Dark September

by Inger Wolf

  "Okay, so what do the techs think happened then?"

  "They say the killer overpowered Asger Vad first. They're not sure where, but at any rate, he was tied to the chair over in the corner there."

  He pointed. "Then the wife was shot, here in bed."

  "And what about the boy?"

  "They think he was dragged in here because it looks like he'd been asleep in his bed. It was unmade."

  "So, the boy was shot in here too?"

  "Yeah, up in bed. And either before or after, we're not sure when, he stuffed ashes into Vad's throat. As you can see, that made a mess. It's clear that Vad was supposed to see and hear his wife and son die."

  He shook his head. "Watch his family being killed. For God's sake. Anyway, the killer took care of Vad while he was in the chair. We'll get a bloodstain pattern analysis, that might shed some light on what happened. Ian's pretty sure about the order of the killings. Not a hundred percent sure, but close."

  "But had they gone to bed?" Angie asked. "Because they're all dressed downstairs at the table."

  "The killer dressed them when he was finished up here. There's blood on their underclothes, and the techs found a bunch of bloody night clothes, so that must be how it happened. Then he either dragged or carried them all downstairs and arranged them at the table. For his amusement or for some other reason we don't understand."

  Angie shook her head. "Whoever did this must be crazier than I can imagine. The dollhouse tells me we're dealing with a totally warped sense of reality."

  "Yeah. We've contacted the psychiatric hospital. We'll need information on all former patients who could be dangerous enough to do this, or who have something going on inside their heads about dolls or dollhouses."

  Smith's light blue eyes were now dark against his pale face. But he was always pale. Angie looked out the window. A spot between a few tall pines in the yard showed a faint pink dawning. A new day was coming and she'd hardly slept. "The weapon?"

  "Probably a high-caliber pistol. Something powerful anyway, all the victims show a large exit wound in the back of the head. But he took all the bullets with him, it's going to be hard to pin it down precisely."

  She noticed a gray stuffed rabbit halfway under the bed. There was blood on its fluffy tail. For a moment, she imagined the boy trying to hide under the bed. Hoping he wouldn't be discovered.

  "Could it be a break-in that got out of hand?"

  "I think we can eliminate that for the time being. Asger's wallet is still down on the kitchen counter, and none of the drawers have been touched. The killer doesn't seem to have been interested in money. It looks like something very personal. Not necessarily aimed at Asger and his family, but certainly personal in the killer's head. And it must have been planned to some extent. It could be he just picked out a family at random, kept them under surveillance for quite a while. It's impossible to say at the moment."

  "Or he could've seen Asger on TV."

  "Possibly."

  She inspected the bloody bedding. It was already turning dark, and she noticed small clumps of tissue and bone fragments here and there. She felt nauseous. Clumps of people. In a way, this was worse than the bodies downstairs. This was a story about pain. So many lives ended in such a short time, in such a small space. And the chair where Asger Vad had sat, now covered in blood, where he had watched his family being killed one by one. Heard them scream, beg, plead for their lives, draw their last breath and wait for death. Had he finally wanted to die himself, just to end the pain? She breathed out heavily.

  "There's quite a bit of ash here. Is it from a volcano?"

  "We don't know," he said. "Who the hell knows. Maybe you're right, maybe it's some crazy obsessed with volcanos, and he saw Vad on TV. In any case, we'll send the ash to the Volcano Observatory. Our techs have no idea if it can be pinned down to any specific place."

  "But why the ash in Vad's throat?" she wondered aloud.

  Smith shrugged. He seemed to be taking this better than she was; after twenty years in Homicide, he'd seen plenty. "Only the killer knows. I don't, that's for sure."

  "So, there's nothing that points to the daughter being in here? Marie?"

  "No. Not in here. But it looks like she'd been asleep, and there are four plates and glasses and silverware in the dishwasher, so right now we're assuming she ate dinner here. She's not here, though. She might have been sleeping over with a friend, we have a few people checking on that. I hope so, but I'm not optimistic. She'd been seen making the snowman before dinner. If we are that lucky, I hope we find her before she sees the news. The media is going to be all over this."

  "Imagine waking up to this," Angie said. "Your whole family dead."

  He looked over at her, concern written on his face. "Yeah, and knowing whoever did it is still out there. We have a briefing at ten o'clock, but Marie is our first priority right now. I want you to talk to her babysitter, she's the last person besides the neighbor who we're certain saw her alive. The neighbor said her name is Joanne, I found her number in an address book downstairs. She's a student at the university. I've already called her and said you were coming."

  Angie zipped her coat up. "Okay, I'm on my way."

  She took a final look around the bedroom. It was the worst thing she'd seen in her entire life. She noticed a picture of the kids on the dresser. There was blood on the frame, and for a moment she imagined the killer stopping to look at it. Marie was very young in the picture. Maybe five years old. Wearing a pink dress, looking into the camera with a shy smile. Her hair was short, and she had small, pointed ears and dimples.

  If you're out there alive, I'll find you. She turned and left the room.

  Chapter Three

  Detective Daniel Trokic stretched his legs and leaned back in the chair facing Captain Karsten Andersen. He'd just been given the first details of a case halfway around the globe that his boss had apparently taken an interest in. Trokic had sensed something going on from the moment he was called into the office. Right before he was about to dive into a steak. And even worse, just before having a glass of the red wine he'd opened. And he had wondered. It wasn't like his boss to call him into a meeting without very good reason. In fact, it almost always meant something very bad had happened. He hadn't said much on the phone, and because Trokic hadn't heard of any homicide in their district that demanded his presence, he'd been completely in the dark until now.

  The question was what this volcanologist's death had to do with him. And where exactly was Anchorage? He stared suspiciously across the large black desk. "A dollhouse, you say? In the middle of the table? What's that all about?"

  Andersen shook his head. "I have no idea, but it looks like one of their sicko serial killers. You know, there are always several of them on the loose."

  Trokic was about to mention that they'd just finished a case with their own serial killer, whose insane use of leeches was still the talk of Århus. They weren't all that far behind the Americans. But Andersen was all worked up. "I got the news from the Copenhagen Chief of Police, who got it from the American Embassy, who got it from the consulate in Anchorage. The killings took place last night, local time, so we're talking about a matter of just a few hours since the victims were found. The consul was pretty upset. Especially about poor Marie, they haven't found her yet."

  "But I don't understand why we're –"

  "It's like this," Andersen said, trying to be patient with Trokic. "I know Asger Vad. Really well. We went to school together here in Århus a few centuries ago. Catholic school. If I remember right, he would've been fifty in a few months."

  He stared off into space. "He was a good friend, and we've stayed in contact since he moved to Alaska fifteen years ago. When he came back to Denmark, he always stopped by for dinner and a game of backgammon. And he was damn good at what he did. He studied geology here in Århus, and he's worked in Iceland and then Alaska. Dammit anyway."

  He swallowed the lump in his throat, plucked some lint from his blue cashmere sweater, a
nd looked away. Trokic fidgeted in his chair; he wasn't used to his boss being so emotional.

  "Sounds like a tragic case, but why are you telling me all this?" Trokic gazed at an October-red tree just outside the captain's window.

  "I'd think it's obvious." Andersen sighed and stared straight at Trokic. "I want somebody over there to follow the developments."

  "Okay. And?"

  "And now that law and order has once again been established in our fair city, I was thinking this might be something for you. A little trip over the Atlantic to join our American colleagues. The last time we spoke, you were wanting to take a step down the ladder. You were sick of paperwork, remember? So, here's your shot at some of that action you obviously want. Plus, you speak English fluently; you're the perfect candidate. The Danish police often send officers out into the big wide world, and now it's your turn."

  "But why don't –"

  Andersen waved him off. "I can't possibly go myself. I'm too busy here, and besides, I'm too involved personally. I'd shoot the bastard on sight if I ever found him. In fact, I'd like to shoot somebody right now."

  Trokic stared at him. Alaska? It was cold as the North Pole and full of bears of all sizes and crazy trigger-happy Americans. Not long ago, he'd seen a documentary series from National Geographic; the state seemed to love guns and illegal substances. And maybe it really was incredibly beautiful there, but if he was going to barge into an investigation, he wouldn't have time to see much. At first glance, it didn't seem all that appealing. On the other hand, he really was tired of all the paperwork, and Andersen had yet to find a replacement for him.

  "I'm really sorry about your friend," Trokic said. "But why do you think they'd want a Danish cop in on the investigation? Can you imagine having a Russian running around here?"

  Andersen wiped his forehead and clenched his teeth. "I'll take care of that. After all, we're talking about four Danish citizens, at least I think so. I'm not sure about the kids. They don't have any more family over there, so if Marie shows up alive…and honestly, I doubt she will, but we'd need somebody to bring her back to her family. And besides," he plucked a nail file out of a drawer, "they can only be happy to have another skilled investigator on the case, and you are one of the best we have. And I won't mention anything about your issues with authority, or any other problems you've caused. You'll have to try to fit in."

  Trokic scratched his black hair and shifted in his chair. Tried to look skeptical. Something like this could drag out. On the other hand, there wasn't much holding him back. He hadn't seen Christiane for a month, since telling her he didn't want children, that he preferred living alone. Maybe it would do him good to have something else to think about, and his neighbor could take care of the cat, now that he had trimmed her hedge for the second time this year.

  "Why am I sitting here discussing this like you had a choice," Andersen mumbled, "when it's actually an order?"

  They glared at each other. Despite having worked together for several years, they weren't friends. That Andersen, in fact, did have a friend was possibly the most personal thing Trokic had heard about him in all that time.

  "What exactly did he do over there?" he asked. He was trying to understand why a Dane would move to a colder climate.

  "He taught and did research the first several years. But then he had an accident up in the mountains, or the wilderness, or whatever the hell they have over there, on a hunting trip with a friend. He hurt his leg and he couldn't stand up for very long at a time. That made it hard for him to teach. So, the last two years he's worked as an advisor at the university, and he had something to do with a volcano observatory. And he wrote, too."

  Andersen sounded proud. "In fact, he's written three books about volcanoes. As I understand it, he did well for himself. Not rich, but he wasn't hurting. They had no plans to come back to Denmark. Anyway, not the last time I talked to him."

  "And what about the family?"

  "As far as I know, his wife worked as a secretary for an engineering firm owned by a Dane in Anchorage. The kids went to a private international school."

  "And the daughter, Marie?" Trokic asked. "She didn't just disappear into thin air?"

  "There's no sign of her whatsoever. They're afraid the killer took her with him, is what I've heard. Either he's holding her prisoner or else he's killed her. It's horrible. Asger brought her along to dinner one evening when she was a lot younger. She was such a pretty little girl, pigtails, carrying a teddy bear. She sat at the coffee table and drew, just jabbered away. My own daughter is only a few years older, and they had fun playing together."

  He slumped as his eyes lost focus. "It's almost unbearable to think she's in the hands of such a gruesome person. Or was."

  "What about the police in Alaska, what do they know?"

  "More or less nothing, just what they found at the crime scene. The only thing I could get out of them was that the three members of the family were shot, that Asger's throat had been stuffed with ashes, and that it was a damn slaughterhouse. And then there's the dollhouse, of course."

  A sense of horror rose up inside Trokic. His throat stuffed with ashes? "Sounds like a very disturbed person, someone who had something to say. Like that case with the Waspman, who cut off lips. It must mean something."

  Andersen laid down his nail file, then he grabbed a cigar from the box on the table and sniffed it. He laid it back down reluctantly. "I agree. And I want to know what. Anyway, they're ten hours behind us over there, and the trip takes about twenty hours. So, if you leave early tomorrow, you'll be over there in the afternoon, local time. Maybe earlier if we can find a good connection."

  Trokic let out a breath. It looked like it was time to bring out his winter clothes, whether he wanted to or not. "I'll do what I can." He stood up.

  "Thanks. And don't piss them off over there. That lone wolf attitude of yours isn't going to work. And watch out for the bears. I've heard they're man-eaters."

  Chapter Four

  The student dorms were on the outskirts of the university campus, across from the town's hospital, Providence. Angie parked her black Ford in a half-filled parking lot, got out, and stuck her long, black ponytail under the collar of her black coat. She pulled up her gray leg warmers. The heat from inside the car vanished immediately as crisp, cold air surrounded her.

  Several officers had called around to every conceivable place Marie could have been, but there was still no sign of her. And Angie's thoughts kept running in circles. Had she escaped in the middle of the killings and hid? If so, where? In somebody's shed? The search of the area had turned up nothing so far.

  Once more, Angie looked at the unframed photo taken from the Vad family's living room. It was newer than the one in the bedroom. Marie had grown into a pretty young girl with long blonde hair, delicate features, and shy blue eyes. Something about the girl moved Angie deeply. Marie could be her own daughter. She stuck the photo back in her inside pocket and looked around. If you wanted to hide out in Anchorage, there were plenty of places to do so, but had she really done that?

  The university, the state's largest, was in the middle of town, surrounded by small green sections of thick underbrush with small pines, thin birches, and an extensive system of paths. It consisted of a long row of buildings of various architectural styles, some more attractive than others, and if you didn't know where you were going, it could take a long time to find your way. About a thousand students were on campus, strolling and walking and bustling along with their faces underneath thick stocking caps. It wasn't far from the police station and the Scientific Crime Detection Laboratory.

  Snow had fallen that morning, and most cars in the parking lot had at least some snow on their roofs and front windshields. A young guy in a sweatshirt, his hair wet from the flakes, stared first at her then at her car, as if she were a foreigner among all the young people. Then he hurried over to the university.

  She walked down a narrow path and soon reached the dorm building where Marie's babysi
tter, Joanne, lived. That morning the police had called all the teachers and students at Marie's school, and several of them had mentioned Joanne, who often picked Marie up after school. Angie's stomach felt leaden when she pushed the dorm door open. She found Joanne's room and knocked.

  The pale girl who opened the door had red, swollen eyes from crying. Her long, dull black hair was unbrushed, her matchstick arms stuck out of an oversized light orange sweater. She looked tiny, fragile, like an anorexic. The faint odor of marijuana hung in the air, but she didn't look stoned. Angie decided to let that go for the moment.

  "Come in," the girl said, opening the door wide. The room had two unmade beds, a desk, and a small flat screen TV hanging from the ceiling. A report from the local television station was blaring, and Joanne grabbed the remote and shut it off. "I can't stand to hear the news anyway."

  She pointed to the office chair. "Sit down if you want."

  "That's okay, I'll stand." Angie fished her notepad out of her shirt pocket. "You're aware that we're investigating Asger Vad's death and the disappearance of his daughter. You babysat her and her brother often, isn't that right?"

  "That's right. Mostly Marie, though. I've known the family a few years. I don't understand; did the killer take her after murdering the rest of the family?"

  "We don't know," Angie said. An honest answer.

  "Marie is so sweet. I can't stand thinking about it."

  Angie grimaced and silently cursed the media, which all morning had been obsessed with theories about the deaths of the volcanologist and his family, as well as the disappearance of the daughter. "We don't know yet," she repeated. "We're trying to establish where she was yesterday, and I was hoping you might know something. As we understand it, you picked her up after school, is that right?"

  Joanne nodded. "Right, but I really don't know very much. I picked her up at three; I do that three times a week. We hung out here and read Harry Potter, and I helped her with her math. She had to go home at five."