Dark September

by Inger Wolf

  "And what exactly do you do?"

  "I'm part of a team, several researchers with various backgrounds. We're based out of Birmingham, that's where I'm usually at, so you're lucky you caught me here. I'm only home because my sister just had her first child, and of course, I had to come home to see it."

  He lit a cigar and blew large, well-defined smoke rings into the air. "I'm leaving again this evening. I'm afraid I can't tell you precisely what I do, but in short, it involves a product that stimulates the female libido. Our goal is to be the first ones to market a good product."

  "Do you know anything about Christoffer Holm's research?" Jacob said.

  "Yes. We've known each other for years. He was a good friend, we got together when we had time. Last I talked to him was at the conference in Montréal, we stayed at the same hotel. We went out on the town one evening."

  His voice was shaky. "I'm really sorry he's gone."

  "So, you knew he'd resigned from the psychiatric department?"

  "Yes, he told me. He said he needed some space, talked about maybe traveling six months with a girl he'd met. As I understood it, the situation was complicated, there was a child involved."

  Lisa frowned. They'd heard nothing before about travel plans. But, of course, the police hadn't learned about it, since Peter Abrahamsen had been sitting in his lab in England, messing around with female sexuality. "He didn't mention it to anyone else."

  Abrahamsen shrugged. "It's what he told me in that Canadian pub, anyway."

  "Did he mention where they were going?"

  "Not anywhere specific, it sounded like it was still in the planning stages. But as I understood it she was working on her thesis, and he was going along with her to a few places in Africa she wanted to visit, maybe even work on a new book while he was gone."

  Lisa mulled that over. "I've heard he was very talented?"

  "Christoffer was extremely talented. That's why I was surprised he threw in the towel. Almost everyone working in our branch knows his name. We talked a lot about our culture, the stress and rat race, about how it influences our view on happiness. And how our way of life in the Western world affects the imbalances in our brain. He called it the serotonin craze. He used a metaphor, stress factors were leeches living off serotonin in the brain, making us crave experience and stimulants to feed the little monsters. And when the imbalances set in, we can reestablish balance by taking antidepressants. He was against that."

  "Odd. I was under the impression that he supported SSRI's," Lisa said.

  "Don't misunderstand me. Christoffer did research at one of the country's leading psychiatric centers. He wrote his thesis there. He was convinced the interplay between neurotransmitters in the brain is in some cases inherited and biologically determined. And he was very focused on helping these people, to relieve them of as much pain as possible."

  To Lisa's great relief, he put down his nauseating cigar and stretched his legs before continuing. "But he felt these leeches were influential, and it was important to eliminate as many of them as possible, to lessen the need for medication. It's more commonly called the stress-vulnerability model. Christoffer was very interested in the scientific and political perspective, in relation to the everyday life of individuals."

  Lisa finally asked the question that had been on their minds the past few days. "Is it possible he discovered something new?"

  Silence. The researcher fidgeted in his chair for a few moments.

  "Is there something you'd like to tell us?" Jacob said.

  "This is top secret stuff, you understand."

  "We're aware of that."

  "If my company finds out, I will be in serious trouble."

  "The only thing we're interested in knowing is if his work is in some way connected to a motive for his murder."

  "Yes, I understand." He sighed. "Christoffer and I compared notes. We weren't supposed to, of course, but our research took two different directions, and there's no way we could exploit what we told each other."

  "So, this was a mutual thing? You two trusted each other?"

  "Absolutely." He paused few moments. "Christoffer thought he'd discovered something that might form the basis for the new generation of antidepressants. His research involved one of the recently discovered neurotransmitters, nitric oxide. The hypothesis has been around a long time, that inhibiting it could act as an antidepressant because it influences the circulation of serotonin."

  "That's a bit above our heads," Jacob said.

  "Of course. When you take antidepressants, you're trying to raise the level of serotonin in the brain. This influences a number of things, like mood, sleep, sexuality, control of impulses, memory, learning, and so on."

  He brought out a notepad and pen and drew a circle. Then he drew a cross off to the side. "This is very much simplified, but basically it works like this: a neuron sends serotonin to a receptor. There's a space between the neuron and receptor, a synapse, where serotonin is absorbed by enzymes. Antidepressants work in different ways to ensure that as much serotonin as possible reaches the receptors. One way is to break down the enzymes that break down the serotonin."

  He rapped on the drawing with his knuckles and looked to see if they were following him. "The big problem is the side effects of antidepressants. A lot of people think it's related to these receptors. There are several different types of them and they all have different functions. This was one of the things Christoffer was doing research on. But the past year, he was concentrating on the nitric oxide system, which indirectly affects this system."

  "But how much did he tell you?"

  "A lot, and yet nothing. Are you absolutely sure you're not going to reveal this conversation to anyone?"

  They nodded.

  "He said he could develop new medications completely different from what we have now. New antidepressants that kick in faster and without all the side effects."

  "But I thought people worked together to develop antidepressants?"

  Their host smiled. "Normally, that's true. But this was a coincidence. He told me that several of his rats demonstrated incredibly favorable behavior, and it puzzled him. Their rat food came from Germany, and one time last winter, Christoffer received a shipment of food with the wrong composition of proteins. He was testing a drug he'd developed, and up to then there had been no effect on the rats' behavior, but suddenly that changed, drastically. It was a combination of the amino acids in the food and his drug."

  "And you didn't steal his secret?"

  "It's of no use to me without knowing precisely which product and which amino acids were being used. But that information must be in his records; he stored them somewhere, right?"

  Lisa and Jacob looked at each other. "We don't know where they are," Lisa said. "But we're looking."

  "They've disappeared? That can't be true, can it? It would be a tremendous loss."

  "But if the drug was really that good, why didn't he announce it?"

  "I don't know. Maybe he needed some time to think it over. I remember him saying once that the day we develop an antidepressant with no side effects, we'd be in a dilemma. What I'm saying is…well, the drugs on the market have side effects that stop people from taking them casually. You have to be suffering before you'll keep taking antidepressants. But what if a drug made you feel cheerful and energetic without any short-term side effects? A miracle drug. A discovery like that, you can't let it fall into the wrong hands."

  Lisa stared straight into Abrahamsen's brown eyes. "Do you have any idea why Procticon keeps showing up in connection with Holm?"

  "No." He sounded genuinely surprised. "He would've told me if he was thinking about coming to work for us. I'm one hundred percent sure. And he knew I was working in Birmingham."

  "Did his research have anything to do with Procticon?" Jacob said. "I mean, could it have been important to the company?"

  "Definitely. Maybe you already know that Procticon is a leader in this branch of pharmaceuticals and they're constantly tr
ying to improve their products. Picking up a researcher of Christoffer's stature and reputation would be a serious feather in their cap. I told him that, but he just laughed at me. Which is what I expected he'd do."

  "You knew him really well. What do you think he would've done with a discovery this valuable?"

  "He would have done the morally responsible thing. He would never have profited personally by it. He was a bit of a hippie. Peace and love, flower child." He laughed.

  "And what if somebody else got hold of his research results?" Lisa said.

  "Think about how much the pharmaceutical industry invests in research. What it costs to have a large team of highly-paid researchers employed for years. Getting the jump on any drug can be worth a fortune."

  He narrowed his eyes. "So, if anybody did get hold of Christoffer's records, they have something very, very valuable."

  Chapter Forty-Five

  Everything around the house lookedgloomier and more deserted than she remembered. The birch trees along the road were hanging from the heavy showers, and the yard was muddy; even the cats had to patter around in weird, twisted routes to avoid all the puddles. The air reeked from the acrid smell of the manure pile behind the stalls.

  Elise Holm was wearing riding boots and pants and a tattered blue work jacket. She met them at the barn door and led them inside.

  "You don't know exactly what it was he gave you?"

  Lisa peered around the small, damp, dusty, chilly room. The floor was covered with straw and small pellets of something that looked like rat shit, though possibly it was some sort of animal food. It stunk in there, too, and the dust tickled her nose. Outside the small window, she noticed a field with grazing Iceland horses.

  Christoffer Holm's sister shook her head. She looked frightened and older than the last time Lisa had seen her. She would be inheriting somewhere around a million kroner, too. Probably enough to save this small stud farm, Lisa thought.

  "I knew immediately when you called what you were talking about. It's true, he gave me an envelope. He called one day and asked if he could bring it out to me, said it was important, that it involved confidential documents. So, we put it in my filing cabinet."

  "Is your office normally locked up?"

  "No, you have to go through the house to get to it, so I never felt it was necessary."

  "When did he bring it?"

  "I'd say about two and a half months ago. A few weeks before he left for Montréal. But let's go in and find it."

  They walked through the house and into a small addition with an office. It was cramped but homey, and it smelled of horses. Elise Holm walked over to the far wall, pulled out a bluish-green cabinet drawer, and thumbed through the contents. Her face was white when she turned to them. "It's not here."

  "Maybe it's in one of the other drawers," Jacob said.

  "No, I'm absolutely sure this is where I put it."

  "Take a look anyway."

  She pulled the other four drawers out and searched meticulously through each one. "It's gone."

  "Is it possible he stopped by and got it?" Jacob said.

  "No. He hasn't been here since he brought the envelope. And he would've told me. It's an hour's drive, after all."

  A horrified expression spread over her face. "Oh, no, no. The break-in."

  "What do you mean?" Lisa said.

  "Last weekend, didn't I tell you? The window was broken, and I knew someone had been inside the house, there was mud on the floor. I wondered why nothing had been stolen. I reported it, but I haven't heard anything back from the police. What's going on?"

  "It's strange, anyway, if you're absolutely sure it was here and that he didn't come get it himself."

  "I'm five hundred percent sure."

  "Did you ever look inside the envelope?" Lisa said.

  She blushed. "Yes, I admit it, I did. It looked like some sort of scientific paper. A lot of numbers and graphs on separate sheets. I didn't really understand it. He always wrote in English."

  "We'll come back later; we have to leave," Lisa said.

  "So, you don't think the thief will return? It's been keeping me awake at night. I do live a bit far from everything."

  "We don't think so, no," Jacob said. "I don't think you have anything to worry about now."

  Jacob looked tired as they drove away. "I'm convinced that someone who knew about his research killed them both. I think we have the motive. Christoffer Holm is the key."

  "Søren Mikkelsen would be a likely candidate, except he has an alibi for the evening Anna Kiehl was murdered. Remember, he was with his brother."

  "Did we check that out?"

  "We did."

  "It's not the world's best alibi. But even if we assumed it was no good, why kill Anna Kiehl? Why wouldn't it be enough to kill Holm?"

  "She could have suspected something. Which explains the note about Procticon in the bathroom."

  Jacob nodded. "There could be others involved. How about going out to eat tonight? Forget all this? Then we'll check him out tomorrow."

  Lisa smiled. "That sounds nice."

  She watched the fields of stubble glide by outside. She couldn't think of anybody she'd rather be with right now.

  Chapter Forty-Six

  The small restaurant was packed, and they'd barely managed to get a tiny round table. Through the window, she watched the busy populace rushing by, dressed up for the evening, on the way to see a movie, to the theater, to the train station, to the many restaurants in the city. The street was wet, the various colors and patterns of umbrellas danced in the air.

  Lisa thought about the emails between Kaare Storm and Christoffer Holm; from the way they wrote, the sense that so much didn't need to be said or explained, they obviously had been friends for years. And yet, Christoffer's emails at times seemed vague, ambiguous, and several times she'd had to backtrack to figure out what he meant. As if he'd been afraid that someone was looking over his shoulder as he wrote.

  And then there was the woman he'd referred to repeatedly. Was she the one who, according to his colleague, had kept calling but then suddenly was out of the picture?

  I'm seeing a girl. Another dead end. A kamikaze woman, like Woody Allen says. She flies high and crashes, and takes me along with her. This can only end badly.

  He wrote in glowing terms about a number of women during the year-long correspondence, and it was hard to pick out who was who and what actually had happened. She'd called Kaare Storm again and read aloud several passages, hoping to shed some light on them, but he was also unsure about how influential the various women were in Holm's life.

  They ordered octopus as a starter, also French wine, and Jacob stared out at a long-haired man in dark clothing, holding an old blue coffeepot as he begged for change.

  "I'm exhausted, how about you?"

  "I'm not going back to Copenhagen anytime soon; it wears you out. I'd rather knock on doors."

  He gestured out the window at the poor guy on the sidewalk. "It's easy to get rid of a cell phone and a credit card. I'll bet a lot of people could use them, to get by on a few days. Hand them over to some homeless person in Copenhagen, and suddenly loverboy Christoffer is doing some shopping over there, in places that don't require a PIN code. It's not like he was around to report it stolen."

  "Do you think that's what happened?"

  "I'm guessing it's something like that. I doubt that whoever got rid of him kept the phone and wallet very long. And giving it all to someone who'd use it would make it look like he was still alive. Which, in turn, would sidetrack us and delay any investigation."

  "Yeah, we'll probably never find the phone and credit card," she said. "We checked the phone provider—no signal after arriving back in Denmark; it hasn't been used."

  He nodded in agreement. She couldn't help looking at him. Noticing his arms on the table. The shape, the hollows, the masculine form of muscles under the healthy skin. She wondered if he had any tattoos under his shirt. It wouldn't hurt. If there were scars, s
tories her fingers could track. Their eyes met, his like magnets drawing her in, and she had to look down.

  "How long did you work in IT in Copenhagen?" he said.

  "Three years."

  "That must have been interesting."

  "It was, yeah. But actually, I was close to quitting when Agersund offered me a job here."

  "Why?"

  She shrugged as she watched an older couple give a few coins to the homeless man outside. "It started to wear on me. Crazy hours. It's like hackers never sleep. Anyway, not when you're working all over the globe. But that wasn't the worst."

  "What was?"

  Jacob looked at her a bit shyly, though with a genuine interest; her stomach felt like it was melting.

  "The pedophiles and child porn," she said, her voice faltering. She wasn't sure she wanted to talk about this over dinner. "There was too much of it. At first, I hung in, even though it was gruesome, sickening, and I had trouble sleeping at night. But it was almost worth it when we nailed some of them. So many cases kept popping up, though, and we watched them get off with these ridiculous sentences. Sometimes they didn't even stop. You can't underestimate their technical know-how. They're slime, but technically advanced slime, and we had to bust ass to keep up. They're very aware that nothing gets deleted from hard drives by emptying the trash. They use programs to make sure everything disappears completely, forever."

  "But so many people say you and your team do a fantastic job," Jacob said. "We're one of the leaders internationally, aren't we?"

  Lisa nodded and picked at the octopus in front of her. She felt a flash of the nausea she'd had to live with back then. "We spent an enormous amount of time tracking down networks, and sometimes the sentences handed out were shorter than the time it took to round them up. The worst case I ever had was right before I came over here."

  "Selandia, is that the one?"

  "No, it was another. A small case, actually. But for me, it was the last straw."