‘From what I understand, there’s a lot to indicate that it’s someone internal, who has access to keys and codes. The problem is that they haven’t been able to find anyone without—’
‘What do you mean, “internal”? Are you suggesting that someone on your own staff would—’
‘Carl, I have no idea.’
She paused the recording. There were obviously strong suspicions that it was someone on the embassy’s own staff. But what did Edelman mean by ‘The problem is that they haven’t been able to find anyone without…’? What did someone not have?
The alternatives were almost endless and she had written a long list of possible continuations that more or less made sense. Finally, she’d decided on one word.
Alibi.
The full sentence became: The problem is that they haven’t been able to find anyone without an alibi. It was completely logical. They’d suspected that it had been someone on the staff, but every one of them could prove their innocence, which either meant that one of them had a false alibi, or that it wasn’t anyone internal at all, but someone distant enough to not appear on the personnel lists, but close enough to have access to the building.
Even though she’d turned off the sound on her phone, it started vibrating like a wound-up toy on the table next to her bed, disturbing her concentration right when she was finally getting somewhere. Now her thoughts scattered, and she didn’t know if she could summon up enough energy to gather them again.
It was Anders – just what she needed. He’d tried to reach her so many times now that if she didn’t pick up soon, he might legitimately start threatening divorce.
‘Hi, honey,’ she said, attempting to sound like she’d just woken up.
‘Why aren’t you answering?’
‘Uh, wasn’t that what I just did?’
‘You’re not working, are you?’
‘I wouldn’t dare, considering how much you’ve been after me. Was that why you called and woke me up?’
‘Are you sure?’
Malin let out an exaggerated sigh. ‘Do you think I’m lying right to your face?’ she asked, realizing, to her own surprise, how good she was at being deceitful.
‘No, but—’
‘Good, because I’m half drugged, without a clue of what’s happening outside the door. I haven’t even had the energy to open the computer since you were here.’
‘Okay, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to… I’m just so—’
‘Worried. Honey, I know. But that doesn’t help me right now. I just want this to be over. Was there anything else?’
‘No – actually yes. Ursula was here yesterday. Did you tell her to put Christmas curtains up in the kitchen window?’
‘No. Did she do that?’
‘Yes, and they’re… how should I put it?… really ugly. I can’t even describe them. I know they’re probably considered very beautiful in the backwaters of Poland, but I’m losing my appetite completely, and now I don’t know what to do. I don’t even want to touch them.’
Malin understood exactly what Anders was talking about. A year or two ago their cleaning woman started taking greater liberties in how their home was furnished. Suddenly, the worn footstool she’d inherited from her grandmother went down into a box in the cellar, to Anders’ great delight. But when their white duvet cover was replaced by something synthetic with colourful flowers the following week, even he’d had enough. In united solidarity, they folded it up and put the white one back on.
Big mistake.
Ursula didn’t say anything. Instead, she slowly but surely punished them by starting to clean less effectively. After a few weeks they’d tried to remind her with a discreet Post-it note of how dusty it was under the bed and that the inside of the refrigerator needed to be cleaned too. But it didn’t get cleaned. Finally, they put the flowery bedspread – that gave them a shock every time they touched it – back on. By now she was used to it – and the garden gnome she got when she turned…
Out of nowhere, Malin was struck by a thought that was as unexpected as the fact that she’d fallen pregnant with twins only a few weeks after they’d decided to give up trying. It was so obvious, she couldn’t believe she had missed it.
‘Honey, are you still there?’
‘Yes, I am, but—’
‘What should I do then? She’s going to flip out completely if I take them down.’
‘Anders, I don’t know. But I have to go. The doctor will be here any moment and I have to go to the toilet first.’
‘Don’t you think she’ll get mad if I—’
‘We’ll talk later. Love you.’ She hung up, leaned back in the bed, and closed her eyes to refocus as quickly as possible.
She wasn’t certain, but the facts seemed to fit the idea that the perpetrator could be someone on the cleaning staff. Not only did they have access to keys and codes, they were also around when the rest of the employees had gone home. Besides, if they came from an outside cleaning company, they could be considered ‘internal’ even if they weren’t part of the embassy’s own staff.
There was only one way to find out.
85
DUNJA WOKE UP SUDDENLY and realized she must have fallen asleep. She was buckled in and everything around her was shaking. She didn’t understand where she was or how she’d ended up there.
‘We are now approaching Stockholm Airport. Please keep your seatbelt fastened until the aircraft has come to a complete stop and the seatbelt sign has been turned off,’ a voice boomed over the loudspeaker.
As the plane braked, everything came rushing back: Sleizner’s disgusting mouth against hers; Hesk, who risked his career and offered to file a complaint, even though he usually never talked back. She wondered if it was his way of asking for forgiveness. All she could do was shake her head and ask him to call her a taxi. She just wanted to get out of there and pretend that nothing had happened.
Blågårdsgade 4, she had said to the taxi driver. But as they passed the neon thermometer at Rådhuspladsen, which showed minus five degrees Celsius, she realized that Blågårdsgade was the last place she wanted to go. Why lie at home alone? If there was anyone who should comfort her after all that had happened, it was Carsten. Longing for him had struck her with such force and gave her no choice other than to go to Stockholm.
The driver shook his head, but agreed to make an illegal U-turn outside Hotel Alexandra and drove her to Copenhagen Airport. She was lucky and had managed to get a ticket on a flight that left fifty-five minutes later. Her mood improved as she passed through security and ordered a glass of white wine in the oyster bar.
And now, as she walked out of the revolving door into the Stockholm air, which was not nearly as trying as back home, it felt almost as if the incident in Sleizner’s office had never happened. She laughed to herself at her impulse behaviour. Carsten would certainly be surprised. She liked nothing better than to be in control and prepped up to her ears, but she currently found herself anything but.
All she had with her was her wallet, her red, much too short dress, and her winter coat. Fortunately, she’d had the foresight to go to the Christmas party in a pair of boots and brought her high heels along in a bag, otherwise she would have had to use a wheelchair because her feet were in so much pain.
She signalled for a taxi and asked the driver to take her to Hotel Clarion at Skanstull in as clear Swedish as she could. This was her first visit to Stockholm and so far she wasn’t particularly impressed. She hadn’t seen much more than a jumble of roads and concrete viaducts.
It was only after they’d been through a long tunnel that she found that she hadn’t been misled by the people who said that Stockholm was one of the most beautiful cities in the world. Because suddenly, the view opened up and she could look out over the frozen water surrounded by lights from an endless number of illuminated windows. She didn’t know if it was the vast snow-covered ice or the clear, starry sky, the lit-up bridge in the distance, or the hills of Södermalm with their steep cliffs
covered with buildings, but all she should think was that it really was exceptionally beautiful.
Then she was back in the concrete hell that blocked her view for the rest of the way to the hotel.
*
‘WHAT DID YOU SAY his name was again?’ asked the young man with a thin moustache behind the front desk, even though Dunja had already repeated it twice.
‘Carsten Røhmer,’ she said as slowly as she could. ‘Carsten with a “c”, and Røhmer with Danish ø and h after the ø. Should I write it down?’
‘No, that won’t be necessary,’ said the man, giving her a smile to show that he didn’t mind being disturbed from his book as his fingers worked on the keyboard.
Dunja could not understand what was so complicated about finding a room number. The front desk clerk was acting like he was hacking into a top-secret server. A few minutes later he took his eyes off the screen and pressed his fingers against his moustache.
‘From what I can see he’s the only one who’s booked here.’
‘Yes, but I’m his fiancée and surprising him. He has no idea I’m here.’
‘Unfortunately, I can’t give out room keys to just anyone.’
‘I understand that, but I’m not just anyone. As I just explained, I’m his girlfriend.’
‘I’m sorry, I don’t understand.’
‘I’m his fiancée and this is a surprise. That’s why the booking only says one person.’
The man nodded, even if the smile had long disappeared. ‘I’m sorry, but I can’t—’
‘Look. If it’s about money, I have no problem paying for an extra person. As long as you give me a fucking key.’ She extended her credit card and looked at him with an expression so insistent that he eventually had no choice but to go along with it.
The room was on the sixth floor and in the elevator on the way up she took the opportunity to fix her hair and refresh her lipstick. Once she’d found the room, she defied the pain in her feet and forced them into the high heels.
She opened the door slowly and went through the dark hall into the room. It was bigger than she’d expected, and she couldn’t see Carsten or the bed. But she could hear his mumbling voice and a phone receiver hit the cradle. And so he wouldn’t have time to get suspicious, she hurried into the room, threw out her arms, and yelled, ‘Tada!’
She didn’t know what kind of reaction she’d expected, but she certainly hoped it would be more than what she got. Carsten was reclining in the bed with a bare torso, looking at her like he’d just been fired. She didn’t know how she should interpret his response. Was he very surprised or downright terrified?
‘Hello. It’s me, Dunja. Aren’t you happy?’ She waved to him, and only then did he break into a forced smile.
‘Sorry, honey. I… I didn’t expect that you would—’
‘Come to Stockholm. Well, that makes two of us.’ She wriggled out of the heels. ‘But it doesn’t hurt to be a little surprised now and then?’ She crept up to him on all fours and leaned forward for a kiss.
‘Wait.’ He stopped her. ‘What’s going on? Weren’t you going to the Christmas party today?’
‘Yes, but you know how it always is. And after all that’s happened, it was the last thing I felt like, so I took a flight here to see you instead.’
‘Okay, but…’ Carsten scratched the back of his head, moving his gaze around before he looked her in the eyes again. ‘How are you feeling, really? We haven’t even had time to talk. It must have been horrible.’
Dunja nodded. She couldn’t bear to answer all the questions, and silenced him with her mouth instead.
In the early stages of their relationship, a kiss could have gone on for ever. When they were first in love, it felt as if it would never end. Their lips met in an endless number of combinations, every one of which felt like small sensations. Their tongues couldn’t get enough of each other, and she’d loved the taste of him, not to mention his warm, damp breath. They’d lost themselves and almost drowned in each other’s gazes. She’d thought this was how it would be for ever.
But after a little more than six months, Carsten started to close his eyes. She’d considered asking him why, but chose to ignore it and hoped he would soon open them again. Instead, their kisses got shorter and his tongue seemed to have tired of playing with hers. After a while, she’d summoned up the courage to ask what was wrong or whether she smelled bad. Even today she could recall that he just shook his head and forced his way into her. Ever since then, she too had started closing her eyes, and a few weeks later they’d stopped kissing altogether.
But now they were kissing again, and he was even looking at her. Yet something didn’t seem right. Something that she couldn’t quite put her finger on. Was it his shifting gaze that kept looking past her? Or the tongue that was a little too eager in its movements?
She broke off the kiss.
‘What is it?’ he said. ‘Do I have bad breath?’
‘No, it’s just that I have to… You know, after the trip and all.’ She crawled backwards off the bed. ‘I’ll be right back.’
‘What do you say about having a drink at the bar?’
‘Absolutely. I’ll just freshen up a little.’
‘Yes, although—’
‘I’ll be quick. I promise.’ She opened the door to the bathroom, went in and locked it, which she always did, even though they’d been together for almost five years. She never sat on the toilet when Carsten was standing alongside, struggling with his dental floss.
But that wasn’t why she locked the door today.
She’d initially brushed it aside, but it had been obvious from the moment she had entered the hotel room. Maybe it was the front desk clerk’s unwillingness to help her or the sound of the phone hitting the cradle that tipped her off. She couldn’t say for sure. She had tried to tell herself that it was just that her nerves were on edge. But once they’d kissed, she could no longer blame it on stress. And everything was confirmed once she turned on the light in the bathroom.
One towel was missing from the hanger and the shower cap package had been opened. The glass with Carsten’s toothbrush was turned over on the sink, along with the shaving cream and a green box of toothpicks wrapped in plastic. But she couldn’t see the expensive aftershave she’d bought him for his sensitive skin. And the bathtub’s shower curtain had been closed.
So fucking pathetic, she thought, as she took two soundless steps over to the bathtub and tore the shower curtain to the side. Neither of them said anything. Dunja could only note that evidently this was his type. She had long blonde curls going in every direction and breasts that behaved as if the law of gravity didn’t exist. She was lying flat in the tub, trying to cover herself with the missing towel and had all of her make-up and Carsten’s aftershave, which she had gathered up in a panic, spread around her.
Dunja didn’t know how to react. The situation was so absurd that she was almost completely nonplussed. She was just as surprised as the woman when she leaned over, grabbed the bottle of aftershave, turned the shower on to its coldest temperature and left the bathroom.
‘Are you ready?’ asked Carsten, who was now out of bed and in the process of getting dressed.
‘Yes. Quite ready.’ She grabbed the high heels that were on the floor and turned to the door.
‘Dunja. What is it now? Why—’ She could hear him following after her. ‘Say something. You can’t just—’
She didn’t hear anything else once she’d taken her winter coat and the bag of boots and closed the soundproof door behind her. To her own surprise she didn’t feel the least bit sorry when she threw the bottle of aftershave into a wastebasket on her way through the hallway to the elevator.
86
FABIAN LEFT THE KITCHEN with fresh-brewed coffee and had to remind himself that he was actually in his own living room, not in an investigation centre far underground. With Tomas and Jarmo’s help, he’d managed to tidy up after the burglary in less than two hours. They’d arranged the furni
ture so that the dining-room table, with all its leaves added, was in the middle of the room, and the couch and armchairs were along the walls. The whole investigation was unpacked and the walls were covered with the photographs, notes and leads that had disappeared from the original investigation room.
Even better, Jarmo had photographed everything before they packed it up at the police station, so most of it was laid out and categorized just like before. Niva had arrived an hour later with her equipment, and now all of their screens, computers and printers, and a number of black boxes with blinking lights were set up and connected.
They had never worked together this efficiently. The usual banter was on pause and everyone had a common goal: to identify and arrest the real perpetrator. The person who’d messed them around and fooled them with such detailed false leads that the investigation was officially closed.
‘Hmmm,’ said Jarmo, pouring the steaming coffee into cups. ‘Should we get going?’
‘I can start,’ said Fabian, and told everyone about the events of the past twenty-four hours: the recorded cell phone call between Edelman and Grimås; how he’d found a passageway that linked Ossian Kremph’s apartment to the condemned apartment; and explained that it was how the perpetrator was able to go into Kremph’s place to replace his medications and plant various incriminating pieces of evidence. He told them about the concealed camera and that the perpetrator had almost certainly drowned Semira Ackerman and removed her right cornea just before he’d arrived. And he described how the tracks seemed to lead to a pathologist named Gidon Hass by way of the Israeli Embassy in Stockholm. When he was finished, silence reigned and no one said anything for several minutes. They all needed to digest and think before they could move ahead.
‘That pathologist. Do we know anything more about him?’ Tomas asked at last, shaking his protein drink.
‘He’s an expert on organ transplants and up until three years ago he was the head of the pathology institute in Abu Kabir. Since then, he seems to have gone to ground,’ said Fabian.
The Ninth Grave Page 35