall, and smiled at a mother who walked her bicycle up to the building with a baby in the seat on the back. Several people had given her curious looks as they came and went, but no one had asked what she was doing. People were starting to come home from work, so there was a little more life on Valdemarsgade than earlier in the day, when it had been practically deserted.
Louise was lost in her own thoughts, waiting, when she noticed a young couple who had stopped at the front door to Miloš’s building. The man was carrying a couple of cloth shopping bags, and the woman was looking for her keys in her big shoulder bag. They had just gotten the door open and the bags inside when a man in a dark, neat crew cut walked out. He was wearing a light gray suit, and Louise watched them nod politely to each other before the man stopped abruptly on the sidewalk and looked at her. She briefly thought he was going to come over, but then he started walking toward Vesterbrogade. She backed farther into the doorway and typed a text message into her phone to find out where her partner was.
“Western Union,” he texted back.
They must have gone to send some money abroad. It often happened that way: money transfers outside the banking system.
“On my way back,” the next text said.
She had strolled down the street a ways when the man with the crew cut returned. He stopped at the front door to the building and rang the buzzer. As Louise waited, the man turned around and she didn’t have a chance to look away before their eyes met. Someone buzzed him in a second later.
Instead of returning to her doorway, Louise crossed the street and leaned against the front wall of Miloš’s building so she was sure she wasn’t visible from the windows above.
“It was nothing. They went and took care of their money matters and then went home again. No one contacted them along the way, and they didn’t seem particularly distracted.”
Lars had come back shortly after Miloš and Pavlína.
“I’ll just give Miloš a call and ask him how Hana’s doing. Then I can also ask him if he’s heard from the Albanians,” Louise decided.
Miloš answered right away, as if he had been waiting for a call, and he sounded pleased that she was showing an interest. He assured her that Hana was doing better. He said she’d slept most of the day. And, no, no one had been in touch with him.
Louise could hear the TV and a quiet conversation in the background.
“I just ordered pizza,” Miloš said, “and then we’ll probably all go to bed early.”
Louise said that sounded like a good idea, and he promised to call if anything happened.
“Well, have a good night,” Louise concluded and then jogged off to catch up with Lars who was already walking down Valdemarsgade.
26
THE FUNERAL HOME WAS ON FALKONER ALLÉ, AND WHEN CAMILLA called to ask Louise if she could go with her, Louise assured her it that would be no problem.
“We spent the whole day yesterday keeping an eye on the building, and today Lars and I have been standing out here again since 9:30 this morning. And nothing has actually happened. I’m sure he won’t mind handling the surveillance on his own for a couple of hours,�
�� she said.
Camilla had found out earlier in the day that the police were ready to release Kaj Antonsen’s body. No distant relatives had come forward yet. His ex-wife hadn’t been in touch, either, and since she had declined to have any further involvement, Camilla was given permission to handle the practical details. She put in an obituary for the next day’s paper saying the funeral would be at Stenhøj Church on Saturday.
“No, I don’t have the deceased’s birth certificate or baptismal records,” she repeated patiently to the funeral director after she’d handed him the paperwork she did have from the police when they released the body to her.
“No, I don’t have his spouse’s birth certificate or their marriage certificate. But they’ve been divorced for years now,” Camilla said.
Even though she’d already told him everything over the phone, the funeral director had asked her to run through the standard questions again.
Camilla gave Louise a pleading look. Camilla’s smile was a little stiff, but she was trying to stay calm and she just nodded briefly when the funeral director decided they would just have to do without the separation papers.
But when the funeral director repeated his question about a birth certificate, Camilla finally had enough.
“Look, I assume you’re aware that the deceased was the victim of a spectacular and extremely violent murder. The police are hard at work right now trying to locate his murderer, which is why they have not yet had the opportunity to provide me with all of his personal papers. But, obviously, we could ask the police to switch around their priorities a little so they have time to get the paperwork in place before we plan the rest,” Camilla said angelically.
Louise stayed back, pretending to study a framed poster listing most of the routine questions the funeral director would likely ask.
“And your relationship to the deceased?” the funeral director asked, looking up from his form. He had obviously decided to ignore Camilla’s sarcastic outburst. “Ah, yes. You’re the reporter who wrote the story in Morgenavisen, right?”