The Running Girl

by Sara Blaedel

  “It might be, actually, if you have your channels set up right. There’s high demand in Sweden, Germany, and southern Europe,” he said. “But obviously, at some point the market would get flooded, and that’s why I don’t see the sense in his suddenly doubling his purchase size. But maybe he had to boost his revenues.”

  He shrugged his shoulders.

  “Maybe he got squeezed and needed some quick capital. Who knows? He may have overborrowed the last time he purchased and couldn’t pay it back, and so he’s gambled?”

  Louise had difficulty keeping up. She wasn’t well informed about that kind of crime, but then in the middle of her scattered thoughts she remembered an article she’d read a while back. Only now it made even less sense.

  “You’d think it would be even harder,” she said and told him about the article, which described how several English furniture houses openly sold reproduced classics. “Over there it’s apparently legal to reproduce designs that are over twenty-five years old.”

  “Yes, but here you have to wait seventy years after the designer’s death before it’s legal,” inserted Sejr. “It’s true that you can go online and buy The Egg for around 8,000 kroner, and when it comes from an EU country it’s not subject to extra taxes. It’s also legal to bring it across the border, not so if it comes directly from China.”

  “Exactly,” said Louise. “That’s why I don’t get how Hartmann could bring home so much money on knock-off furniture when you can buy them for a comparatively lower price without doing anything illegal. It doesn’t make sense.”

  “Right, but I don’t think Hartmann sold his furniture as copies. I’m guessing he kept the prices up and sold them on Internet auction sites here and abroad and maybe on eBay. If the copies were good enough, it would be damned hard to tell the difference, even though there’d always be something about the quality. And so, it’s also quite possible that he worked with furniture dealers. We regularly see dealers getting into that kind of thing because it increases their own profits.”

  Louise recognized the footsteps in the hall, and had just turned to the door when Willumsen knocked quickly and stepped inside. Without apologizing for interrupting their conversation, he turned to Louise.

  “Sebastian Styhne and Peter Nymann.”

  He tossed two photos on the table in front of her. Not the same that Bellahøj had had. Two different ones, but she could easily recognize them. Nymann still had his thin hair tied in a ponytail, and the picture of Sebastian was taken in front of the café on a summer day when New Harbor was full of life and crowds of people at the outdoor tables. He was wearing a T-shirt and shorts, and now she understood what Kent from Bellahøj had meant by a one-piece. The tattoos were like a wetsuit. It looked bizarre.

  “Do we agree that these were the two men who were burned alive in the boathouse last night?” he asked, looking at her.

  Louise nodded.

  “Do we also agree that both were present the evening the girl held her party down at the sailing club?”

  She nodded again.

  “And that it was this bastard with the ponytail who chased the girl out in front of the van?”

  He walked all the way up to her desk and stood pointing at the photos, waiting on her answer.

  “Strictly speaking, we don’t know if he followed her all the way up to the road,” she said, but affirmed that he was the one Jonas saw running after Signe from down at the sailing club.

  He tossed a plastic folder onto the table beside the photographs.

  “The fire was deliberate,” he said. “There were clear traces of flammable liquid in the front of the boathouse. I want you to drive out and have a talk with Britt Fasting-Thomsen immediately. We need to know what she was up to last night when the fire broke out.”

  Louise rolled her chair back a bit and shook her head, but Willumsen brushed her aside with a wave of his hand.

  Sejr had withdrawn behind his two computer screens, and the lead investigator still spoke only to her.

  “I’m all caught up concerning the accusations the girl’s mother has expressed against the young punks. She blames them for her daughter’s death.”

  Louise held out her hand to make him stop.

  “Cut it out with all that,” she said, irritated.

  She rolled her chair toward him.

  “It’s true that Britt blames the boys for Signe’s death, which is understandable enough. But she reproaches herself at least as much for even having the party. She needs to place some blame. It’s nothing more than that.”

  “Exactly, and she’s struck by an enormous grief, and that can easily turn into hatred,” Willumsen pointed out.

  Louise felt her eyes narrow as the anger came on. Everyone knew that once Willumsen got something into his head, he’d steamroll ahead without any concern for what he plowed over.

  She raised her voice and stood up.

  “Now listen to me for a second,” she said. “Britt Fasting-Thomsen is going through hell. She’s devastated, she doesn’t filter what she says, she doesn’t think about it before she says it out loud.”

  Willumsen nodded, but kept from interrupting.

  “Believe me,” Louise said, “she isn’t capable of something like that. She has a hard enough time getting out of bed in the morning. How the hell could a woman like that plot murder?”

  “Vengeance,” he answered.

  She shook her head, but sat back down.

  “You don’t understand what she’s going through.”

  “Oh, shut up with all that female touchy-feely bullcrap,” her boss exploded on her. “This isn’t some social security office we’re running here. Should I get one of the men to drive out to her, or do you think you can do your job?”

  “Shut up yourself,” she said feebly, feeling defeated.

  Then she stood up to put her jacket on.

  “In fact, maybe you’re too personally involved,” said Willumsen, more restrained but no less biting.

  Louise shook her head. She imagined how he’d drag Britt through his merciless wringer. So, it was at least better if she were there to manage how the blow landed.

  “And what’s all this about your taking time off next week?” he asked her when she’d come into the hall.

  “I’ll be back on Thursday,” she said.

  A disapproving wrinkle appeared on his face.

  “I’d rather you took your vacation at some other point in time,” he said.

  He started walking back to his office.

  “No,” she said. “I have enough comp time for it, and I’m taking these days because it’s when Jonas has fall break.”

  Doubtless, the lead investigator thought it was badly planned; and doubtless he was about to get worked up over it.

  “Don’t you think it’s a little improper to go on vacation when the department is swamped with cases?” he asked, giving her a measured look.

  “No,” Louise said and shook her head. “I don’t consider it any more improper than you being the only one allowed to lie in bed sleeping when the lieutenant and the rest of your group are called out on work in the middle of the night. But if you need personnel, you can call Lars Jørgensen and beg him to come in, or call in one of the ones you have on your list of people ready to take his place.”

  She took her cell phone out of her pocket, picturing in her mind the burned-out boathouse, the two charred corpses, and Britt Fasting-Thomsen’s glazed eyes. Then she called Jonas and said that unfortunately it’d be another couple of hours before she could slip away.

  What she didn’t tell him was that she was on her way out to see if Signe’s mother had an alibi that would rule her out as a suspect for arson, and possibly murder.

  33

  Dear Ulrik

  How’s it going with you? Thinking lots about you and Britt and hoping with all my heart that you can find a way forward. Not that I have the slightest idea how the hell one bears it when the very worst hits. I wish I were there for you. Thought of coming hom
e when I heard about the accident—I’m sure you already know that from Britt, but obviously, she was right. It’s a grief the two of you must work your way through. But my thoughts are with you.

  Markus and I have made it to a little town called Mendocino. When we arrived yesterday afternoon, we went into a cafe to ask about hotels, and we almost never got out again. The barista talked our ears off and wanted to know all about Denmark and Scandinavia in general.

  Maybe it’s so far past high-season that people around here will talk with anyone at all to get their fix of social stimulation, but on the surface, it reminded me more of genuine interest and friendliness. Curiosity over something that’s foreign. That sort of thing we’re not so used to back home.

  And it actually turned out that, although she didn’t know everything about us, she did know a bit about our Lilliputian country. She was first and foremost very aware of who Caroline Wozniacki is. Her own son plays tennis and watches the big tournaments on TV, and understandably enough he’s very taken by the Danish tennis star’s talent, not to mention her good looks. But when the barista, on her own initiative, served my second espresso she surprised me by bringing up the Sachs-Smith family and the Termo-Lux scandal.

  As I’m sure you’re aware, the story has made its way over here because Frederik Sachs-Smith has currently released his first American feature film, and in that connection, he’s been linked to the family business and the scandal back home. When something involves death and millions of dollars, it’s just the sort of thing for the American media, and I’d guess the story’s running even harder in Denmark?

  You know I’m on leave and haven’t given any thought to working while I was away—that’s the whole damned reason for the trip!

  And I know it’s maybe asking a bit much of you under the circumstances, but I’m insanely interested in interviewing Frederik Sachs-Smith. I know you two know each other, so if it’s not too presumptuous or doesn’t seem wrong would you maybe put me in touch with him?

  I’ll call Britt this weekend once we’ve made it to Sacramento, where the cell phone coverage is hopefully a little better than here.

  Warmest greetings

  Camilla

  34

  Out in front of Central Station, Louise got into a taxi and asked to be driven to Strandvænget.

  Cars were lined up bumper to bumper, and it took a long time to get across The Triangle, even though there were turning lanes on the right and the left. Very slowly they crawled to Østerbrogade. Her eyes followed the Friday shoppers, who walked along with Irma bags stuffed with groceries, and children in tow, but her thoughts were elsewhere. She pondered over how she could get the conversation going with Britt Fasting-Thomsen.

  The fatal fire was already on the newspapers’ online versions, although without the names of the deceased. The local police in Næstved still hadn’t informed Peter Nymann’s parents.

  Then the light turned green and the taxi driver got to it, using a passing lane to swing around the line of cars and picking up speed.

  * * *

  She spotted Britt while she was still paying. Signe’s mother was in the garden with a wheelbarrow, sweeping leaves together. Louise could see her stop in mid-movement when she caught sight of the taxi. Stood a little noncommittally and leaned on the broom, but set it aside and waved as Louise came in through the garden gate. She still had dark circles under her eyes and looked sickly, as if she’d lost weight, as if all life had been sapped out of her body.

  “Hi,” said Louise, stretching out her hand to avoid the hug that Britt spread her arms out for.

  “Hey.”

  Britt took her hand and, straight off, offered her coffee. She didn’t ask Louise what had made her stop by on a Friday afternoon—maybe thought she was visiting out of a sense of duty, or that Camilla had sent her.

  She should have said from the beginning that she’d come on official business, thought Louise, so it would have been understood, whereas now Britt took her jacket and found a hanger.

  “I was so glad to get to talk with your medical examiner friend. It was very thoughtful of you to bring him out here with you. None of the officers from out in Bellahøj had thought of doing that,” she said, then asked whether Louise had gotten hold of Ulrik in Iceland.

  She shook her head and followed her in through the living room. Hadn’t even tried since the other night. After the fire, she hadn’t really had a free moment. He hadn’t called her back, either, after she’d left a message.

  “It was his building that burned down over at the harbor last night,” said Britt as she put the water on. “I don’t know if you’ve heard?”

  Louise nodded but wasn’t quick enough to seize the opportunity.

  “The insurance company was by this morning,” said Britt. “But I don’t know anything about all that, and Ulrik can’t get a flight home until tomorrow. I think he’s landing around eleven. It must take around three hours to fly home from Reykjavik.”

  She asked if instant was all right with her, and Louise nodded.

  There was dust on the tabletops and on the lamp shade over the dining table. It swirled in the air a bit when Louise unwound her long scarf and set it over the chair.

  “It’s actually the fire I came to talk to you about,” she began.

  She nodded when Britt asked if she’d like milk in her coffee.

  “Two young people burned to death down in the boathouse next to your husband’s warehouse, and our crime technicians recently determined that the fire was set on purpose.”

  Louise waited a moment.

  “Britt, I have to ask you what you were doing last night.”

  Britt stopped on her way to the table with the coffee cups. Steam rose from the two mugs. They must be burning her fingers, thought Louise, who stood up and took the mugs out of her hands.

  “I was here,” Britt finally said.

  She came over and sat down.

  “No one told me that anyone died in the fire.”

  Louise shook her head and folded her hands around her mug.

  “Two boys died in the flames.”

  They sat a bit.

  Louise hoped that Britt might say something, but she was silent and sat unmoving with her eyes on her coffee. A column of steam lazily curled upward and vanished.

  Silence enveloped the house. There was neither traffic noise nor clattering from the S-train that passed not far from there.

  Louise cleared her throat to break the silence.

  “It concerns two of the boys who were present that night down at the sailing club,” she said, adding that one of the deceased was the one Jonas saw running after Signe.

  Britt still didn’t look at her, only shook her head despondently.

  “You understand, don’t you, why I have to ask you about your activities?”

  Britt stopped shaking her head. Just sat.

  “What did you do last night?” Louise repeated and felt a queasiness in the pit of her stomach.

  “I was home all evening,” she finally answered. “You were here. You know I was home.”

  Now she looked at Louise with eyes empty of sparkle and life.

  “I didn’t go down and set fire to my husband’s property. I went up to bed after you left.”

  Louise nodded and lifted her mug. Wanted to put a hand on her arm, but didn’t.

  “Ulrik tossed the boys out the same day he discovered they were staying in his building. He asked them to move all their things and disappear. There wasn’t anyone down in his boathouse anymore,” she said, raising her voice to make Louise understand.

  “There was flammable liquid poured on the floor and over the sofa they left behind, and the techs believe that a piece of firewood was thrown through the window and set off an explosion, which led to the fire.”

  Britt held Louise’s eyes, and a little smile passed across the corner of her mouth.

  “And you suspect me of being behind it?” she asked.

  “No, you’re not a suspect. We
just need to rule you out,” she corrected. “The lead investigator is right to think that you could harbor a strong desire to do something like this. But we’ve just begun the investigation and are starting to form some ideas of what might motivate someone to burn down the building with two people inside it. And this is just one of the possibilities that we need to consider.”

  Britt nodded.

  “I can see where I’d be a likely candidate,” she conceded and looked straight ahead.

  “You do have a motive,” said Louise. “But there are other possibilities. The fire might be connected to the part of the warehouse that Ulrik rented out. We’re following that trail, too.”

  “I understand.”

  “What were you doing between the hours of eleven and twelve last night?”

  Britt said nothing, just sat up a little straighter in the chair and closed her eyes.

  Louise took her pad out of her bag and a pen from an outside pocket.

  “I’m sorry to drag you through this,” she said.

  “It’s completely all right. I understand.”

  Britt opened her eyes again.

  “I just can’t remember doing anything.”

  “It was around five thirty when we left you yesterday,” Louise helped. “What did you do the rest of the evening?”

  “I was just here. I slept,” Britt answered quickly. “I’d taken some pretty strong sleeping pills,” she admitted after thinking it over. “I’m only supposed to take one, but I took two. That wasn’t very long after you left. I was pretty out of it, and I have no idea what happened around me. Didn’t even hear the sirens. I would have, if it was as intense as you say.”

  Louise nodded. Of course, she would have.

  “Is there anyone who can confirm that you stayed in your house the whole evening?”

  “No.”

  She shook her head.

  “Ulrik’s not home.”

  “Did you talk with anyone?”

  “No.”

  “Either on your cell phone or landline?”