Okay, sure, he had kept up with her and knew she was working as a street cop up in Helsingør, and had somehow been dragged into a case involving a dead homeless person. But she shouldn’t have expected it of him. There was nothing worse than being taken for granted. Especially since they hadn’t seen each other in a year.
He’d invited her out to dinner, which turned into a ridiculously expensive pub crawl. Oh well, that’s what friends are for, he had reasoned. Because that was how he thought of her. A friend.
The first time she’d walked into IT to ask for his help, she was being iced out by the rest of the team because Sleizner had put her in charge of the murder investigation of the TV celebrity Aksel Neuman and his wife. Though he had no authority to do so, Mikael had helped her with all the search fields and filters of the various registries. He also acted as a sounding board for her ideas, and she sometimes called him in the middle of the night just to hear his opinions.
Mikael had loved working with her, and he missed her when she went away after being fired. They had joked that she would become the boss one day and move him over to Homicide. And sure, they talked on the phone sometimes about a reprise of the pub crawl, now that she was salaried and could treat him back. But it never went beyond talk, and after a while he had begun to give up hope that they would ever see each other again.
But now she had contacted him asking for his help. On top of that, her tone made it sound like everything was perfectly normal. Hugs, my ass. Maybe he should be angry, swear in all caps, and tell her to go to hell. Point out that friendship, if that was what she was going for, meant more than just asking for help when it suited you.
The problem was, he didn’t feel angry. Not in the least. He felt exhilarated and happy. Because somehow the tone of the email assumed that they were the type of friends who had nothing to prove to one another. Without giving it a second thought, Mikael realized he’d already forgiven her; he clicked on the link.
He didn’t need to watch much of the video to know that this was something called happy slapping. But he didn’t understand how Dunja had connected it to the murder of the homeless man. There had certainly been a few fatal cases in England, but it was extremely rare, and he’d never heard of such a thing happening in Denmark.
But if he knew Dunja, she had her reasons, and he couldn’t see why he should question her. Furthermore — and this was the best part of all — he knew exactly where to look, if the attackers had been stupid enough to upload a video of the murder.
40
When Theodor had woken up on Sunday, he’d wondered if it had all been just a dream. A desire so strong that it turned into an unconscious reality. But after a minute he knew it was real. He had been to Alexandra’s house, and they had spent several hours together, listening to music and talking about everything under the sun. Not once did he have to think about what to say. The words had come of their own accord, expressing his thoughts perfectly.
Alexandra had listened like no one else, and she had expressed thoughts he’d assumed were his alone. Suddenly it was the two of them, and for the first time he didn’t feel completely on his own. Even though this was his first love and those were never supposed to last, this felt different. He was sure of it.
They had been so close, as close as they could be without going all the way. If her parents hadn’t been expected home that night, he was sure it would have happened right there in the yoga studio. But it was probably for the best. He’d accepted his fate and decided to walk home. Only he didn’t walk. He floated home to Pålsjögatan on a cloud.
A few hours into Sunday afternoon, that feeling had been replaced by uncertainty. Why didn’t she answer when he called? If she was busy, why didn’t she call back later? A text would have been fine. A little kissing emoji, or whatever the fuck she wanted. But she didn’t even give him that.
Theodor did absolutely everything he knew he shouldn’t. He called and texted her so many times that his mom would freak out when she saw the phone bill. He told her how much he was listening to Lykke Li and recommended Feist, an artist his mom liked. He was being pathetic and embarrassing. It was extremely clear that she wasn’t in love with him, or even interested in him in the least.
Yet something inside Theodor refused to give up hope. Like the beach dogs in Thailand that insisted on following you wherever you went. That’s what he was, a three-legged fucking scabby mutt from Thailand. Still, he couldn’t help but give her one last chance. If she didn’t take it, he would leave her alone, cancel his friend request on Facebook, and do everything in his power to stop thinking about her. If necessary, he would switch schools.
By Monday morning he had made all the preparations; tomorrow night was the night. He had emptied his bank account and booked a table on the Helsingør ferry that left at five o’clock. He had gone out to Väla shopping centre and bought a broken-heart necklace with their names engraved on each half, and he had written a poem he planned to read as she opened the box. If everything went according to plan, they could stay up all night, since the next day was a reading day and his parents thought he was sleeping over at Jonte’s to work on a group project.
All he had to do now was ask her to come.
Thedor had hoped to see her at the ten o’clock break, but she was nowhere in sight. Part of him was relieved. Maybe there was a reasonable explanation for her silence. Maybe she was sick. Maybe her phone had died. Or maybe she was just at home, studying.
During lunch break, as he’d waited for his dad to call, Theodor remembered that she’d mentioned something about being in a period of intensive training, so he decided to skip his last few classes and find the club she belonged to instead. He remembered seeing Fenix Martial Arts on her gym bag, and after a quick search online he found it on Kadettgatan up by Västra Berga.
And there he found her, fighting in the ring, drenched in sweat and out of breath, wearing a mouthguard and yellow gym clothes that looked a size too big. She didn’t notice him; all her attention was on her opponent, a guy he already disliked. Not only was he much larger and stronger than Alexandra, he was fighting like only one of them would survive.
When Alexandra caught sight of him, her eyes lit up. It took no more than that for him to toss his worries overboard. She had just been busy training, that was all. Nothing weird about that.
But her lack of concentration was enough for that fucking idiot to hit her so hard that she was on the floor for several seconds. Theodor had been ready to climb into the ring to defend her, but stopped when she laughed and let her opponent help her to her feet.
Now they were at the pizzeria down in Ringstorp. Unfortunately, it wasn’t just the two of them — Henrik Maar, the idiot opponent, was there too. And then two more guys joined them. Theodor had no idea what their names were and didn’t intend to find out. Anyway, they didn’t seem to be paying him any attention. Alexandra, though, was feeling right at home, laughing at everything they said.
“Yeah, so who the fuck are you?” Henrik Maar asked out of the blue, just after their pizzas had arrived and Theodor took his first bite. “Did she let you stick it in yet?”
“What the fuck kind of question is that?” Alexandra said.
“What? He’s gluing himself to one of my best buddies like a horny little ferret. It’s only right for me to check him out before it gets out of hand.”
“Out of hand how?” Theodor had managed to swallow his bite and was in the process of preparing his body for whatever might happen next.
The guys laughed, prompting him to think of the DVD box set his dad had given him for his birthday last spring.
“Don’t pay any attention to them.” Alexandra placed her hand over his.
“I’m not,” Theodor said, bolstered by her touch. “At least, not Beavis and Butthead over there.”
Henrik and the other two exchanged looks. He could tell they didn’t know what he was talking about, which was
exactly what he was going for.
“But this guy who claims to be your best buddy wants to know more about me, and I’m happy to help him out,” he went on, looking Henrik in the eye. “My name is Theodor Risk and I’ve been in more fights than you can imagine. But not in gyms with mouthguards and padded walls.”
“Am I supposed to be impressed?” Henrik said.
Theodor shook his head. “You should know where you are with me. That’s what you wanted, right?” His gaze didn’t waver at all, and he was surprised at how calm he felt.
“Come on, can we just let it go and eat our food instead?” Alexandra started in on her pizza.
“Let what go?” Henrik asked. “We’re just talking, right?”
Theodor allowed himself a curt nod, then followed Alexandra’s lead. Soon they were all eating in silence, the pissing contest apparently over. When Henrik and his two sidekicks went out for a smoke, Theodor took his chance and turned to her.
“Listen, I wanted to ask you something.” He cleared his throat to drive the nervousness from his voice. “I was wondering if you want to hang out tomorrow night?”
“And do what?” In one way, her words were challenging and harsh, but he could see a glimpse of curiosity in her face. She really did want to know.
“It’s a surprise.”
Silence. That endless, leaden silence. He hated it so much. And then those three idiots were coming back in.
“. . . ay.”
It exited her mouth so quickly that he wasn’t sure he’d heard it. Had she said okay or no way? He could feel the panic rising. What should he do? Should he say something? Ask her again? But a few seconds later he could see in her eyes that she had given the right answer.
His happiness didn’t last, however, because Henrik suddenly shouted, “Run, Forrest, run!”
As if on command, Alexandra flew out of her chair and out the door with the others.
He had no clue what had happened until the check landed on the table.
41
Rumours about the morning meeting spread like an autumn cold through the Helsingør police station, and within a few hours they had turned into flat-out gossip, each exaggeration trying to outdo the last.
Some were convinced that Sveistrup had fired Dunja after she called him a spineless, brainless, dickless amoeba. Others believed her attempt to take over the investigation of the Jens Lemke murder had resulted in a fistfight with Bettina Jensen.
But for the few who saw Dunja leave the station with Magnus to go on their afternoon shift, none of the rumours seemed accurate. She was wearing her uniform again, like it was a perfectly average day, and there wasn’t a trace of the morning’s controversy on her face.
In reality, Dunja was boiling with fury inside. It had been a long time since she’d been so humiliated. And yet the feeling was all too familiar.
Dunja didn’t have a shred of evidence; she was forty-five kilometres away from him, and as far as she knew he had nothing to do with the Helsingør police, but she was convinced that it was Sleazeball Sleizner who had yanked the rug out from under her. She could see his fingerprints all over this, and it was driving her insane.
But that didn’t mean she was about to advertise it. Instead, she hid her rage under a thick layer of indifference. Whatever happened, she would hold her head high; she wouldn’t let a single one of those bastards see her defeated.
Her plan soon backfired, when an all-units call went out about an older woman who had been caught red-handed with two pork fillets under her coat at the Netto store on Blichersvej. Without even looking at her, Magnus took the mic and responded that they were on their way.
“Are you serious?” she managed to say. “We’re nowhere near Blichersvej.”
“No, but I just thought —”
“What the hell are you doing?”
“Dunja, I know you’re having a rough time right now. But this is still our job.”
“The hell it is! It’s a fucking shoplifter.” Dunja felt like a volcano about to erupt. “Some underpaid manager at Netto wielding his power against a little old lady. And you just obey orders like a fucking soldier! What’s the fucking point? Does anyone even eat that cheap pork anymore?”
“Say what you want,” Magnus said, shaking his head. “But our job is to keep order, in big ways and small. It’s like Ib always says, the small stuff is just as important as —”
“Ib? You think I give a shit what that man says? He promised me I could take over the investigation, and then he wusses out and denies it. He’s a damn coward.”
“It might seem unfair, but I’m sure he has his reasons.”
“Don’t tell me you’re going to defend him.”
“I don’t know about defend.” Magnus swallowed and looked over his shoulder as he changed lanes. “I’m just saying it might not be as simple as —”
“How can you say that after what happened this morning? Huh? Is it because you’re just as big a coward as him? Do you wish the worst it ever got was a little old lady stealing a piece of meat that no one should even touch from Netto? Sorry, Magnus, that’s not how the world works. And no matter how much you wish it did, it doesn’t help to bury your head in the sand.”
Magnus didn’t respond; he just sat there biting his lip. Seven claustrophobic minutes later, he pulled over in front of the Netto store, and they unbuckled their seatbelts, stepped out of the car, and headed for the entrance.
“Magnus…hold on a sec,” said Dunja, and Magnus turned around. “I’m sorry,” she went on, looking into his eyes.
“Okay,” he said with a nod.
“Really?”
Magnus appeared to ponder this for a moment, but then he cracked a smile and nodded. “On one condition. You let me take you out to a nice restaurant.”
She nodded, and a hug hung in the air but fell to the ground, lost, when her phone rang. It was Mikael Rønning — her old friend from the IT department at the Copenhagen police.
“Hi, Mikael, it’s been so long,” she said, following Magnus into the store.
“Yeah, but even the best relationships need a break now and then.”
At least he wasn’t upset. “For your own sake, I hope you haven’t been cheating on me too much.”
“No, I haven’t. Your replacement looks like a fat version of Jar Jar Binks. To be honest, I haven’t managed to figure out if it’s a man or a woman.”
“Since when do you care about that? Here I thought you would accept anything waist-high.”
“No, no, no,” Mikael said as Magnus turned to her, his face full of questions. “You’re the only one I would go back in the closet for. Speaking of which, I think I found your video.”
Dunja had been about to say that he had a standing invitation into her walk-in closet, which wasn’t huge but still ought to do for one thing or another. But she resisted the temptation and left Magnus on his own as he approached the store manager, who was standing by the registers with his arms crossed, eyes fixed on the terrified old woman. “Where did you find it?” she asked, making up her mind to be on the woman’s side.
“Ever heard of the darknet?”
42
“Elvin here. I can’t talk now, but you can. Go ahead.”
Fabian ended the call and looked up at the clock on City Hall. It was three minutes to one, which meant there was only one hour left before the suspect’s scheduled meeting at Handelsbanken, thirty metres from the spot where he was parked.
The time had passed quickly. So quickly that none of them got the chance to find out why Hugo Elvin hadn’t shown up at the morning meeting and why he wasn’t answering his phone. It was probably nothing serious. He was likely just stuck at home with another spring cold and had forgotten to call in sick.
He’d been gone a lot in recent weeks. But he never failed to call in. Fabian was even less familiar with Elvin tha
n Lilja, if that was possible, but not showing up didn’t seem like him at all. Normally they would have taken the time to check on him, maybe even drop by his house to make sure everything was okay. But they hadn’t had the opportunity. Everything was happening at once. They had gone straight from fumbling around in darkness to being on the verge of apprehending their man. A person none of them knew anything about. They didn’t even have a name.
Fabian checked again to make sure the car doors were locked, lowered the back of his seat as far as it would go, and closed his eyes. Twenty seconds later, he was asleep; he wouldn’t wake until eighteen minutes had passed and the alarm on his phone went off. That was all he needed to recharge his batteries. Anything longer and he would be lost in a haze of grogginess for several hours.
Everything had happened at an accelerated pace after Tuvesson told them about the planned meeting. First, Chris Dawn’s manor house had been put under surveillance in case the perpetrator happened to show up. After that, all their time and energy had been put toward the meeting at the bank. Considering how few hours they had to work with, their preparations were rigorous. Practically every resource had been requisitioned — and even so, they’d had to ask Malmö for help.
At first glance, the operation seemed simple. Apprehending someone at a bank meeting shouldn’t take more than two uniformed officers. If that. But this wasn’t just someone. This was a suspect who, up to this point, seemed to have thought of everything and then some.
Furthermore, as prosecutor Stina Högsell pointed out, they still didn’t have any concrete evidence to link a perpetrator to the crime scenes. They would have to wait until he sat down and forged Chris Dawn’s signature on one of the documents. Only then would they have sufficient evidence to charge him with a crime. The only dark cloud on their radar was the worry that he might not show, that he had figured out they were on his trail.
Eighteen Below Page 19