44
Monday, May 30th, 2016
It was just before seven o’clock, and Anneli had been working like crazy for at least an hour cleaning blood from the walls, shelves, machinery, and floor. After that she sat and watched Denise’s body for some time. Lying there among the discarded machine parts with a dumbstruck expression on her face, Denise’s lifeless body gave Anneli a lot of satisfaction. Her intense, stubborn eyes were now completely lackluster, and all the hours she had spent on getting dolled up and showing off were now in vain.
“Where should I dispose of a lovely little thing like you, Denise Zimmermann? Should we leave it up to fate and dump you among the other prostitutes on Vesterbro, or should we play it safe and put you in one of the upper-class parks where nobody goes after eight? How about Bernstorff’s Park, Denise? We could put you down in one of the well-trimmed corners. Then one of the posh little Charlottenlund dogs can find you when it goes for its morning pee.”
Anneli laughed.
It seemed like she had gotten away with this. She had hidden Denise’s pistol and squeezed the gun into her hand so both their fingerprints were on it. If anyone had heard the shot and called the police, she had decided to pretend to be in shock and say it was an accident. That the woman had barged in, threatening to shoot her with that gun with the strange thing attached to it. That she was one of those crazy people who blamed their caseworker for their own inability to sort out her terrible situation. And a caseworker who had always done her best to help her, no less. The police would probably know that sometimes disturbed clients murdered those whose job it was to help them. It had happened a couple of times over the past few years. And she would add that the attack had removed any doubt from her mind that Denise Zimmermann was insane.
She would explain to them in detail how they had come to blows immediately when she answered the door to Denise. That they had fought their way into the apartment in a life-and-death struggle, with Anneli using all her strength to try to grab the gun from Denise’s hand. And that the gun had gone off by accident.
She would cry a little and say with quivering lips that this was the worst experience in her life.
But the police didn’t come.
Anneli laughed, retrieving Denise’s pistol from where she had hidden it. She could just leave Denise where she was for now while she drove to Stenløse to liquidate Jazmine.
She looked at the gun with its makeshift silencer in Denise’s hand.
Both weapons had been used to kill. She was in no doubt about that. The question was if she could exploit that fact.
Oh yes, Anneli felt good about that thought. Wasn’t it just the most brilliant of all her plans? Yes, it was.
—
When Anneli passed the first road sign for Stenløse, she was almost bursting inside. She was so excited about seeing Jazmine’s face when she opened the door.
Anneli imagined that the first thing the idiotic girl would think was that Anne-Line Svendsen was supposed to be dead. She would be completely thrown, perplexed, and surprised that Anneli knew where they lived. And she would wonder what had happened to Denise.
Yes, Jazmine would get a shock when she realized that her time was up.
Anneli would immediately force her into the sitting room and shoot her without further ado, at close range using the gun with the silencer. Then she would press Denise’s pistol into Jazmine’s hand and make it look like there had been a showdown between her and Denise that had resulted in Jazmine’s death. The old Luger pistol in Jazmine’s hand hadn’t helped her, it would appear. And later the police would discover that this was the pistol that had killed Birna.
After this, all she would need to do was pick up Denise’s body in Webersgade, prop her up in the passenger seat of her car, and drive her to Bernstorff’s Park. And she would place the gun with the silencer next to Denise’s hand so that it looked like a suicide. Voilà! One stone, many birds. At some point the police would find Jazmine and discover that the gun she had been killed with was the same one Denise had used to commit suicide.
All the loose ends would be tied. It was simply genius.
Anneli couldn’t help laughing insanely at how perfect her plan was. If she played her cards right, she might even be able to pin the hit-and-run murders on Denise. Surely the police would find out that Michelle had also lived in the apartment, bringing them to draw conclusions that would benefit Anneli. And if she really could pull all this off, she would have gotten away with everything. Then she could comfortably take a break from her killing spree and concentrate on her treatments and recovery. A year or two without murders and then she could slowly and steadily resume her mission. Meanwhile, she could keep herself entertained by coming up with new ways to kill. She would read books about how to use poison, fire, electricity, and water to fake accidents that couldn’t be linked to one another or the hit-and-run murders.
She turned on the car radio because her euphoric mood demanded music.
Now all she needed to make things perfect was a couple of candles and a glass of red wine. But all in good time. When she had completed this mission later tonight, it would be straight back to the apartment for a cozy night of watching a TV series with her feet up on the coffee table. She had heard True Detective was good.
She turned into the Sandalsparken parking area to the last ironic verses of Coldplay’s “Viva la Vida” and parked in the exact same place as last time. She was more ready than ever to embark on the penultimate act in this exhilarating play about life and death that she had set in motion a few weeks ago.
Just as she was about to get out of her car, a rather official-looking vehicle drove in front of her, albeit without the blue light on its roof activated. It parked so close to her that she could easily tell that the odd-looking pair wasn’t here on a social visit.
Everything about them screamed police.
She watched them as they went up to the apartment immediately to the left of Jazmine and Denise’s.
I need to stay away as long as they’re there, she thought, leaning back in a more comfortable position.
“But never mind. Good things come to those who wait,” she said to herself as the news on the radio announced that Denise Frank Zimmermann was wanted as a witness in connection with a murder. Anyone with information about her whereabouts should contact the police.
“Then I recommend that you take a look in Bernstorff’s Park tomorrow morning,” Anneli said, giggling to herself.
45
Monday, May 30th, 2016
“Which of the sisters will be there to let us in?”
Assad took his feet down from the dashboard, holding up a key as Carl parked the car. “None of them. But I have the key Vicky gave Gordon. If Rose won’t let us in, we can use it.”
Carl felt a bit uneasy about that idea.
“It makes me a bit nervous to think what Rose will say when we turn up unannounced,” said Carl. Not only was Rose as tricky and special as the situation, but she was also their colleague, and a female one at that. Why did women always have to be so complicated? Hadn’t he often been forced to acknowledge that in general he didn’t understand women at all? Perhaps it was the lively girls from Vendsyssel who had confused him and made him believe that all women were as forthright as they were. Hardy had advised him several times to find himself a coach or a men’s group that could help him deepen his understanding of the opposite sex. Maybe that was an idea that was worth pursuing. He just never really got around to it.
“I know, Carl. I’m nervous too,” said Assad. “I’ve been really down since she shouted at me on the telephone.”
They rang the doorbell a few times without hearing any sign of life from inside.
“Do you think she’s asleep?” asked Assad. “Maybe she’s still a bit out of it on her medication.”
“Phew, what now?” groaned Carl. He’d rather deal with two drugged
-up pimps going berserk with knives than this, because at least he knew where he was with the former. Who knew what the risks were if they barged in just like that?
“I wish we knew if she was in there. Imagine if she . . .”
“If she what?”
“Nothing, Assad. Knock on the door a couple of times, and make it loud. Maybe she can’t hear the doorbell throughout the entire apartment.”
“Hang on, maybe we can ask that woman if she’s seen her?” asked Assad after knocking.
“Who?” asked Carl, looking around.
“The one who twitched at the curtains a moment ago next door in Zimmermann’s apartment.”
“In Zimmermann’s place? I didn’t see anyone. Are you sure?”
“Er, yes. I think so. See, the curtain isn’t hanging straight now.”
“Come on, then,” said Carl.
He rang the neighbor’s bell, but nothing happened.
“Are you certain, Assad? Who would be in there? Rigmor Zimmermann hasn’t risen from the dead.”
Assad shrugged and knocked forcefully on the door, and when that didn’t have any effect he knelt down on the doormat and shouted at the top of his voice through the mail slot: “Hi in there. We saw you. We just want to ask you a couple of questions.”
Carl smiled. The doormat with the intricate pattern almost made it look like he was kneeling on a prayer rug, praying through the mail slot.
“Can you see anything in there?” asked Carl.
“No. The hallway is completely empty.”
Carl leaned forward and looked through the gap in the curtains into the kitchen. He couldn’t see much, only some dirty dishes and clean tableware that hadn’t been put back in the cupboard. But then again, Rigmor Zimmermann couldn’t have known that she would never come back to clean up.
He tapped on the window with his fingernails, and Assad shouted a few more times that they would like to speak to the person he had seen at the window.
“Maybe you didn’t see anything, Assad,” said Carl after a minute of knocking and ringing the bell in vain. “If we’d been smart we would have remembered to bring the key Birgit gave us.”
“I’ve got a lockpick down in the car, Carl.”
Carl shook his head. “We’d better leave that to our colleagues in homicide. They’re going to come here at some point anyway to check the apartment again. Let’s just let ourselves into Rose’s place and see if she’s there.”
Assad took out the key and pressed down on the door handle, but just as he was about to put the key in the lock, the door swung open.
This doesn’t bode well, thought Carl.
Assad looked baffled as he silently walked through the door. He called Rose’s name a couple of times so she wouldn’t get a shock when she suddenly saw them standing there.
But the place was as silent as the grave.
“Bloody hell, she’s certainly been here, Carl,” said Assad. He looked shocked to say the least, and with good reason. Everything that would normally be on the shelves, other furniture, or windowsills had been thrown on the floor. Soil from potted plants was scattered over the sofa, broken coffee cups and plates were spread here and there, and a couple of chairs had been smashed against the floor. It was complete chaos.
“Rose!” shouted Assad while snooping around in the other rooms.
“She’s not here,” he said after a few seconds. “But come on out to the bathroom, Carl.”
Carl tore himself away from the laptop on the dining table and went out there.
“Look!” Assad was standing with a forlorn expression, pointing down at the wastebasket, which was full of bandages, packaging, Tampax boxes, cotton balls, and various medicines.
“It doesn’t look good, Assad.”
“Is that what you meant before?” He sighed. “That she might have taken her own life?”
Carl was unable to answer. He pursed his lips and returned to the sitting room. He just didn’t know.
He sniffed the vase on the table. There had been an undefinable mix of alcohol in it. Then he looked at the screen on her laptop again.
“Come in here, Assad. Rose has been on the police website and intranet.”
He pointed at the broken screen. “There’s no doubt that she took an interest in the Zimmermann case, so she does know. I’m afraid that might have pushed her over the edge.”
He opened her search tabs one by one.
“These searches are very superficial. It’s as if she just wanted to bring herself up to speed with the main details of the murder,” he said.
“I think that’s good, Carl. Then I think we can safely say she didn’t kill Zimmermann,” said Assad quietly.
Carl looked at him uncomprehendingly. What was he talking about?
“Not that I had any reason to think that, but it was a strange coincidence that they were neighbors, wasn’t it?”
“Damn it, Assad, you shouldn’t think like that.”
Curly looked sullen. He knew that.
“I’m afraid I also found this in the bathroom, Carl.”
He placed a Gillette razor on top of the jacket on the table.
“There’s no blade in it. It’s been screwed off.”
Carl felt a stab to his heart. It couldn’t be true.
He inspected the razor and let it fall back down on the jacket. There was a dull click when it landed.
Carl looked puzzled, grabbed a corner of the jacket, and lifted it off the table.
There was Rose’s cell phone and a lot of other things that made them freeze: a plastic basket with medicines that could easily be mixed into a lethal cocktail, the blade from the razor, and, even more ominously, a letter written in Rose’s handwriting.
“Oh no,” whispered Assad and said a short, silent prayer in Arabic.
Carl had to force himself to read the letter out to Assad.
Dear sisters,
There has been no end to my curse, so don’t despair over my death, read the first line.
He hardly breathed while reading the rest.
They looked at each other for a minute without speaking. What was there to say?
“It’s dated May 26th, Carl,” said Assad, finally breaking the silence. Carl had never heard him sound so exhausted before. “That was last Thursday, the same day she discharged herself, and I don’t think she’s been here since.” He sighed. “She could be lying dead anywhere, Carl. And maybe she . . .” He couldn’t bring himself to finish the sentence.
Carl looked around the sitting room. It was as if she had tried to reflect her shattered mind with her vandalism. As if she had wanted to make clear to those around her that there was nothing to grieve over and nothing to be surprised about.
“She was too clever for her own good, Carl, so I don’t think we’ll ever find her.” His face looked expressionless, apart from his eyebrows and his lips, which were quivering.
Carl put a hand on his shoulder. “It’s very sad, Assad. It really is, my friend.”
Assad turned his face toward him with a gentle, almost grateful look in his eyes. He nodded and picked up the suicide note to read it again.
“There’s another piece of paper underneath it, Assad,” said Carl. He picked it up and read it aloud:
Stenløse, Thursday 5.26.2016
I hereby donate my body to organ donation and research. Best regards, Rose Knudsen
“I simply don’t get it, Assad. Why would she commit suicide somewhere where she can’t be found if she wanted to leave her organs for transplants and her body for research?”
Assad shook his head. They looked at each while they tried to find a logical explanation.
“If you want to donate your organs, you don’t poison them with lethal medication, and you certainly don’t go into hiding. So what’s the deal with this?” Carl waved the piece
of paper in the air.
Assad scratched his head as if that could help him work it out. “I don’t get it. Maybe she had a change of heart and decided to do it somewhere else.”
“Does that seem logical to you? What does someone do who wants to commit suicide and also donate their organs to help others? You make sure you’re found quickly, which is what I assume she hoped would happen. But where is she, then? And why didn’t she take her phone so she could say where she was? It doesn’t make any sense.”
Carl picked up the phone and tried to turn it on. The battery really was dead, just like he had suggested to Lars Bjørn.
“I wouldn’t mind seeing what’s on here. Do you think she had a charger somewhere?”
They searched among the chaos. It was hopeless, like looking for the infamous needle in a haystack.
“She had a charger in her office, Carl.”
He nodded. There wasn’t much more they could do here.
—
“I notice you’ve just been in Rose’s apartment. Is she okay?” asked a woman on the walkway when they locked the door.
“Who’s asking?” asked Carl.
She gave him her hand. “My name is Sanne and I live a couple of doors down.” She pointed.
“Do you know each other?”
“I wouldn’t say that, but we say hello. I saw her the other day and told her that Zimmermann is dead. Is she ill? I noticed she’d been away for a while, and she didn’t seem like her old self.”
“When was this?”
“Last Thursday. The day Kevin Magnussen crashed his Renault into a wall. I love Formula One, and especially Kevin. And I had just heard the news when I met Rose. I remember it clearly.”
“Rose isn’t at home just now. Do you have any idea where we might find her?”
She shook her head. “No, she didn’t really have much to do with the rest of us in the building, except Rigmor as far as I know. Anyway, I haven’t been at home all weekend.” She pointed at a roller suitcase next to her. “I’ve been visiting my family.”
She smiled and looked like she wanted them to ask her what the occasion had been, but they never did.
The Scarred Woman Page 39
