59
Police cars, blue lights flashing, have blocked off the small close at both ends, and the first few eager crime reporters are already converging on the scene. Some have brought photographers and OB vans, recording material for use in the next news broadcast, even though they’ll get no information from the police beyond what they can see from the cordon. A group of residents has gathered too, and for the second time in under a week they are gawping in shock at No. 7. Not much goes on in this neighbourhood besides street parties and rubbish sorting, thinks Thulin, and she guesses it will be many years before the events of that week are forgotten.
Thulin is standing in the road outside the house to call and say goodnight to Le, who has cheerily accepted another overnight stay with her grandad. But she’s struggling to concentrate on the conversation, and while Le chatters away about a new app and a playdate with Ramazan, she runs through the events of the evening in her mind. Driving down the ring road back into town, it struck her that the black car might be Hans Henrik Hauge’s Mazda 6. That’s why she went back. But Hauge had escaped, and after the chase she found Hess on the concrete floor in the garage. He was still shaken and bruised, but not so much so that he didn’t immediately focus his attention on the MacBook, which Hauge had evidently tried to take. She called Forensics, updated Nylander and issued a warrant for Hans Henrik Hauge’s arrest – so far without result.
By now the property is swarming with white-clad techs, this time in and outside the garage. They’ve brought their own power supply, setting up crisp-beamed floodlights. A white tent has been erected in the driveway, and most of the plastic containers in the garage have been carried outside to allow easier access to the underground bunker. Thulin finishes her conversation with her daughter and enters the garage just as Genz is emerging through the hatch with his camera. He looks weary, pulling down his mask and giving his report.
‘The materials used for the room indicate that it was built around the same time as the new garage. It wouldn’t have needed much digging-out, so Hauge could have used a Bobcat if he rented one to do the garage foundations. It wouldn’t necessarily have taken him more than a couple of days, so he could have made sure he was left in peace to work. The room was soundproof, of course, once the hatch was closed – which I think we can assume Hauge preferred.’
Thulin listens silently as Genz continues. A few of Magnus Kjær’s toys had been found in the room, along with creams, soda bottles, scented candles and other paraphernalia. The room had been connected to the electricity supply and set up with WiFi. So far the examination has revealed no fingerprints besides the boy’s and Hans Henrik Hauge’s. To Thulin the whole thing is incomprehensible. Previously she’s only read about this sort of case or seen reports about them in the news – Josef Fritzl, Marc Dutroux, whatever those psychopaths were called – and it strikes her that until today they seemed unreal.
‘Why was there WiFi?’
‘We don’t know yet. It looks like Hauge came to get rid of a few things, but obviously we don’t know what. On the other hand, we’ve found some passwords in a notebook in the cardboard box. Seems he was using an anonymous peer-to-peer system. Maybe for streaming.’
‘Streaming what?’
‘Hess and the IT techs are trying to open the Mac, but the password’s tricky, so it looks like we’ll have to bring it back to the department to crack it.’
Thulin takes a pair of disposable gloves out of Genz’s hands and makes to walk past him, but Genz puts a hand on her shoulder.
‘Maybe you should just let the IT lot take it. They’ll call asap and let you know what’s on there.’
Thulin can see in his dark eyes that it’s kindly meant. He wants to spare her, but she continues down into the hole.
60
Thulin lets go of the rung above her. She sets both feet on the laminate flooring and turns to face the subterranean room, which is now lit at each end by powerful lamps. Two techs are having a muttered conversation with Hess around the MacBook and WiFi gear, which is set up on the coffee table.
‘Have you tried starting it in recovery mode?’ Thulin asks.
Hess turns sharply. One eye is swollen, his knuckles are wrapped in gauze, and he holds a clump of bloody kitchen roll to the back of his head with one hand.
‘Yeah, but they say he’s used FileVault, so they can’t get it open here.’
‘Go away. I’ll do it.’
‘They say it’s better if they –’
‘If you guys do something wrong, you might end up deleting some of the material in the programme.’
Hess looks at her, steps back from the MacBook and nods to the IT techs, signalling that they should do the same.
It doesn’t take long. Thulin is familiar with every operating system, and it takes her less than two minutes of typing in the latex gloves to reset Hauge’s access code. The computer lets her in, and on the desktop they see a large picture of various Disney characters. Goofy, Donald Duck, Mickey Mouse. On the left-hand side of the screen are twelve or thirteen folders, each named after a month.
‘Try the most recent one.’
Thulin has already double-clicked on the most recent folder, ‘September’. A new window opens, and they are offered a choice of five icons, each marked with a play sign. Thulin double-clicks on one at random and watches the video that appears. After thirty seconds she realizes she should have done as Genz advised, as a wave of nausea sets her stomach churning.
61
So far the news on the car radio is reporting nothing but conjecture and repetition, as well as announcing the search for Hans Henrik Hauge. When the pop song that follows turns out to be a cheery paean to anal sex, Thulin decides to switch it off. She’s in no mood to talk, so it suits her just fine that Hess is engrossed in his phone.
From Husum they drove to the ward at Glostrup Hospital, where Magnus Kjær is still a patient. In the staff room they explained the situation to a female doctor, and Thulin found it reassuring that she seemed genuinely shocked and concerned for the boy. She gave instructions that Hans Henrik Hauge must under no circumstances be allowed to approach Magnus Kjær, should he decide to appear. Which was highly unlikely, given that he was on the run and wanted by the police. Luckily the doctor told them the boy was doing well, under the circumstances, but Thulin and Hess stopped outside his room on the way out anyway. The boy was asleep in his bed, and they paused for a moment to look through the rectangular window in the door.
For nearly fourteen or fifteen months the boy had been repeatedly tortured, all while various doctors ascribed his difficulties with human contact to autism. As far as Thulin could gather, he’d been as well adjusted as any other child his age until his father passed away and his mother got together with Hauge. Hauge must have picked her out on the dating site precisely because her profile revealed she had a young son. What might have made her damaged goods in some men’s eyes had been the very reason Hauge zeroed in. Thulin already knew from Hauge’s dating history that he’d primarily messaged single women with children, but she hadn’t given it a second thought until now; it had merely looked as though Hauge wanted to find a partner approximately the same age as himself.
From the clip Thulin saw on Hauge’s MacBook it was clear how he’d coerced the boy into silence. Sitting on the mattress in the underground room with the surrealistic red wall hanging in the background, he’d admonished Magnus in a didactic tone that surely he wanted to see his mother happy rather than sad, like she’d been when his father died, didn’t he? Then, in a voice just as light and natural, he’d added that, of course, Magnus wouldn’t want him to hurt her at all, would he?
Magnus hadn’t resisted the rape that followed, and Thulin hadn’t wanted to watch. But it had happened, and she knew from Hauge’s I2P log that the session must have been shared or streamed online. Minus the initial conversation, of course, or the images in which Hauge’s face could be seen. Not just once, either. Far from it.
Laura Kjær couldn’t have k
nown about the abuse, but the anonymous tip to the council must have set alarm-bells ringing. She had rejected the accusations of maltreatment, but they must have made her uneasy. Perhaps a suspicion had begun to take root, because the timing of the tip coincided with her increasing reluctance to leave the house unless the boy was with her or at school. Maybe she’d also been afraid of Hauge – after all, she’d changed the locks while he was away at a trade fair. Not that it had made much difference, sadly.
‘Thanks, bye.’ Hess hangs up. ‘Doesn’t look like we can get hold of the caseworker or anyone else at City Hall who can tell us more until tomorrow morning.’
‘You think it’s the anonymous tipster we’re after?’
‘Could be. It’s worth checking.’
‘Why couldn’t it be Hauge who killed them?’ Thulin already knows the answer to that, but she can’t resist asking the question, and Hess takes his time.
‘There’s significant evidence to indicate that a single killer committed both murders. Hauge could be said to have a motive for the killing of Laura Kjær, but not for the killing of Anne Sejer-Lassen. For which, incidentally, he has an alibi. From the material we saw on the computer in the bunker, we know that Hauge is a paedophile. He derives pleasure from the sexual abuse of children. Not necessarily violence, amputations or the murder of women.’
Thulin doesn’t reply. All her rage is directed at Hauge, and right now she wishes she could spend her time finding him.
‘Are you okay?’
She senses Hess scrutinizing her face, but she doesn’t feel like talking about Hauge and the images on his MacBook any more.
‘I should be asking you that.’
Hess stares at her, a little perplexed, and although Thulin keeps her eyes on the road she points at a line of blood dribbling from his ear. Hess wipes it with the clump of kitchen roll as she turns the car towards her building. A thought occurs to her.
‘But how could the tipster have known Magnus was being abused when nobody else did?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘And if the tipster did know about it, maybe even knew that the mother didn’t realize what was going on – why kill her and not Hauge?’
‘I don’t know that either. But if you’re going to frame it like that, then maybe this is why: maybe because, in the tipster’s eyes, she ought to have known. Maybe because she didn’t react to the report. Not quickly enough, at any rate.’
‘That’s a lot of maybes.’
‘Oh yeah, it’s rock solid. Especially considering that the caseworker denied there was a similar report about Anne Sejer-Lassen. It all hangs together perfectly.’
Hess accompanies his irony by rejecting a call on his mobile after having checked the display. Thulin pulls up and switches off the engine.
‘On the other hand, Anne Sejer-Lassen was on her way out the door with a bag and her kids. Now we know what really happened to Magnus Kjær, it might be a good idea to check whether her older daughter’s accident was random or a symptom of something else entirely.’
Hess looks at her. She can tell he understands. He doesn’t reply immediately, and she senses her words have already sent his mind spiralling in new directions.
‘I thought you said it was too many maybes?’
‘Maybe not.’
After what they’d found in Laura Kjær’s garage it feels wrong to smile, but Thulin can’t help it. Humour puts some distance between her and the incomprehensible, and at the same time she’s gripped by the sudden feeling that they might be on to something. The hard rap of knuckles against the pane makes her glance outside, and she realizes Sebastian is standing by the car door, his face all smiles. He’s wearing a suit and a black trench coat. In one hand he holds a bouquet of flowers wrapped in cellophane and ribbon, and in the other a bottle of wine.
62
Thulin opens her laptop at the table in the living room and begins to peruse the material gathered by the other investigators on the team that day, focusing on that pertaining to Erik Sejer-Lassen. Sebastian has left, which is what she wanted, but their encounter could have gone better.
‘That’s what happens when you don’t return my calls – you risk me showing up out of the blue,’ he teased as they reached the apartment. Switching on the kitchen light, she was struck by how neglected it looked. The damp clothes she’d worn during the search of the woods at Klampenborg were still lying in a heap in the corner, and on the kitchen table was a bowl encrusted with that morning’s dry yoghurt.
‘How did you know I was coming home now?’
‘I took a chance, and I was lucky.’
The situation on the street was awkward, and she’s still annoyed that she didn’t notice Sebastian’s dark grey Mercedes in the row of parked cars outside her front door before he knocked on the glass. She had got out and Hess had done the same, crossing to the driver’s side: they’d agreed he could use the car to get home. For a moment he and Sebastian stood looking at each other and exchanged a nod – Sebastian energetically and Hess more reservedly – before Thulin walked towards her front door. It was a trivial thing, yet it irritated her that Hess had met Sebastian and glimpsed a fragment of her private life. Or was it Sebastian that irritated her? It had been like meeting a creature from another planet; but normally that was what she liked about him.
‘Look, I really need to get stuck into work.’
‘Was that your new partner? The one they chucked out of Europol?’
‘How do you know he’s from Europol?’
‘Oh, I had lunch with a bloke from the prosecution service today. He just mentioned someone who’d got into a mess at the Hague and ended up being punted back on to the murder squad. So I put two and two together, because you were telling me about some twit who’d just started and couldn’t be bothered to actually do anything. How’s it going with the case?’
Thulin regretted saying anything about Hess when Sebastian phoned a couple of times during the past week. She had no time to meet because of the case, and she mentioned to him that she was busier than usual because her new partner was no help. Which no longer seemed a fair assessment.
‘I saw on the news this evening that something happened at the first crime scene. Is that why his face looks like such a car crash?’
Sebastian came close to her, and she pulled away.
‘You need to go. I’ve got a lot to read through.’
Sebastian tried to caress her, and she rebuffed him. Then he tried again, saying he missed her and wanted her, even reminded her that her daughter wasn’t home, so they could do it wherever they pleased. The kitchen table, for example.
‘Why not? Is it about Le? How is she doing?’
But Thulin was in no mood to discuss Le, and instead she asked him again to leave.
‘So that’s how it is, then? You decide when and how, and I’ve got no say?’
‘That’s how it’s always been. If you can’t live with it, we can call an end to it.’
‘Because you’ve found someone else who’s more fun?’
‘No. But if I do I’ll let you know. Thanks for the flowers.’
Sebastian laughed, but it was difficult to get him out the door, and she assumed it was rare for anyone to give him his marching orders once he’d shown up with flowers and wine. And maybe it was strange that she had done so, so she promised herself she’d call him tomorrow.
Thulin eats half an apple at the laptop before her mobile rings. It’s Hess. After their conversation in the car they agreed he would check up on the Sejer-Lassen girl’s accident, so it isn’t odd that he’s calling. The odd thing is that he enquires politely whether he’s disturbing her.
‘No, it’s fine. What do you want?’
‘You were right. I’ve just spoken to someone at the Rigshospital A&E. Apart from the episode with the nose and the broken collarbone, which the older girl was hospitalized for, both Sejer-Lassen girls have been treated for accidents at home when they lived on Islands Brygge and at Klampenborg. There’s nothi
ng to indicate sexual assault, but it’s possible the girls were abused. Maybe just in a different way from Magnus Kjær.’
‘How many accidents?’
‘Haven’t got a count yet. Too many.’
Thulin listens to his research. Once he’s finished describing the medical reports, she feels as though the nausea from the bunker has returned. She’s barely listening when he suggests they begin the next day with a visit to the local authority at Gentofte.
‘Sejer-Lassen’s house in Klampenborg falls under the oversight of Gentofte Council, and if it turns out that there’s an anonymous denunciation of Anne Sejer-Lassen in their inbox then we’ll know we’ve got the right end of the stick.’
He ends the conversation on a surprising note, ‘By the way, thanks for showing up at the house, if I didn’t say so before,’ and she hears herself say, ‘That’s fine, see you,’ before she hangs up.
Afterwards she has trouble regaining her composure. She decides to opt for another distraction, this time fetching a Red Bull from the fridge so that she doesn’t risk dozing off. As she stands up, she happens to glance out the window.
From the fourth floor Thulin can usually see clear across the roofs and towers of the city, almost as far as the lakes. But the scaffolding on the building opposite, which was erected the month before, blocks most of the view. When the wind is blustery, as it is tonight, it sets all the tarpaulins fluttering, and the scaffolding creaks and grates at its metallic seams as though threatening to collapse. But it is the figure that catches Thulin’s eye. Or is it a figure? Behind the tarpaulin on the gangway directly across from her apartment she thinks she can make out a silhouette. For a moment it seems as though it’s staring directly back at her. Suddenly the memory of a figure observing her through traffic as she dropped her daughter off at school flashes into Thulin’s mind. Instantly she is alert; her instincts tell her it’s the same one. But as the wind jerks again at the tarpaulin, distending it into an enormous sail, the shape vanishes. When it falls back into place, the silhouette has gone. Thulin switches off the light and shuts the laptop. For several minutes she stands in the darkened living room and stares at the scaffolding, reminding herself to breathe.
The Chestnut Man Page 17
