‘Hello …? Erik, is that you?’
The house is silent. No answer comes, and when she looks at the dog, which has begun to growl, its eyes are fixed on something in the darkness behind her.
40
Kragh is in the middle of summarizing the history of the internet from Tim Berners-Lee to Bill Gates and Steve Jobs when the classroom door opens. Glancing across from her spot by the window, Mathilde sees to her surprise that it’s Kristine’s father peering through the doorway. He sounds confused as he apologizes for barging in, as though only just realizing he’s forgotten to knock.
‘I need to speak to Mathilde. Only for a second.’
Mathilde rises before the teacher can reply. She can sense he doesn’t appreciate the interruption, and she knows why.
Once she’s standing in the common area and the door has shut behind her, she can tell from Steen’s face that something is wrong. She has vivid memories of the day one year earlier when he came to her house to ask if she knew where Kristine was. She tried to be helpful, but she could see her answers were only making him more ill at ease, although he’d tried to convince himself Kristine had probably just gone home with some other friend.
It’s still difficult for Mathilde to get her head round Kristine not being there. Sometimes when she thinks of her, she feels as though it were all one long dream. That Kristine has just moved and is living somewhere else – that of course Mathilde will end up laughing with her again one day. But whenever she happens to walk past Gustav at school or she catches a rare glimpse of Rosa or Steen, she knows then that it isn’t a dream. She knew them so well. She loved being at their house, and it makes her sorry to see what grief has done to them. She is eager to help if she can, but now that she’s alone with Steen outside the classroom, she feels a little afraid – it is obvious he’s not himself. He seems perplexed and hunted, and his breath smells sharp as he begins to apologize and explain that he needs her to tell him about making chestnut men with Kristine last autumn.
‘Chestnut men?’
Mathilde isn’t sure what she was expecting, but the question puts her even more on edge, and at first she doesn’t even understand what he means.
‘You mean, how we made them?’
‘No. When you made the dolls, was it you or her that actually made them?’
For a moment Mathilde can’t dig up the memory, and he watches her agitatedly.
‘I need to know.’
‘We both did, I think.’
‘You think?’
‘No, we definitely did. Why?’
‘So she made them too? Are you certain?’
‘Yes. We made them together.’
She can tell from his face that it isn’t the answer he’d hoped for, and for some obscure reason she feels guilty.
‘We always went to your place and made them, and –’
‘Yeah, I know. Then what did you do with them?’
‘Then we went down to the roadside and sold them. With cakes and –’
‘To whom?’
‘I don’t know. To anybody who wanted to buy them. Why is –’
‘But did you only sell them to people you knew, or were there others?’
‘I don’t know …’
‘You must be able to remember whether there were others.’
‘But I didn’t know them …’
‘They were strangers, though? Or someone she knew, or what?’
‘I don’t know –’
‘Mathilde, this might be important –’
‘Steen, what’s going on?’
Kragh appears in the doorway, but Kristine’s father shoots him only a curt glance.
‘Nothing. It’ll only take –’
‘Steen, come with me.’
Kragh steps between him and Mathilde and tries to guide him away, but Steen stands his ground.
‘If you have something important to say to Mathilde, you need to go about it the right way. This has been a difficult time for everybody, especially for your family, but for Kristine’s classmates too.’
‘It’s just a couple of questions. It’ll only take a minute.’
‘I’d like to know what it’s about. Otherwise I’ll have to ask you to leave.’
It’s as though all the air has trickled out of Kristine’s father as Kragh stands and gazes enquiringly at him. He looks confusedly at Mathilde, and then at the other students, who are gaping at them through the open door.
‘Sorry. I didn’t mean to …’
Steen hesitates and turns around. Mathilde sees him realize with a jolt that Gustav is watching him from the other end of the common area. He says nothing, merely stares at his father, but then he swivels on his heel and leaves. Steen begins to follow him, and he’s nearly reached the corner before Mathilde reacts.
‘Wait!’
Steen turns around slowly, and she walks up to him.
‘I’m sorry I can’t remember everything.’
‘It doesn’t matter. Sorry.’
‘But now I think about it, I remember we didn’t actually make chestnut men last year at all.’
His gaze has been fixed on the floor, his whole body stooped and heavy with an invisible weight. But as her words sink in, he looks up and meets her eye.
41
Her seventh press interview of the day has just finished, and Rosa is pacing swiftly down the corridor with Engells when her mobile rings. She sees her husband’s name on the display as she puts on her coat, but she doesn’t have the time to talk – her Chief of Staff still has to run through the numbers from the latest ministry report with her.
All the interviews have gone well. She talked about the necessity of all their initiatives, and emphasized that she was very optimistic about working with the supporting party. All told, it was calculated to bring Bukke back into line. She’d tolerated the intrusive questions, although it had sapped her strength. ‘What’s it like being back?’, ‘How has this changed your life?’ and ‘How do you get through something so terrible?’ The strange thing is that the young journalist who asked Rosa that last question was assuming she was over the loss of her daughter purely because she had returned to her ministerial post.
‘Hurry up! If the minister is going to make it, we’ll have to do it on the way.’
Liu is standing impatiently by the lift and takes the report from Engells, who wishes Rosa luck with a pat on the shoulder.
‘Where’s Vogel?’ asks Rosa.
‘He’s meeting us later outside the DR building, he said.’
They’d said yes to two live interviews on the television news. The first with DR and the next with TV 2; the schedule is tight. They step into the lift that leads down to the rear of the building, where it’s easier for the driver to pick them up than at the traffic-choked main entrance. Liu presses the button for the ground floor.
‘The Prime Minister is aware of the development, but Vogel said they still don’t want you to fall out with Bukke.’
‘We’re not going to fall out with Bukke, but we need to be the ones in the driving seat – not him.’
‘I’m just repeating what Vogel said. And it’s important how you come across now. The papers are one thing –’
‘I know what I’m doing, Liu.’
‘I know that, but this is live, and they’re going to ask about stuff besides politics. Vogel asked me to prepare you for them wanting to discuss your comeback. In other words, they’re going to be asking you some rather prying questions, and Vogel couldn’t get any guarantees.’
‘I’ll just have to cope. If I back out now, there’s no point. Where’s the car?’
Rosa has stepped out of the lift and passed the security guards by the rear entrance, Liu following. Now they are standing in windswept Admiralgade, but the ministerial car isn’t in its usual spot. Rosa can tell Liu is surprised, but as always she pretends everything’s in hand.
‘Hang on, I’ll find the driver. He often parks in a side street when he takes a break.’
&nb
sp; Liu takes off across the cobbles, scanning back and forth and retrieving her phone from her bag. Rosa’s mobile rings again. She picks up as she strolls after Liu. The wind feels cold, and as they pass Boldhusgade she can see across to Christiansborg on the other side of the canal.
‘Hi, sweetie. I don’t have much time. I’m on my way to DR, and I need to get ready in the car.’
The line is so bad she can barely hear him. His voice sounds shaken and befuddled, and at first she only catches the words ‘important’ and ‘Mathilde’. She repeats what she said, trying to explain she can’t hear a thing, but he’s desperate to tell her something. In the arch leading towards a small courtyard she sees Liu halt and begin to talk animatedly with the new driver, who for some reason hasn’t driven the car up to meet them.
‘Steen, this isn’t a good time. I need to hang up.’
‘Listen!’
The connection suddenly strengthens, and Steen’s voice is clear and unambiguous.
‘You told the police they made chestnut men. Could you have misremembered?’
‘Steen, I can’t talk now.’
‘I’ve just spoken to Mathilde. She says they didn’t make chestnut men last year. They made animals and spiders and all sorts of other stuff last year, but no chestnut men. So how did the fingerprint get there? Do you understand what I’m saying?’
Rosa pauses; Steen’s voice is cutting out again.
‘Hello? Steen?’
She feels a knot in her belly, but the line is bad, and soon there’s a little beep to indicate that it has gone dead. She begins walking towards Liu, who is staring at something inside the courtyard. Liu only looks up when the driver taps her arm and nods in Rosa’s direction.
‘Come on, we’ll take a taxi instead.’
‘I just need to phone Steen. Why can’t we take the car?’
‘I’ll tell you on the way, come on.’
‘No, what’s happened?’
‘Come on, we need to hurry!’
But it’s too late. Rosa can see the ministerial car. The windscreen is shattered. Big, misshapen red letters are scrawled across the bonnet. They appear to be written in blood, and she stiffens with shock when she realizes what word the letters spell: MURDERER.
Liu takes her arm and leads her away.
‘I told him to ring the security people. We need to go.’
42
The silhouette of the forest looms in the darkness before them, and Thulin scarcely has time to slow down as Hess points out the street number. She swings into the driveway of the palatial house in Klampenborg at such speed that the car skids in the gravel. She drives straight up to the front door, but before the car comes to a halt Hess flings open the door and leaps out. To her relief she sees that the local patrol unit she called is already parked outside, and as she runs up the stone steps and into the hall, one of the officers is coming down the stairs from the first floor.
‘We’ve been through the house. Something happened in the front room.’
‘Thulin!’
Thulin races into the front room, where the first things she sees are the bloodstains on the wall and the dog, which lies lifeless on the floor with its head caved in. Some of the furniture has been overturned, one of the windows is smashed, and there is blood on the doorframe and on the floor, where two stuffed panda bears have been dropped. A black holdall is hidden behind a door, and a mobile phone lies on the floor beside it.
‘Get some officers and dogs into the forest, right now!’
Hess is tugging at the terrace door as he gives the orders to the officer, who nods, flustered, and gropes for his phone. A garden chair has toppled against the door, but Hess kicks it loose and Thulin dashes after him as he sprints across the lawn and into the woods.
43
Anne Sejer-Lassen is running for her life in the gloom, branches slapping against her face. She feels pine needles and roots cut into her bare feet, but she keeps running, keeps forcing herself onward, as her legs fill with lactic acid and cramp begins to set in. Every moment she hopes to recognize some detail in the forest she knows so well, but there is nothing but darkness and the sound of her breath, and the twigs snapping and betraying where she is.
She pauses by a tall tree. She flattens herself against the cold, damp bark and tries to stifle her breathing, listening to the forest. Her heart is about to burst, and she is close to tears. Very far away she thinks she can hear voices, but she can’t get her bearings, and if she yells her pursuer might hear her. She knows she’s been running a long time, and she tries to work out whether her pursuer could have kept up with her. She’s lost, but when she looks back there’s no flicker of torchlight, no noise or movement in the darkness, and that has to mean she’s got away.
Ahead of her, far away between the trees, she suddenly sees a light. It’s moving in a slow arc, and soon she thinks she can hear a distant engine; all at once she knows where she is. The beam has to be from the headlights on a car driving down the lane that starts at the roundabout and leads down to the water. She tenses her muscles, screws up her courage and begins to run. It’s about a hundred and fifty yards to the lane, but she knows exactly where there is a sharp bend, and that she will come out in front of the car. Only fifty yards more, and then she’ll begin to shout. Only thirty yards now, and even though the car is moving, the driver will be able to hear her voice, and her pursuer will have to give up.
The blow strikes her from the front. Something bores into her cheek, something that jabs, and she realizes immediately that he must have been standing in front of her, waiting for her to react to the beam. She senses the forest floor beneath her and tastes iron spreading in her mouth. She scrambles frantically to her knees, but at that moment she’s struck in the face again, and she collapses on to all fours and begins to sob.
‘Are you okay, Anne?’
The voice is whispering close to her ear, but before she can answer the blows begin to hail down. In the seconds between them she hears herself whimpering and asking why. Why her, what has she done? And when the voice finally tells her, her strength gives out. A boot forces her arm to the ground, and she feels a sharp blade against her wrist. She begs and pleads for her life, not for her own sake but for the children’s. For a moment the figure seems to be deliberating, and Anne feels something stroke her cheek.
44
The light from Thulin’s torch dances around the wet trees, leaping over stumps and branches as she calls for the woman in the dark. Ahead of her and far to her left, Thulin can hear Hess doing the same, and she sees the glinting beam of his torch moving constantly forward. They have run a long way now, several kilometres, and Thulin is about to call out again when she feels a searing pain in her foot. It’s got caught in a root, and she’s pitched to the ground. Blackness engulfs her, and she gropes desperately for her torch, which must have got switched off. Getting to her knees, she begins digging her hands into the wet undergrowth, searching the area around her. Then, abruptly, she notices the figure and freezes. It’s standing quite still and observing her from the other side of a clearing, only twenty yards away and nearly indiscernible from the darkness.
‘Hess!’
Her shout echoes through the forest, and she fumbles her gun out of its holster while Hess runs towards her with the torch. By the time he reaches her she’s aiming her gun at the figure, and he shines the cone of light in the same direction, panting.
Anne Sejer-Lassen is hanging in a little copse of trees. Two branches are wedged beneath her arms, holding up her battered body. Her bare feet dangle above the earth, and her head is slumped against her chest so that her long, fluttering hair covers her face. As Thulin approaches, she realizes what it is that struck her as off: Anne Sejer-Lassen’s arms are too short. Both her hands are missing. And then she sees it. The little chestnut man protruding from the flesh of Anne Sejer-Lassen’s left shoulder. To Thulin it seems to be grinning.
TUESDAY 13 OCTOBER
* * *
45
&
nbsp; The rain comes down in sheets. Long chains of dark-clothed officers are combing the woods, their torches fixed on the ground, while a helicopter floats restlessly above the treetops, raking them with its searchlight. Hess and his colleagues have been working for nearly seven hours, and it’s past midnight. Three operations managers have mapped out the area, splitting up the forest into five different zones, each of which will be searched by a team equipped with Maglite torches and canine units.
All entrances and exits were closed off as soon as Anne Sejer-Lassen’s corpse was found, and they set up roadblocks on several exit roads. Cars have been stopped and people questioned, but Hess is afraid it will all be pointless. They got there too late, and are still lagging behind. The rain started shortly after their arrival in the woods, and whatever evidence there must be – footprints, tyre tracks, whatever – has been washed away, leaving them grasping at a phantom who has the weather gods on his side. He thinks about the corpse of Anne Sejer-Lassen, he thinks about the little doll stuck into her shoulder, and he feels like an unwilling theatre-goer searching for an exit while some bizarre performance is being acted out before his eyes. His clothes drenched, he trudges back from the northern end of the woods down one of the main paths, which the operations managers have drawn on his map. A younger officer has stepped out of formation to take a piss behind a tree, and Hess snaps at him: he’s supposed to leave the area being searched for evidence first. The officer hurries back into line, and Hess regrets his outburst. He knows he’s rusty. His body is out of shape, his thoughts twitching and foggy. It’s far too long since he’s been on a case like this; in fact, he’s never been on a case like this, and right now he ought to be watching football on a flatscreen TV in his shitty little apartment in the Hague, or on his way to yet another irrelevant assignment somewhere in Europe, but instead he’s traipsing around in the woods somewhere north of Copenhagen, where the rain falls like bolts of iron and pins everything to the ground.
The Chestnut Man Page 12
