Frost and Ashes (Daniel Trokics Series Book 2)

by Inger Wolf

  The parents shook their heads.

  Trokic hated to bring up the rest of the information from the forensic pathologist, but he had no choice. "The autopsy showed that Lukas had bruises on his arm, presumably several days old. Do you know how he got them?"

  Again the parents looked at each other, and for a moment they were silent. Trokic heard a train; the local must run close to the house.

  Beads of sweat appeared high up on Karsten Mørk's bald head. "I don't know. Maybe it was from playing soccer; maybe the other kids grabbed him. He had bruises once in a while."

  Trokic frowned. He waited a few moments before saying, "It was more than some kids pulling on his arm. We're certain an adult was involved, someone who grabbed him very hard."

  Mørk shrugged and raised his meaty arms in innocence. "We don’t do that sort of thing."

  "We also noted he'd broken his arm. About two years ago. The medical records say he fell. Where?"

  "On the steps outside the house. They're stone, and they were slippery from snow, and he slipped and fell in the wrong place. But why are you asking all these questions?"

  He buried his face in his large hands and began sobbing. His wife looked white as a sheet as she laid a hand on his thigh; her light green eyes darted around, and her small lips trembled.

  "It’s part of the investigation to get a clear picture of everything concerning Lukas," Trokic said. "Which means we have to ask questions like this. I hope you understand; it's important you answer them as truthfully as possible."

  Mørk almost snapped at him, but he held back at the last moment.

  "We found some yellow fibers on Lukas's neck," Lisa said. "It's mohair, wool, and polyamide. He wasn't wearing anything that color when we found him. Do you remember him wearing anything yellow that morning?"

  "No," Mørk said. "He doesn't even have anything yellow; he didn't like that color. He only wore blue."

  Trokic thought that over for a second, then he turned the page in his notepad. "Okay. We need a list of everyone Lukas knew; we need to talk to them. Family members, teachers and club employees, parents of his friends. We also need to talk to your neighbors. Are you friends with any of them?"

  "Not really."

  Trokic noticed that Mørk was avoiding his eyes. Even if he didn't kill his son, he could very well be lying about clutching his arm. Trokic caught Lisa's eye, but he couldn’t at all read her expression. She was usually good at talking to people. Better than he was, he admitted that. Certainly, they had enough bad listeners on the force. Officers who right off the bat could barely hide their hostile, suspicious attitudes, which of course irked the persons being questioned and caused them to clam up. Or the officers who daydreamed while they should be taking notes and noticing body language and thinking about what was being said. But even when he was doing the questioning, people seemed to feel more comfortable when Lisa was along.

  "What do you mean, 'not really'? Do you talk to them or not?"

  "We say hi and talk a little once in a while," Jytte said, "but other than that we don't have much to do with them. Jonna and her kids over in…we still call it the stable, but anyway, they keep to themselves mostly. Except for Julie, she played a little with Lukas. Then there's the couple beside us, but they're up in Norway a few months working, filling in for people on leave. And Poker Johnny lives below. He's on disability; he doesn't talk very much. But he has some odd people drop by."

  "What do you mean, odd?" Lisa said.

  "They play cards. And it's just all kinds of people."

  Trokic stifled a sigh at the thought of having to question a flock of poker-playing suspects.

  "What about Lukas?" Lisa continued. "Did he ever visit your neighbors?"

  "Like I said, he played with Julie over in the stable. That started about six months ago. She's nine years old. Really, I think he liked playing with the boys more. Especially Frederick, the youngest. Yeah, he liked that a lot more."

  "Did he have other playmates he visited?"

  "A few. I'll write down their names."

  "Good. We're looking at everything right now," Lisa said.

  Trokic glanced around the room while Lukas's mother went to find a pen and paper. Everything was neat and clean, but something was missing. Suddenly, he realized there were no plants inside, not one single plant. Not that you had to have plants. In fact, he understood completely. He had no idea how much water green things needed, and before Lisa started taking care of his peace lily, it had survived only because of its proximity to splashes of cola and coffee.

  "Could we take a look at his room?" Trokic said.

  Chapter Ten

  "This way."

  Jytte trudged through the kitchen and showed them into the smallest room of the apartment. Lisa had earlier stressed that pedophiles often gave presents to their chosen ones, even written declarations of affection on birthday cards and such. If the boy had known the person who killed him, and if the motive was sexual, there could be some clue in the room. Everything would have to be meticulously examined. In the meantime, it was also important to Trokic to know Lukas's world. It might help in finding out how the boy and his murderer crossed paths, and indirectly lead them to the man.

  Jytte walked back to the kitchen. Trokic heard her turn on the stove fan and light a cigarette. He looked around at the mint-green walls.

  "He must have really liked insects," Lisa said.

  More than liked, Trokic thought. He'd been more on the level of devoted fan. A large poster of a yellow-green grasshopper hung over his bed: "The African Migratory Locust (locusta migratoria migratorioides) is a member of the family Acrididæ. Usually, the insects exhibit a solitary lifestyle, but when food resources are scarce, they also gather in swarms as large as 100 sq. kilometers. They fly at a speed of 15 to 20 km per hour." A collection of colored rubber insects stood on his dresser, mostly spiders. Trokic grabbed a few books from the shelf and read their front covers as he began to imagine the life of this little boy. Gyldendals Guide to Danish Insects and the World of Small Animals. It wasn't the time of year for insects, so this somewhat peculiar hobby likely had no bearing on the case.

  He replaced the books and studied a Lego police station on the floor. It looked untouched, with everything perfectly in place, as if an adult had put it together after which the boy ignored it. Trokic hadn't had many Lego blocks when he was young. His mother couldn't afford them, but he hadn't really been interested anyway. Though that police station might have captured his attention.

  "Look at this," Lisa said.

  She showed him a small box she'd found on the windowsill. A single shiny twenty-crown coin. "Maybe it's the coin his grandmother gave him the day before?"

  "If it is, then he wasn't at the bakery on a pastry run," Trokic reasoned.

  Finally, he walked over and sat on the bed for a look from the other side of the room. Newly-washed clothes were piled on the dresser. Jeans and sweatshirts. Three pairs of socks on top. Socks too small for someone dead. Beside the clothes stood a photo of Lukas and a late middle-aged woman. Grandmother? It looked like a Christmas Eve photo because he was wearing an elf hat. His eyes were beaming. A smile revealed a gap in his front teeth. Trokic sighed and picked up the stuffed animal on the bed. A big soft ladybug, wrapped in a blue scarf.

  "Ladybugs were his favorite." Jytte was back; a cigarette dangled from her fingers. "He always smuggled them in, inside matchboxes and the like. He knew I didn't want all these creatures crawling around in the room."

  Her cheeks were wet again, and she wiped them with the back of her hand.

  "Then he hid them in a jelly glass and let them out the next day. He could give a lecture about how useful the little things are. Did you know there are about fifty different species of ladybugs in Denmark? He told me that several months ago. I've got nothing against a single ladybug or two, but twenty of them crawling around is too much."

  Trokic didn't know what to say. "We're doing all we can. If either of you thinks of anything t
hat might help us with the case, call me."

  He brought out a card and tapped on it before handing it to her. "The number's right there. Call me anytime, day or night."

  Chapter Eleven

  The renovated stable was fifty meters or so from the farmhouse, at one end of the property. It was painted the same way as the farmhouse, but large fir trees out front made the colors look darker. A few of the small windows were broken.

  Jonna Riise opened the door at once. Lisa had the feeling she was expecting them. The woman was in her early 40s with a full head of blonde hair that hung halfway down her back, and a pair of wide-set reserved brown eyes that sized up the two detectives. Office worker, Lisa thought. She wore a brown blouse with black buttons, pinstriped pants. Slim figure. According to the report Lisa was carrying, Jonna lived alone with her three children. She seemed a bit stiff and chilly. As if they were about to offend her simply by stepping into her apartment.

  "Police," Trokic said. They showed her their badges, and she studied them. Then she opened her door wide. The shadowy reservation in her face gave way to a faint smile. "You're here in connection with Lukas, of course," she said. Lisa was surprised; the woman’s voice was just cheery enough to seem inappropriate, given the reason for their visit. "Come inside."

  They followed her into the large, sparsely furnished apartment. It revealed very little about who lived there. The walls were white and empty, with the exception of a few shelves holding decorative bowls, a jade plant, and a few textbooks. The light-brown furniture was simple and practical. It was almost as if she hadn't really moved in. Lisa glimpsed a messy office with a computer, stacks of paper, and a router before the woman shut the door.

  "Frederick and Julie, go to your room, now."

  A boy and a slightly smaller girl were sitting on the sofa, playing a war game on PlayStation. At first, Lisa thought they might be twins, at least they had the same blond curls and broad faces, but a closer look showed that the girl was four or five years younger. Lisa wondered what they were thinking. A boy very close to them had been killed. How much did they know? And did they think about how it just as well could have been them? Everything seemed normal on the surface, but when they turned to her and Trokic, the boy's eyes shone with terror. As if their presence made the horrifying event real. Then the fear disappeared, and they turned their attention back to the game.

  "Not now, Mom," Julie said, staring at the screen.

  But big brother Frederick laid down the joystick and walked into his room.

  "All right, Julie, let's go," her mother said.

  The girl sighed deeply, threw the joystick on the wood floor, and pouted as she left the room. She scowled at Lisa on the way, as if she held this stranger responsible for interrupting her game.

  "We'd like to have a few words with you about the day Lukas disappeared," Trokic said when the children were gone.

  "Of course. Please excuse the children's behavior, but all this with Lukas has upset them."

  After offering them a seat on the sofa, she sat in a brown leather chair on the other side of the coffee table. She crossed her legs and stretched her arms out on the armrests. "We all went out to look for him." She spoke sadly, with a slight shake of her head.

  "You mean you and your children?" Lisa asked.

  "Yes. Julie played with him quite a bit, but Frederick and Mathias went along on the search too. Frederick is the one you just saw."

  "We're trying to find out who Lukas knew, and also who might have some knowledge of where he went that day he disappeared on the way home from school. Do you think Julie knows anything?"

  "She would've said something about it when we were searching for him. Usually, they played in the evenings. They built small hideaways in the yard, that sort of thing."

  "He didn't play with the boys?" Trokic said. He had trouble understanding why a boy would want to play with a girl.

  "No, their age difference was too big. Frederick's thirteen, and Mathias is fifteen. Lukas was very interested in them, especially Frederick, but the feeling wasn’t mutual."

  "And what were you doing before the search that afternoon?"

  Her face twitched. "I was in Århus, buying invitations for Frederick's confirmation, and a few things for school. I'm a teacher at Malling School, and I didn't have classes that afternoon. The children were with their friends."

  "Do other adults who knew Lukas visit you?" Once again Lisa saw in her mind Lukas's body on the autopsy table. The images had been dancing around inside her like evil dolls. She wished someone would offer her a drink. Or at least a cup of coffee.

  Jonna leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms. "What do you mean?"

  "We need to know all the people who played some part in his life," Trokic said. "It's just routine procedure. We'd like to eliminate as many people as possible."

  "I don't have anyone special at the moment if that's what you mean. The children's father lives on Sealand, over close to Køge, we never see him. But he sends money now and then. Fortunately, because these kids aren't getting any cheaper. Mathias spends money on his computer, Frederick just lost his phone again, and Julie wants new clothes all the time."

  "How does everyone here at Skellegården get along?"

  Lisa expected her to snap back, to ask what it had to do with this case. But she only smiled. "Fine. We say hello, talk some once in a while. It's not like we're really close. I do think Jytte is a bit of a mother hen. And Lukas was obsessed with insects, that was a bit strange. But Julie took care of him like he was a little brother. He was also very well behaved. At least when he was here."

  Trokic scooted a bit forward on the sofa. "Do you have any idea about how he got along at home?"

  She stared straight at him for a moment, then she lowered her eyes. "I really don't like to say this, but I think they were a bit hard on him. I could hear them yelling at him. Especially his father. It's an old house, you know, and I heard them all the way over here in the summer when the windows were open."

  "What were they yelling about?" Lisa said.

  "Oh, things like, 'Lukas, stop it, dammit,' or 'I can't take this anymore,' and then the boy would scream like crazy. Or his little brother Teis would start screaming. Sometimes, it sounded like things got broken, too."

  Trokic stood and zipped up his coat. "Thank you for your help. We might be back with more questions."

  "Of course. If you can’t catch me here, you're welcome to call the school and leave a message, and I'll get back to you."

  * * *

  As they were about to leave, Lisa noticed a grandfather clock at the end of the room. Grayish-blue, outlined in gold. She stiffened and studied it a moment before moving on. The clock reminded her of something she'd seen long ago; she just couldn't put a finger on what it was.

  "Something wrong?" Trokic said when they were outside in the fresh air.

  "No, I just had a déjà vu feeling about that clock in the room. I can't quite say why. Like it's lurking way back in my memory."

  "That happens to me a lot. I can never remember where I've seen something before."

  They looked around the yard. The snow-covered hedge, taller than a grown man, blocked out the rest of the world. The lawn was also covered with snow; because of all the apple trees, it probably was plagued with moss. A small red playhouse was splotched with algae and bird shit. A loose gutter on the main farmhouse dangled threateningly, along with a row of icicles. Someone had put up a birdhouse on the porch, and three finches and two sparrows were sharing half an apple.

  "Shall we see if the poker guy is up?" Lisa said.

  "Okay, but Jasper is taking over now. He'll be here in a minute. I want you to start work on the surveillance recordings."

  Chapter Twelve

  Back at the station, Lisa tossed her brown leather bag on the desk and headed for the bathroom to find a towel. The snowflakes falling outside were big but delicate, like anemone leaves, and the traffic was nearly at a standstill. While drying her hair, she
thought about all the light the snow reflected into the office, and that cheered her for a moment before tears finally welled up in her eyes. The autopsy had been too much to handle. But now she was alone, and she was glad to have something to work on. Dry facts, without all the emotional baggage.

  She found the bakery’s surveillance video on her desk and turned on her computer. While the machine whirred and crackled its way into consciousness, she tried to get a grip on her emotions. If only Jacob were there! He'd think it was okay for her to have a good cry, get it all out after the autopsy. And he was even in town; he'd come over from Copenhagen to see her. But Detective Jacob Hviid was probably still lying in her bed asleep.

  Lisa pulled a chair over to the computer and logged in. They'd gotten lucky yesterday. The recording was digital, which meant they could easily pinpoint the relevant time frame. They'd copied it onto a CD, and now it was possible to zoom in on individual frames. The resolution was fine. The camera had been focused on the inside of the bakery, not outside the window, which was why they hadn’t been certain it was Lukas. And twilight had been falling. Fortunately, a few bright streetlights nearby had shone on the boy; otherwise, it would have been impossible to pick anything out.

  Once in a while, Lisa cursed the day she'd knocked on her former boss's door and said she wanted to work in IT. She'd turned out to be a natural; they signed her up for courses in and outside Denmark, and she ended up working with police in several countries. She had to fight to be put on other assignments. The problem was the growing number of cases involving child pornography. Granted, IT was interesting, and she had a psychologist at her disposal, but in the end, she couldn't handle all the photos. Horrible images, in color, full of silent pain that crept inside her, and no one wanted to hear about it. A world out of sight, out of mind.