The Scarred Woman

by Jussi Adler-Olsen

  She poured herself another glass of wine and considered the situation.

  Of course she ought to be pleased that they were looking in the wrong place, but that didn’t change the fact that Anneli’s mission was not accomplished. Her power over life and death had entered her like a drug, and her desire to continue exterminating these superfluous existences was almost greater than her excitement at the thought that she might have gotten away with it.

  Would she be able to stop killing? That was the real question.

  Last night she had followed the girls’ taxi closely from the parking lot in front of the apartment in Stenløse to the nightclub, even though a couple of red lights should have stopped her. She had parked the car across from the nightclub and waited patiently for the girls to come out of the club. As the events of last night came to light, she had a pretty good idea of what she had witnessed. These vain, smug tarts had without doubt committed crimes so serious that they would have been executed in any dictatorship. She had seen Denise and Jazmine sneak into the nightclub while Michelle had distracted the bouncer, whom she recognized as Michelle’s boyfriend.

  Later, she had seen the girls reappear and hide in the alleyway behind the club. So it wasn’t hard to put two and two together when the TV stations said that the robbery was committed by two young women.

  She also knew something about the shooting of Birna. She had been surprised when the terrible girl turned up at the club and had watched her reaction as Jazmine and Denise shortly after disappeared into the alleyway. Birna had followed them, and Anneli had seen Michelle walk in the same direction a little later. There were a few minutes when Anneli didn’t know what was going on. She had tried to hear their conversation, but the noise from the nightclub drowned out their voices, and the only sound that rose above the beat was a dull sound that Anneli couldn’t place. When Denise, Michelle, and Jazmine reappeared, they were having a heated discussion while dragging Birna’s lifeless body and leaving it under a streetlamp.

  After that, the girls had crossed the street in the direction of Anneli’s car, so she had to lean back in the seat to avoid the light from the streetlamps. Close-up, she had noticed how expressionless their faces were. It seemed as if Michelle had looked straight in her direction. But had she? And had she noticed who was in the car? Anneli didn’t think so because the windows were steamed up and her face was well hidden in the dark.

  And yet, could she be sure?

  They say that the order of the factors does not affect the product, but was that also true in this case? What if she decided to put a stopper in her plans and left it to the news sharks and police to work themselves into a frenzy, linking this stupid group of girls to something larger and more organized? It wasn’t too hard to imagine them interpreting the deaths of Michelle Hansen and Senta Berger as the result of internal fighting. That would certainly nullify her involvement. But if she just remained passive, didn’t she run the risk of Denise and Jazmine talking to the police if they were caught? And wouldn’t they tell the police that Michelle had named the driver of the red Peugeot who had tried to kill her the first time? That was what Jazmine had hinted at last time she came to Anneli’s office.

  No, it wouldn’t do. If the girls said anything, the police would develop new theories about the course of events and come to the conclusion that the crimes were in fact not connected.

  Suddenly, all Anneli’s euphoria was replaced by doubt and an increasing pain in her breast, which had otherwise subsided somewhat. Anxiety could suddenly manifest itself physically. She had heard about that before, but what did it mean that she was suddenly in so much pain? Was something wrong?

  She took more painkillers than she was meant to and gently massaged the scar from the surgery. When that didn’t help, she added to the calming effect of the painkillers with a few more glasses of wine.

  Anneli did not like the dilemma she had ended up in at all.

  —

  The following morning her head felt woozy and heavy—the result of too much wine and a sleepless night. And what was even worse was her complete lack of resolve.

  Most of all, she wanted to pop some more pills and just stay in bed. At the same time, she also wanted to jump about and vent her frustration. Smash some crockery on the kitchen floor, tear a few pictures off the wall, and throw everything off her desk.

  Basically, she wanted to do anything other than what she knew she ought to do: take it easy and let things run their own course before making any new decisions.

  I’ll go to work today after the radiation therapy and see what happens, she decided after considering all her options.

  —

  Her colleagues greeted her relatively politely when she turned up at the office. There were a few awkward smiles, but mostly she was met with neutral expressions and reserved nods.

  She informed the reception desk that she was ready to see her clients, as they were expected to call the scroungers.

  Anneli looked around her office. She could tell that someone had been there because her table had been cleared of paperwork and the flowers that had been withering on the windowsill were now in the trash can. Had they thought that she would just quietly disappear?

  Anneli smiled. They weren’t wrong. Once she had completed her quest of justice with a few more murders, she would disappear from the face of the earth. A plan that Jazmine, Denise, and Michelle had unknowingly sped up. The news on the Internet mentioned that the haul from the Victoria robbery was one hundred and sixty-five thousand kroner, and she intended to get her hands on that money. It would be easy enough once she had killed Denise and Jazmine. And despite the fact that it wasn’t a huge amount of money, she reckoned she would be able to live off it for at least ten years somewhere in central Africa if the cancer didn’t get her first. A train to Brussels, a flight to Yaoundé in Cameroon, and she would be gone without a trace. No one could convince her that Interpol or the like could find her once she had been swallowed up by the jungle.

  Occupied with these thoughts and dreams of young black men and eternal sunshine, she didn’t hear what the young woman who stepped into her office wanted, only her name.

  Anneli briefly inspected her. Midtwenties, feminine, and a predictable small tattoo of a lizard on the back of her hand between her thumb and index finger. Same tart, different name. Just another sponger with braids.

  The girl was strangely polite in an old-fashioned way, bordering on the servile, and was subdued in both appearance and tone. Therefore, Anneli was totally unprepared for what came next.

  “Like I said, I’m no longer eligible for student support because I’ve dropped out of my classes,” she said with kitten eyes. “So I can’t pay for my room, food, or clothes. Of course, I’m aware that you don’t get benefits just like that, but if I don’t, I’ll kill myself.”

  Then she went quiet. Just sat there fiddling with her hair like all the other cows, as if having beautiful hair was the most important thing in the world. She was staring at Anneli with a provocative arrogance, probably imagining that her demand was absolutely indisputable. She was obviously as thick as two short planks. Probably the type who had flirted and sucked up to her teachers all through high school in order to get good grades and into college. She had probably realized now that the demands were too high. Failed to turn up to lectures and subsequently been thrown out of school. That would be the real reason her student support had been stopped.

  Anneli’s expression became stern. Annoyance, resentment, hatred, and contempt were only the tip of the iceberg.

  She looked up at the young woman. Was she really threatening to commit suicide, the stupid cow? What a shame for her that she had come to the wrong person.

  “I see, so you’re going to commit suicide! You know what? I think you should hurry home and get it over with, sweetie,” she said and spun around to show the girl her back. This meeting was over.

  Ann
eli could hear the indignation and shock in the girl’s voice behind her. “I’ll report you to your boss for encouraging me to commit suicide,” she said threateningly. “I know that’s against all the rules, so for your own sake, I think you’d better find a way to award me five thousand kroner here and now, you b. . . . !”

  Had the little brat just called her a bitch?

  She slowly turned back around in her chair and directed an icy look at the girl. She had just moved to the top of Anneli’s death list. In fact, she would take great pleasure in seeing the horror in her dolled-up eyes and her pretty face smashed to a pulp.

  Anneli took her phone from her handbag and pressed the record button.

  “The time is ten minutes past nine on May 27th, 2016,” she said. “My name is Anne-Line Svendsen and I am a caseworker for Copenhagen municipality. Sitting in front of me is a twenty-six-year-old client, Tasja Albrechtsen, who has demanded a payment of five thousand kroner. She has stated that she will commit suicide if the payment is not made immediately.” She pushed the phone in front of the girl. “Would you mind repeating your demand, Tasja Albrechtsen, and state your social security number so we have something for your file?”

  Anneli couldn’t tell whether it was the recording, the accusation of blackmail, or the overall development of the situation that caused the girl to adopt a worried expression, because at that moment they were interrupted by the telephone. And as Anneli took the receiver, the girl quietly stood up and slipped out of the door.

  Anneli smiled. Just a shame that she hadn’t managed to get more information out of the tart. Her address, for example. That would have made it easier when her turn came.

  “Hi, Anne-Line. It’s Elsebeth,” said a familiar voice on the other end. “I’m glad I got ahold of you.”

  Anneli pictured her former colleague from Gammel Køge Landevej. She was one of the good ones who took her work seriously enough to challenge her superiors. It was a shame, actually, that they never saw each other anymore.

  After a few pleasantries, she stated her business.

  “You remember Senta Berger, don’t you?”

  Anneli frowned. “Yes, Senta. Who could forget that little diva?”

  “I took over her case after you, and now she’s dead. Had you heard?”

  Anneli thought before answering. “Yes, I read about it in the newspaper. An accident, wasn’t it?”

  “That’s the question. The police have just been here to question me about her. Whether she had any enemies, whether I had any problems with her, and whether I knew anything about a red Peugeot or a black Honda. It was really quite awful, almost as if I was a suspect and they expected me to blurt out a lot of information. Luckily I don’t even have a driver’s license, but all the same.”

  “Phew, that’s understandable. But why are you calling me, Elsebeth?” she asked feeling unease in her stomach. Had the girls already been arrested and told the police about her? She wasn’t ready for this at all.

  “They asked me who her caseworker was before me, and I had to say it was you. They also asked if you’ve had any disagreements with her.”

  “God, no. She was just one of many clients. What did you say?”

  “Nothing. How would I know?”

  Idiot! thought Anneli. You could have helped me out a bit. Would it have hurt to say no? It’s only a word.

  “No, of course you couldn’t know. But we haven’t had any disagreements.”

  “They’re on their way over to see you now, I heard them saying to my manager. So now you’re warned. That was all, really.”

  Anneli sat staring at the receiver after Elsebeth had hung up.

  Then she pressed the intercom. “Just send in the next client,” she said. They weren’t going to catch her slacking off.

  Apparently the two policemen had been there for a while, probably to state their business to Anneli’s manager. She certainly looked at Anneli with reproach when they marched into her office.

  “Sorry for the interruption,” said the manager to the client, “but we’ll need to ask you to wait in reception for a moment.”

  Anneli nodded to the policemen and then to the client. “That’s all right. We were just about finished here, weren’t we?” She smiled at the client, and they shook hands.

  She sat down, calmly collected her notes, and put them in a folder before turning her attention to the two men.

  “How can I help you?” She smiled inquisitively to the one who appeared to be in charge. Then she pointed at the two chairs in front of her.

  “Please take a seat.” The bitch could stand.

  “My name is Lars Pasgård,” said one of the policemen, handing her his card. Anneli looked at it. “Inspector” was written on the front.

  She nodded approvingly. “I see you’re from police headquarters. How can I help you?” she asked with chilling calm.

  “They’re investigating two murders committed by a hit-and-run driver,” said her manager with a cold stare.

  The inspector turned toward her. “Thank you, we’d prefer to talk to Miss Svendsen alone, if you don’t mind.”

  Anneli kept a straight face, but it was difficult. When had she last seen her manager humiliated, and when had someone last called Anneli “miss”?

  Anneli caught the inspector’s eye. “Yes, I think I know what this is about.”

  “I see.”

  “I received a call half an hour ago from a former colleague at Gammel Køge Landevej. I believe you have just spoken with her. Elsebeth Harms. Isn’t that right?”

  The two policemen looked at each other. Had they asked her to keep quiet? That was her problem if they had.

  “I wish I could help you, but I don’t think I know anything.”

  “I think you should leave that to us to decide, Miss Svendsen.”

  That brought a smile to her manager’s face; she was standing behind them. Now the score was 1–1.

  “You own a Ford Ka, is that correct?”

  She nodded. “Yes, I’ve had it for nearly five years. A good economical car, and it can almost be parked anywhere.” She laughed without it resonating with any of them.

  “Senta Berger and Michelle Hansen are both former clients of yours, is that correct?”

  She gave a knowing smile. “Yes, but I assume that Elsebeth and my manager would have confirmed that already.”

  “Do you have anything to say about these two murders?” asked the other man.

  What a stupid question, she thought, looking at the man. Was he new to the job?

  She took a deep breath. “I’ve been following the news, and obviously it made me very sad when Michelle Hansen was hit the first time. After all, she is my client—or rather, was—and she was a really nice girl. It came as a great shock when I then read about Senta Berger and now Michelle again. It’s really affected me. Do you have any leads?”

  The Lars Pasgård man looked annoyed at the question and didn’t answer. “Yes, the media have been busy,” he said. “Your manager tells us that you’ve had quite a lot of absences lately. Dates that fit well with the incidents.”

  Anneli looked up. She didn’t like her manager’s attitude.

  “Yes, I’ve had to take some time off lately. That’s correct. But now I’m back.”

  “And the reason for your absence is a little unclear. Have you been ill?”

  “I am ill.”

  “I see. And what’s wrong with you, if I may ask? Something that might explain your whereabouts?”

  Any minute now and they’ll ask me about exact times, and I don’t want that, she thought.

  Anneli stood up slowly. “I haven’t been very forward about my illness, no. I can see now that I should’ve been. But it’s been a very difficult time for me. I’ve been in a lot of pain and have been very depressed. But things are better at the moment.”

 
; “So what—” her manager blurted out before Anneli pulled up her blouse.

  She stood like that for a moment so they could see the bandage that showed under her bra before pulling that up as well to bare her chest area.

  “Breast cancer,” she said, pointing as the three people in front of her instinctively pulled back.

  “It was just recently that I was told that I have a chance of surviving, and that’s what pulled me out of it. I’ll probably still have to take things easy, but I hope to be back full-time within a week or two, even though I’ll still need treatment in the coming weeks.”

  She gently pulled her bra and blouse back down again.

  “I’m sorry,” she said to her manager. “I just couldn’t talk about it.”

  Her manager nodded. If there was anything that could make women humble, it was experiencing breast cancer close-up.

  “We understand,” said the inspector, looking a little shaken. The two policemen looked at each other. Anneli didn’t know what to make of their expressions, but it didn’t look bad.

  Pasgård took a deep breath, and Anneli sat down. Behind them, the manager was leaning up against the bookcase. Was she about to faint? She was welcome to.

  “I’ve thought a lot about this,” said Anneli, “and I’m actually glad that you came today. I am aware about client confidentiality, but I don’t think what I’m about to say will violate it.” She bit her upper lip. Hopefully they would interpret it as a sign that she was having an inner struggle.

  “I saw on TV yesterday that Michelle Hansen might have been involved in a robbery. I also saw that her boyfriend was a bouncer at the nightclub that was robbed. I recognized him as the Patrick Pettersson, who Michelle sometimes dragged along here with her. A rather provocative young man, if you ask me. An electrician with tattoos up and down his arms and huge muscles. He definitely looks like he’s taken steroids, which would also explain his violent temper. Last time Michelle brought him here, he shouted at her to get a grip. It was something about Michelle having messed up by moving in with Patrick without informing anyone. Patrick was fuming that they would have to pay back the housing benefit she’d been claiming and that she had committed fraud behind his back. The latter I didn’t believe. He comes across as a very cunning type.”