by David Hewson
He was halfway down the stairs when she came to the door and said, ‘Get in here.’
Lund changed her jumper while he watched. Black and white for white and black.
‘I’m on my way out. Make this quick.’
‘Quick as you like. I just want a straight answer.’
Looked in the fridge. Still time for a beer.
‘I’ve only got one, Hartmann. Do you want some?’
He stared at the Carlsberg.
‘That red wine I gave you was five hundred kroner.’
Lund shrugged, cracked open the bottle, swigged from the neck.
‘Tonight I said Bremer was covering for a killer.’
‘I wouldn’t repeat that if I were you.’
He didn’t like that answer.
‘There was Christensen—’
‘Could go down as a road traffic accident. Hard to prove intent in a dead man. Not sure Brix will think it’s worth trying.’
‘How certain are you Holck didn’t kill Nanna?’
The beer tasted good.
‘Pretty certain. Well, as much as anything.’
Lund had bought the last box of sushi in the local store. She didn’t like sushi much but there was nothing else left that was quick and simple.
‘If it wasn’t Holck who was it?’
‘If I knew that would I be sitting here drinking beer from the bottle and eating cold rice and fish?’
He took a chair on the other side of the table.
‘How long before you come back to me? What the hell will people think?’
‘They’ll think the case is closed. Do you want some sushi?’
‘You don’t like it, do you?’
Lund pushed the box away.
‘We’re making progress, Hartmann. Stop worrying.’
‘What kind of progress? How close are you to an arrest? Hours? Days? Weeks?’
‘I’m a police officer. Not a clairvoyant.’
More beer. She looked at him.
‘I haven’t finished the bottle,’ Lund said, waving the Carlsberg at him. ‘You can still have some if you want.’
Hartmann looked briefly disgusted by the idea.
‘They’ll take your report seriously. If Bremer was aware of Holck’s misconduct in office something will happen. In time.’
‘Great.’
He got up to leave.
‘I was wondering, Hartmann.’
‘Wondering what?’
‘The missing tape from City Hall security.’
‘What about it?’
‘We were looking for that all along. We thought we could nail you with it. In fact it clears you. There’s Holck on it, with Nanna.’
Hartmann looked bewildered.
‘Who sent it?’ he asked.
‘I thought you might be able to tell me.’
‘I’ve no idea.’
‘Well . . .’ She pulled back the box of sushi, ate some more anyway. ‘I guess we can assume someone at City Hall is still interested in you and Nanna anyway.’
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
‘They didn’t give us the tape till now. When you’re in the clear. Why is that?’
‘Tell me,’ Hartmann said.
‘If they took it to protect you they can’t have watched it, can they? Otherwise they could have saved you from jail.’
He was struggling with that idea.
‘You need to make connections, Hartmann.’
‘Like what?’
‘Someone steals a videotape to protect you. They make sure we don’t get our hands on it. But they never watch it. Then, when you’re cleared, we get it. Why?’
Nothing.
Lund finished the beer.
‘Here’s what I’d guess. They gave it to us now because they think there’s more shit coming your way.’
‘And why didn’t they watch it?’
She looked at him.
‘Maybe because they couldn’t bear to. Because they thought they’d see you there with Nanna. Guilty as hell.’
His handsome politician’s face was so immobile it might have been chiselled from stone.
‘Just a guess. That’s all.’
Ten
Tuesday, 18th November
Lund got caught in the morning rush-hour traffic on the way to Vesterbro. Meyer sat in the passenger seat giving her an update on Vagn Skærbæk.
‘Only child. Parents are gone. Mother died when he was born. That might indicate an odd relationship with women.’
‘Don’t throw psychology at me. I’ve had enough of that crap for a while.’
‘Fine. At fifteen his father disappeared. Probably went off chasing drugs and hookers in Amsterdam. So little Vagn moved in with his uncle. No education to speak of. I thought he might have done some time but there’s nothing much.’
He flipped the pages he had.
‘The only reason we get to talk to him is when we’re trying to nail Theis.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘If Theis needs an alibi Vagn’s his man. Three cases where Vagn’s evidence got him off the hook. I spoke to that retired guy who called in. He thought they were part of a team.’
‘What about kids? A wife? Ex-wife?’
‘Nope. Lives on his own in a cheap studio half a kilometre from the Birk Larsens. We went through it. Nothing that puts him in Vestamager or anywhere else of interest.’
‘There has to be something.’
‘He’s godfather to the Birk Larsen boys. Seems very close to the family. Sometimes he’s lived with them for a while. Maybe he was abusing Nanna behind their back.’
Lund just looked at him.
‘OK. I withdraw that remark. Theis or Pernille would surely have known and he’d be the one feeding the eels. Also . . .’
He stopped.
‘Also what?’
‘Nanna looked happy. Didn’t she? I did a couple of abuse cases. Those kids . . . you can see it in their eyes. Years after. That Lonstrup woman with the pigtails and the grey hair—’
‘No one abused Nanna,’ Lund said as she came off the motorway and looked for the care home. ‘She wrapped Jens Holck round her little finger and kept it secret. Nanna was Theis and Pernille all in one.’
It was a modern place, two storeys, red-brick.
‘There’s a scary thought,’ Meyer said.
The manager of the care home was a jolly, plump woman with dyed blonde hair and a perpetual smile. She loved Vagn Skærbæk.
‘I wish we had more like him. Vagn visits his uncle every Friday.’
‘You’re sure about the thirty-first?’ Lund asked as they walked down the long white corridor, past elderly men and women playing cards.
‘Yes. I’m sure. The nurse on duty always enters visitors in the guest book.’
She had it with her and showed Meyer the page.
‘Vagn checked in at eight fifteen.’
‘It doesn’t say when he left.’
‘He didn’t. He fell asleep in a chair. His uncle wasn’t feeling well. Vagn came in to say goodbye when he left the next morning. Eight o’clock or so.’
Lund asked, ‘So he told you he was here all night? No one saw him?’
The woman didn’t like that.
‘Vagn’s stayed before. He was here.’
‘But no one saw him?’
‘He put his uncle to bed. He does that for us. Why are you asking these questions? Vagn’s a diamond. I wish we—’
‘Had more like him,’ Meyer said. ‘Got that message. Where’s his uncle?’
A small room with a small, old man in it. He walked with a stick and looked frail.
They sat and had coffee, listened to his stories. Looked at the pencil drawings of windmills and fields that Vagn drew when he was a child. His uncle seemed to carry part of Skærbæk’s childhood with him. One last link to the life that went before.
‘Did Vagn ever talk about girlfriends?’ Lund asked.
‘No.’ The old man laughed. ‘Vagn’s a sh
y boy. He keeps things to himself. They used to bully him when he was a kid in Vesterbro. If it wasn’t for a few nice friends they’d have picked on him all the time. You see . . .’
They waited.
‘See what?’ Meyer prompted.
‘Vagn’s a gentle soul. It’s a hard world out there. I don’t think it’s been easy for him.’
His kindly face turned miserable for a moment.
‘I did what I could. But I couldn’t be there all the time.’
‘Does the name Mette Hauge mean anything?’
His face brightened.
‘There’s a lovely girl here called Mette. Is it her?’
‘What about Nanna Birk Larsen?’
The smile was gone.
‘Vagn took that poor girl’s death very hard.’
Lund looked at the photos on the walls. A black and white portrait of a woman she took to be his late wife. Vagn when he was younger.
‘How’s that?’ she asked.
‘They’re the family he never had. I was just me. My wife died young. It was selfishness that made me take him in. I was lonely, you see. I never regretted it.’ He looked round the little room. ‘All those years later, and still he comes to see me. There’s miserable old bastards here who don’t get a minute from their own son once a year. I see Vagn every week. Every week.’
‘He was here the night you felt poorly?’ Meyer said. ‘Two weeks ago? How did he seem?’
‘We watched TV. We always do.’
The programme guide was on the table. Meyer picked it up. Lund got out of her chair and started to walk round the room, looking at the photos, the uncle’s belongings.
‘That night,’ Meyer said, ‘Columbo was on. And a gardening show. And then Star Search. What did you watch?’
‘I remember the detective with the raincoat. But I didn’t feel well.’ He scowled. ‘I’m getting old. Try to avoid it if you can. But Vagn got me my pills and I was better after that.’
Lund glanced at Meyer.
‘What kind of pills?’ he asked.
‘I don’t know. Ask the nurses. I take what they give me.’
She came back with a wedding photo. A couple from years ago, stiff and unsmiling in a black and white portrait.
‘Who are these people?’
‘Vagn’s parents. That’s my brother.’ A pause. ‘The layabout.’
‘What did they do?’
‘I think she was pregnant already. Not that you talked about things like that back then.’
He was laughing at his own joke.
‘What did they do?’
‘They worked in a hospital. Not good people, I have to say.’
The old man took a deep breath.
‘He had such a rotten start in life. These kids . . .’ His voice was rising. ‘They need discipline. They need an example. They need to be shown the way to behave. And when they step outside then . . .’
He stopped, as if surprised by his own sudden outburst.
‘Then what?’ Meyer said.
‘Then they need to know there’ll be consequences. I never had to do that. Not with Vagn. But some of the youngsters you see . . .’
They checked the nursing notes on the way out. Skærbæk had given his uncle phenobarbital, a strong sedative.
Lund was driving again.
‘How many?’
‘Just one. It’s enough to knock out a horse. He’d still have to pass the nurse’s office to get out. You saw the security . . .’
Lund shook her head.
‘I looked upstairs when you were talking to the nurses. There are other exits. He could have got out if he wanted.’
‘Then he’s smarter than he looks.’
‘I told you. He is.’
Meyer went quiet.
‘What is it?’ she asked.
‘You heard that old man. You heard the manager. They all love Vagn.’
‘Doesn’t mean a thing, Meyer.’
‘What?’
‘It doesn’t mean a thing!’
‘He goes and sits with his old uncle most Friday nights? When the average Copenhagen working-class male can’t wait to hit the beer? That—’
‘It . . doesn’t . . . mean . . . a . . . thing.’
‘If it wasn’t for Skærbæk Theis Birk Larsen wouldn’t have a business from what I’ve seen.’
Lund was thinking.
‘Weak kid, bullied at school. Parents gone. Brought up by an uncle.’
The rain came on suddenly. The windscreen turned opaque. Meyer reached over and turned on the wipers.
‘I wish you’d let me drive.’
‘We’ll do a line-up. See if Amir can identify him.’
‘You’re clutching at straws. Any news in the woods?’
She turned the wipers up to double speed. Watched the sheets of rain envelop the car.
‘If we don’t find anything on Vagn then Brix will shut down the Hauge case,’ Meyer said. ‘We need more than a few pills and an old photo.’
‘I know that, thanks.’
Theis and Pernille Birk Larsen talked to the lawyer, Lis Gamborg, in the kitchen, around the decorated table. Complained about the police, about the constant visits, the ceaseless questioning.
The woman listened then said, ‘I sympathize but there’s really nothing you can do. It’s a criminal investigation. A murder case.’
‘But they’re not doing anything,’ Pernille said. ‘Nothing useful. They keep saying it’s solved. Closed. And then the next day they come back and it starts all over again.’
‘The police usually have good reasons, Pernille. Even as Nanna’s parents you’ve no right to know.’
‘No right?’
‘In law, no. I can talk to headquarters. Ask that they don’t turn up without warning.’
‘That’s not good enough,’ Birk Larsen broke in. ‘We won’t have anything to do with them. We’re finished. We won’t hand over the videotape either.’
‘They can get a warrant.’
‘I don’t want them here. I don’t want them in my home . . .’
‘I’ll talk to them. See what I can do.’
‘One more thing. They’re harassing one of our drivers. A close friend.’
Pernille stared at him.
‘This is about us, Theis.’
‘I won’t let them pick on Vagn. He always stood up for me. I do the same for him.’
‘Theis—’
‘The bastards took him in for questioning. If it happens again I’d like you to help.’
The lawyer made some notes.
‘I can do that, of course. But the police wouldn’t question him without a reason.’
He tapped the table.
‘I want you to help him.’
‘Of course.’
Lis Gamborg took out a business card, passed it over.
‘Give him my number. Tell him to call any time.’
Vagn Skærbæk had been complaining to anyone who’d listen. Most of them had now gone out on jobs. He was left with Leon Frevert, the two of them shifting a pile of household belongings into one of the smaller scarlet vans.
‘Being questioned like a criminal sucks. It’s like I did something wrong. Like somebody grassed on you.’
Frevert had ditched the black wool hat for a baseball cap. The peak was turned round to the back now. He looked ridiculous.
‘And there you are, these idiots throwing the same things at you hour after hour.’
He watched Frevert lug out some carpet to the van.
Anton and Emil were kicking a football around the yard.
Frevert returned and picked up a box of crockery.
Skærbæk came up close, looked him in the face.
‘Someone put them up to this. Was it you?’
Frevert was taller but skinny, older.
‘What do you mean, Vagn? What would I have to tell them?’
‘Some bastard did . . .’
Frevert laughed.
‘You’re getting paranoid. Th
ey’re just hitting on anyone they can.’
A young voice crying, ‘Vagn, Vagn.’
‘Are you playing with my football?’ Skærbæk cried. ‘I told you that was my football. How dare . . .?’
He made a gorilla shape, face furious, wandered outside on comic legs.
The boys squealed, ran around. Skærbæk caught them both, got Anton under his right arm, Emil under his left.
Was lugging them around like that, listening to them scream happily, when Birk Larsen came down with Pernille and a woman in a business suit.
Skærbæk let the boys go.
‘My ball,’ he said. ‘Remember that.’
Then they were off, giggling, kicking it round the yard again.
The woman went to her car. Birk Larsen gave Skærbæk a business card, said to call the number if the police were round again.
Skærbæk said thanks, put it in his pocket.
‘We’re going to get some guttering, Theis. Leon can come. I’ll fix it.’
‘Yeah. I’m going to let a squirt like you put up guttering. Leon can stay here. I’ll show you how it’s done.’
The boys were on Vagn again, tugging at his red overalls.
‘These kids need a trip to the toy store, Pernille. I’ll come back later and pick them up. OK?’
She stood and watched him.
It took a long while but eventually she said, ‘OK.’
In the mahogany office, from the shadows by the window, Hartmann told them about the meeting with Lund.
‘Wonderful,’ Weber said. ‘If it wasn’t Holck, who did it?’
‘Damned if I know.’
‘Does this mean we’re back in the frame?’ Skovgaard asked. ‘They’ll be looking at the flat? At us?’
Hartmann shrugged.
Weber leaned back in his chair, closed his eyes, and said, ‘You were supposed to have the police on Bremer by now. What happened to the report you filed?’
‘He’s guilty. They’ll get round to it.’
‘When, Troels? A month or two after we lose the election? I warned you not to play that old bastard’s game.’
‘The police will question Stokke. He can’t lie to them. Bremer’s running out of time.’
‘So are we,’ Skovgaard said. ‘Bremer’s still in for the debate tonight.’
‘Why shouldn’t he be?’
She looked at him as if the question were idiotic.
‘If we were in that position I wouldn’t let you out in public. What’s the point? I don’t get it . . .’