‘Listen, by the way, that cell phone call you had with Grimås a few hours before he died.’
‘Yes?’
‘What did you talk about?’
‘You’ve already asked me that.’
‘Did I? And what was your answer?’
‘Same as now: he wanted advice for the question time he was on his way to. Unfortunately, it was no more exciting than that,’ said Edelman, tidying his beard.
All doubt disappeared. Edelman was lying right to his face, and even though Fabian wanted nothing more than to take out the phone and play the recorded call, he nodded and tried to look as satisfied with the answer as possible.
As of now, it was crucial to keep everything under wraps.
79
DUNJA NOTICED THAT OSCAR Pedersen looked frustrated, even though he was obviously trying to hide it when he met them at the Department of Forensic Medicine. For the first time during all his years as a medical examiner he’d missed what might turn out to be the most essential part of the whole investigation in the autopsy: namely, the motive for why Karen Neuman and then Katja Skov had been murdered. In the first case it was a missing kidney, and in the latter a lung.
The explanation for how he could have missed it was thin to say the least.
‘As I said on the phone, there was no reason to continue my examination after the cause of death had been established.’ Pedersen pulled his security card through the reader and opened the door so that Dunja and Jan Hesk could follow him into the morgue.
There was a variety of reasons why this was such serious negligence that Dunja could easily file a complaint to the National Police Board and have his licence suspended. But instead, she chose not to change her expression. Hesk, on the other hand, smiled and nodded as if to emphasize his agreement.
‘It’s not just my tax money, but yours too,’ Pedersen continued, looking at Dunja. Then he opened the refrigeration box and pulled out Karen Neuman’s body.
It had been almost a week since Dunja had been at the murder scene and seen the mutilated body for the first time. Seeing it for the second time, she could understand how Pedersen might have overlooked the missing kidney. ‘As I said, she doesn’t look so nice on the outside.’ Pedersen nodded at the wounded torso. ‘But that’s nothing compared with how she looks on the inside. It looks like someone went wild with a blender in there,’ he continued. ‘And Dunja, if you hadn’t stuck to your guns and explicitly told me to check if an organ was missing, I wouldn’t even have discovered it.’
She wanted to brighten up and nod, show him how much she appreciated his praise, but she withstood the impulse and maintained her expressionless look. ‘Did you find anything else?’ she asked, not because she expected anything, but mostly to underscore that she was driving this part of the investigation.
Pedersen nodded. ‘Yes, actually, now that you mention it,’ he said, tugging on his moustache without saying more.
Dunja knew Pedersen far too well to fall into his trap and ask him what he’d found. He wasn’t going to have it that easy.
‘So, what have you discovered?’ said Hesk, voluntarily placing himself at the bottom of the hierarchy.
‘After Dunja contacted me, I took the liberty of going through the investigations on Willumsen’s previous victims, and as far as the wounds are concerned, I could tell with the utmost certainty that he’s left-handed. So I contacted my dear colleague Einar Greide in Helsingborg. Sure enough, it turned out that he’d arrived at the exact same conclusion in his investigations.’
‘And why is that so important?’ said Dunja, but wished immediately that she had kept silent. She could already see that Pedersen had grown at least five centimetres taller and was enjoying the attention.
‘The cuts on Karen Neuman were made by a right-handed perpetrator. Of course, I need to do a more thorough examination to be one hundred per cent certain, but if you’re content with ninety-five per cent positive, then the contact angle of the wound indicates that he was holding the axe like this.’ He showed them with his hands in the air. ‘With his right hand in front and the left hand back there. It is the most natural position for a right-handed person. And when he braced himself he raised the axe on the right side of his head, like this.’ Pedersen chopped repeatedly with the air axe right towards Karen Neuman’s mutilated abdomen.
‘I think we get it,’ said Dunja, and Pedersen stopped. ‘So what you’re really saying is this is yet another sign that indicates that this is not Willumsen’s work.’
Pedersen hesitated, casting a glance at Hesk, before finally nodding. ‘As I said, there is a certain margin of error, and there is a possibility that he struck like a right-handed person simply to confuse us.’
‘But he must have really exerted himself since the wounds are so deep, which makes that explanation less likely.’
‘You are correct.’
‘Excellent. What do you say, Jan?’ Dunja turned to Hesk and decided not to take her eyes off him until he answered.
‘To be honest, I don’t really know what to say. There is still too much evidence pointing to Willumsen for me to simply let go of him.’
‘That’s just my point. The murder has been carried out in such a way that suspicion will be directed towards him and away from the real perpetrator.’
‘And what’s the real motive?’
‘Here it’s the missing kidney, and with Katja Skov it’s her lung.’
‘Not to be nit-picky but, Dunja, those are organs not motives.’
Dunja rolled her eyes and turned to Pedersen. ‘Is it possible for you to retrieve the victim’s patient records?’
‘It depends on what you mean by possible. Why should I—’
‘Because I’m asking you to.’
Pedersen pulled on his moustache again, and exchanged a glance with Hesk, who gave him a shoulder shrug in response. ‘Well, okay.’ He went over to the computer in the corner and touched the mouse. ‘But if we do find something of interest, the two of you have to clear it after the fact, okay?’
‘Sure, sure, just get started.’
Pedersen clicked to the patient record archive and was about to enter his search when he noticed an email in his inbox. ‘Oh, the DNA analysis is already done. That was quick.’
‘The DNA analysis of the sperm sample? Shouldn’t that take over a week?’ said Dunja.
‘That’s what I thought too,’ said Pedersen. ‘I guess they wanted to clear their desks before Christmas. Anyway, here we have it.’ He stopped talking to read it over.
‘And?’
Pedersen turned toward Dunja and then to Hesk. ‘It was Willumsen’s.’
‘Benny Willumsen?’ Dunja repeated, and Pedersen nodded. She couldn’t believe it. ‘Just to be clear: we’re talking about the semen sample you found in Katja Skov?’
‘Both inside and a little around, to be exact.’
Dunja could picture the house of cards she was building crashing down. ‘Okay, but can you retrieve those patient records now so I can look at them.’
‘Dunja, that’s enough now,’ said Hesk. ‘Sleizner gave us a deadline to continue until the analysis was done. And now it is.’
‘Yes, but…’ She turned to Pedersen. ‘I need to see those records.’
‘The investigation, from what I understand, is now closed, so I have to say no.’
‘So all that talk about the perpetrator being right-handed doesn’t mean anything to you any more?’
‘As I said, there is a margin of error. And this time unfortunately it appears as if—’
‘This is completely crazy. What the hell are you up to?’
‘Dunja, we’re just doing our jobs. Let’s go so that Oscar can continue doing his.’ Hesk turned around to leave.
‘How on earth can you call this doing your job? Huh? I can see on your face that you also think there are enough interesting leads to explore.’
‘You do?’ Hesk turned towards her. ‘Then why wouldn’t I explore them?’
‘Either you’re just out to obstruct or you’re just too cowardly to stand up to Sleizner, which is more likely. You know as well as I do that he doesn’t give a damn if we have the wrong person, as long as the numbers look pretty.’
‘You forgot the third alternative: it really was Benny Willumsen.’ Hesk turned his back on Dunja and left the room.
80
WITH THE PHONE PRESSED against his ear, Fabian stepped out of the elevator three floors below ground and continued through the corridor to the archives. ‘Hello? Can you still hear me?’
‘Yes, and if you’re the least bit interested in what I’ve found out about Gidon Hass you should listen now,’ said Niva. ‘You might think that if Grimås and Edelman were discussing him, he would be a public figure of some sort, but in fact, he’s been almost impossible to track down.’
Fabian had promised himself that he would never see Niva again, but after the meeting with Edelman he could see no way other than to resume contact and tell her everything, from the events of the last few days to his own theories about how it all fitted together.
To his great relief, she believed his story, and she’d also agreed to help him without coercing him to drinks or dinner. Her only request was that the investigation remained officially closed as long as she was involved.
‘Gidon Hass, or Gidon Ezra Hass, his full name, is a doctor and pathologist with a focus on – get this – organ transplants.’
‘Okay,’ said Fabian, feeling that things were finally coming together. ‘Does he have a clinic somewhere?’
‘He did, in the past tense: Israel’s National Forensic Institute in Abu Kabir. Rumour has it that under his leadership they collected organs and tissues, and acted as a kind of co-ordinating centre. It was one of the largest single suppliers to the organ black market, which, until a year or so ago, was completely legal in Israel.’
‘Legal?’
‘Yes, because Jewish people prefer to be buried whole, the consequence is that voluntary organ donation is one of the lowest in the Western world.’
‘So where did they get all the organs?’ asked Fabian, walking along the rows of movable shelves, while trying to ensure he still had coverage.
‘Primarily from so-called organ hunters who are prevalent in the former Soviet republics and in the poorest parts of Asia and South America. And if you believe the worst accusations, quite a few organs were also harvested from wounded Palestinians.’
‘Nice.’
‘It’s true.’
‘So he’s no longer at the clinic in Abu Kabir?’ said Fabian, finding his way to shelf number 152.
‘No, when the new law went into effect he was fired and hasn’t been heard from since.’
‘Is he on the run?’ Fabian cranked the shelf to the side, squeezed into the opening and found the archive folders numbered 0912–305 easily.
‘As I said, he hasn’t done anything illegal. Technically he has nothing to run away from.’
‘But he’s gone underground anyway.’
‘It looks like it.’
The folders were filled with papers which, to the uninitiated, might resemble a case file: some copied documents here and a few pictures there that didn’t have the slightest thing to do with the real investigation.
Just as he’d expected, the evidence was gone.
81
DUNJA HAD GONE TO the Copenhagen Police Department Christmas party for the first time two years ago. The shock of the event had continued well into spring, even though she’d heard all the rumours in advance about the flowing alcohol, the limbo dance where every failed attempt cost an item of clothing and the copy machines that collapsed under the pressure. She hadn’t been prepared for the battlefield she encountered: colleagues who were normally quite level-headed behaved like lobotomized swine, to put it mildly.
She’d missed the following year because she was at home in bed with a flu that she couldn’t shake until well into January. No one wanted to spill any details once she was back, but management’s decision to hold the Christmas party on a Monday in the future said more than enough.
Dunja had decided not to go regardless, mostly because Sleizner had made sure to have her seated beside him, but also because she knew how hard it was for Carsten. No matter how much she stressed that she could never imagine being unfaithful, much less with any of her colleagues, Carsten was still after her like an interrogator, demanding a full account of every minute of the party.
But in the end, she’d decided to go, but not because she felt like it. She was the furthest thing from being in a party mood. The defeat with Pedersen still stung, and even if the DNA analysis of the sperm sample showed that it was from Benny Willumsen, she couldn’t really believe that he was the person behind the murders. Not only had he been completely perplexed when she asked about the industrial space outside Kävlinge, he was a head taller and several sizes bigger than the man she’d caught red-handed mutilating Katja Skov.
She was quite sure that there was a completely different motive to explain the missing organs and she couldn’t understand why Hesk, Pedersen and Richter were so uninterested in finding out. It was as if they were so intimidated by Sleizner that they didn’t dare create conflict. Or maybe they just couldn’t take any more right before Christmas.
She refused to let herself be dragged down to the level where people refused to take responsibility for themselves and didn’t care about anything – least of all the truth. And that’s where sitting next to Sleizner came into the picture.
She intended to make use of all her tricks and exploit the situation to her utmost advantage. She had to get him on her side so that he would let her continue with the investigation. She devoted both time and care to putting on more make-up than the usual mascara and eyeliner. She used power and concealer to hide the worst bruises, and after trying a few different lipsticks, she chose the reddest one she had, which matched her red dress perfectly. She swapped the small pearl earrings – a confirmation present from her mother – for two big gold hoops and wrapped a support bandage around her left ankle, which was already much better. Then she pulled on a pair of hold-up stockings and slipped her feet into her highest heels.
She was surprised how well she could stand in them and practised walking in the living room trying to pretend she wouldn’t touch a pair of Converse with a ten-foot pole. After that she stood in front of the mirror in the bedroom, adjusted her hair to hide the scrape on her forehead and studied herself.
For the second time in recent memory she didn’t recognize her own reflection. The dress, the make-up, the shoes: the whole look was as far from her as you could get, or at least the way she usually saw herself. But it wasn’t about the clothes. They were nothing but a casing to wrap Sleizner around her finger. No, it was something else, something that was so much harder to grasp.
Something in her eyes.
82
‘THIS CONCERNS A SUICIDE and isn’t on my radar at all.’ Medical examiner Aziza Thåström was normally one of the most amiable people that Fabian knew. She always had time for yet another question, and her patience was inexhaustible when you didn’t understand something. Now, on the contrary, she sounded irritated. ‘Besides, the investigation is closed.’
Fabian pulled open the heavy iron door and walked out into the car park, letting the silence do its work.
‘Okay,’ Thåström finally said with a sigh. ‘What do you want me to look for?’
‘I don’t know. Preferably some organ that should be there but isn’t.’ He heard another heavy sigh in the phone.
‘Fabian, we’re dealing with a drowning accident. Besides water-filled lungs there are no visible injuries.’
‘Yes, but something is missing – I’m sure of it. The eyes. Have you checked them?’ said Fabian, who could tell by the altered room acoustics that Thåström was now inside the morgue and opening one of the refrigeration boxes.
‘Yes and – surprise – the eyes are there. Do you seriously think that someone could hav
e missed—’
‘Aziza, can you examine them?’
‘And why should I?’
‘Just do it, please.’
He heard another heavy exhalation as he got into his car and turned on the ignition. He wasn’t the least bit surprised with her response.
‘I’ll be damned, you were right. The cornea is missing in the right eye.’
‘Thanks. That’s all I wanted to know,’ said Fabian, ending the call.
So that’s what the perpetrator had done in the condemned apartment. After drowning Semira Ackerman, he had removed her right cornea, an intervention no one would discover as long as all focus was aimed at her water-filled lungs.
Fabian drove up to the garage door, which slowly started to let in the daylight. A shudder spread through his body and he shivered, even though he wasn’t cold. His back got sweaty, while his heart rate increased. Something had happened. He just didn’t understand what, until it occurred to him how close he’d actually been. If it hadn’t been for the concealed camera in Ossian Kremph’s bookcase, he almost certainly would have run right into the perpetrator.
Of course – that’s how the perpetrator had seen him and understood that there was a risk he might imminently find the passage to the condemned apartment. Maybe he was even the person who drove off in the Opel that was parked right in front of his own car.
He drove out of the car park, leaving the police station behind him, with no idea where he was headed. He just needed to get away from the station, and away from Edelman and all the others. He turned right on Bergsgatan and then left towards Hantverkargatan, and felt his pulse slow down.
Even if only part of the information that Niva had uncovered turned out to be true, it was a scandal so serious that Israel’s reputation would be spattered with blood for many years to come. The taped phone call between Grimås and Edelman made it clear that the Israeli Embassy was involved, but he didn’t know to what extent or whether the horrific practice of illegal organ harvesting was sanctioned from higher up. As long as the investigation continued to be unofficial, he couldn’t simply call in people for questioning, particularly those from an embassy.
The Ninth Grave Page 33