She patted the canvas bag a couple of times in satisfaction and walked back to the car.
Once her radiation treatment was over, a couple of weeks’ cruising in the Mediterranean was a tempting thought.
49
Monday, May 30th, 2016
It took a minute before Carl explained to Gordon what they had found in Rose’s apartment. Poor Gordon was as silent as the grave at the other end.
Carl looked at Assad with a desolate expression. Assad couldn’t even muster the energy to put his feet up on the dashboard.
It was going to be a long night for all of them.
“Are you still there, Gordon?” asked Carl.
Was that a yes?
“I’m afraid we have no idea where Rose might be, but don’t lose hope, okay?”
Still no reaction.
“We’re considering filing a missing person’s report, but I think we need to look into possible whereabouts first.”
“Okay,” he answered almost inaudibly.
Carl brought him up to speed about the visit they had paid James Frank and their breakthrough with his confession in the Zimmermann case.
It didn’t seem to lift his spirits at all. Understandably, the news about Rose had hit him hard.
“Unfortunately, Assad and I have one more thing to see to, even though it’s hard the way we’re all feeling just now about Rose. We’re going to see Birgit Zimmermann again because there are a few things we need to check up on. How about you? Are you also ready to keep going?”
“Of course I am. Just tell me what you need me to do.”
It sounded like he was already recovering from the shock.
Carl imagined Gordon’s face. He knew full well what Rose meant to him. She was perhaps the only reason why he stayed working in the basement for Department Q. The effect of the one he was dreaming about dating but might never get.
“I want you to call her sisters and bring them up to speed, but don’t make it sound more dramatic than it is, if possible.” Carl doubted that it was. “Ask them if they have any idea where she might be. Does she have any connections in Malmö or Skåne, for example? Could she be staying at a summerhouse or with a former lover? Yeah, sorry to put you in this situation, Gordon, but the last thing is important too.”
Of course he didn’t comment.
“Keep me updated, Gordon. Let us know what you discover, and then we’ll make a decision about the missing person’s report.”
—
Although it was still fairly light outside, it looked like every single ceiling lamp in Birgit Zimmermann’s mezzanine apartment was lit. It probably meant she was at home.
They pressed the buzzer and were surprisingly enough buzzed in after a few seconds.
“I was actually expecting someone like you,” she said, looking dizzy, albeit this time not necessarily the result of alcohol. In fact, she came across far more levelheaded than when they had visited her earlier in the day to talk about Stephanie Gundersen. She invited them to take a seat before they had even said anything.
“Have you found Denise? Is that why you’re here?”
“So you know the police have started looking for her since we were here earlier today?”
“Yes, they’ve called me a few times. Have you found her?”
“Unfortunately not. We were hoping you could help us with that.”
“I’m scared,” she said. “She’s a terrible brat, but I don’t want anything bad to happen to her. Do you think she murdered that Icelandic girl and took part in the robbery like the media is suggesting?”
“I assure you, we know nothing about that, Birgit. But she’s a suspect and we need to get ahold of her to find out. The police in Slagelse have been all around town asking if anyone has seen her, but unfortunately they didn’t get anywhere. We also get the feeling that you don’t believe she’s actually there. Is that correct?”
“If it was her at that nightclub in Sydhavnen, she can’t have been in Slagelse at that time, can she?”
Carl agreed. She was considerably more clearheaded than usual.
“We have some specific questions we’d like to ask you, Birgit. Earlier today, you insinuated that Denise might know something about your mother’s murder. I’d like to ask you why you did that.”
“And what makes you think I want to talk to you about that? I was drunk, wasn’t I? You must know that people say stupid things when they’re drunk.”
“That’s right. Let’s leave that subject. Meanwhile, we’ve located your ex-husband.”
The reaction was incredible. The tendons in her neck tensed, and her jaw dropped. She inhaled deeply and held her breath, clenching her fists. There was no doubt that she was genuinely taken aback and trying to remain calm.
“He’s still in the country, Birgit. You probably thought he had disappeared back when Stephanie Gundersen was murdered, right?”
She didn’t answer, but her heaving chest clearly showed the level of shock she was in.
“I assume your mother told you that he disappeared after the murder. That if anyone was a suspect, it must be him. That she was willing to tell the police about him if they started closing in on you, right? She had a whole story prepared.”
Strangely enough, Birgit shook her head.
“James is living in the apartment above your father’s old shop, but you probably didn’t know that, did you?”
She shook her head again.
“Birgit, I don’t want to bore you with James’s story, but he told us about an agreement he made with your mother. He deserted from the US Army when he was in Afghanistan, returned to Denmark in 2003, and promised to stay away from you and Denise. Your mother paid him for it, but you did know that?”
She didn’t react at all, so they couldn’t be sure.
“James believes that your mother saw him and Stephanie Gundersen together in town. He said it was a coincidence, but I don’t believe that. While coincidence does often play a role in crime, I’m more inclined to believe that it was you who saw James with Stephanie outside Denise’s school and told your mother about it. I think that your mother decided to follow them and was spotted by James. And do you know what all this is based on? Your argument with Stephanie about her way with men at the parent-teacher meeting. I think this case is about a hurt, insanely frustrated, and in some strange way also jealous woman who suddenly saw her daughter’s beautiful teacher with her ex-husband. You already hated Stephanie Gundersen because Denise adored her. And my guess is that it made you completely desperate. Do you understand where I’m coming from, Birgit? Not only did you have to contend with all your anger and jealousy from the past, but you also saw your ex-husband with a respected teacher who could steal your daughter away from you just like that. And that was something you weren’t prepared to risk.”
She fumbled for her cigarettes on the table, but Assad beat her to it, offered her one, and even lit it for her. Smart move.
“We’re sorry to have to upset you like this, Birgit,” said Assad. “It must be shocking to think that your ex-husband has suddenly popped up in your life again. He actually came to visit you here yesterday. He saw you on the street, but you were so drunk that he didn’t want to talk to you.”
Assad went quiet, and they both watched Birgit’s reaction. She was bound to start talking at some point, but for now she just held her elbow in her hand, put the cigarette to her lips, and calmly inhaled the smoke.
“Do you want to hear my version of all this?” asked Carl.
No reaction.
“James often waited for Stephanie outside the school, standing behind the trees by the lakes. That way he could choose who saw him. What he didn’t know was that you sometimes walked that way if you felt like picking Denise up from school. You came from Borgergade and sometimes walked along Dag Hammarskjölds Allé and farther along the lake to wait f
or Denise in exactly the same spot where James was. And one day, you saw Stephanie Gundersen leave the school and kiss James passionately while you looked on in disbelief from behind the trees. Your ex-husband was suddenly back in Denmark and too close for comfort. Can we agree on that?”
Then the unexpected finally happened. Birgit Zimmermann nodded silently.
“Birgit, I can tell you that James was convinced that it was your mother who killed Stephanie. I think it’s because of the way it happened. After all, your father was always bragging about the damage that could be inflicted with a single hit with a club to the back of the head. Don’t you think your mother also knew?”
She looked away. Were her lips quivering? If they were, Carl and Assad were on the right track.
Then she turned to face them directly. There were tears in her eyes, and her lips were quivering. This was it!
“James told us earlier today that he killed your mother. It was simply an act of revenge for her killing Stephanie. But do you know what I think, Birgit?”
She grimaced. He was right, then.
“He killed the wrong person. Do we agree?”
The question appeared to have hit a nerve. It could be a feeling of powerlessness or relief. It could be anger or some form of contentment. Carl and Assad looked at each other and waited until she had wiped the snot from her chin and could look at them directly again.
“You actually thought it was Denise who killed your mother, didn’t you, Birgit? But what made you think that?”
She hesitated for a moment before answering. “Because my mother and Denise had had a horrible fight that day. They hated each other even though they usually managed to contain it. But that day my mother wouldn’t give us the money for rent like she usually did. And that made Denise furious. So when they found my mother and she didn’t have the money on her, I thought it must be Denise who had taken it. Partly because I saw Denise leaving the apartment with a bottle in her hand a few minutes before my mother left. It was one of those heavy Lambrusco bottles. And believe me, it wasn’t only my mother that my father entertained with his stories about what you could do with one of those. We were all subjected to his tales when we were old enough. My father was a lunatic. He really was.”
Carl frowned. If James had returned to the apartment on Borgergade just a few minutes earlier, he would have seen his daughter leave the apartment and then things would probably have turned out very differently: He would have approached her, Rigmor might not have been murdered, and the old Stephanie Gundersen case would never have resurfaced.
“Thank you, Birgit,” said Carl.
In a way, she looked relieved. But it also seemed as if she thought there was nothing more to say. As if there was no reason to continue with this conversation. She seemed a little too sure.
“Your father died the day after Stephanie, Birgit. He drowned in shallow water, and judging by what we know about him, it seems very unlikely that he would have committed suicide. A man whose cunning helped him evade the worst accusations anyone could face. A man whose survival instinct was strong enough to help him escape the hangman’s noose. Can we agree that he of all people was an expert in hanging on to life?”
She took another cigarette. This time Assad didn’t light it for her.
“I know the type of person,” said Assad. “You’ll find bastards like that in any war at any given time.”
Carl nodded. “Yes, that’s true. But it’s also true that a man like your father always lets down his guard when he feels safe. He made a mistake in not leaving the past behind. In still bragging about his evil and cunning so many years later. And teaching his own family how to use that evil at any time with any available means was almost unforgivable.”
She nodded. She agreed.
“Your mother looked after your father, and I think they had an agreement based on discretion. Your mother knew that if he revealed too much in public, they would be doomed. No one could know who he was, because that would cost you everything. The business, your comfortable life. Everything.”
Carl nodded toward her Prince cigarettes, and she nodded back. It was always the same when he was wrapping up a case. The nicotine craving hit him.
“I’m convinced that your mother sacrificed your father for your sake, Birgit. He was old, difficult to look after and be around. He had fulfilled his purpose, which was to provide for his family, and now it was your mother’s turn. Maybe he boasted in public about who had killed Stephanie, so your mother made a quick decision and pushed him in the lake. Am I right?”
Birgit let out a deep sigh. There was nothing to add.
“It wasn’t your mother who killed Stephanie Gundersen, was it, Birgit? It wasn’t your mother your father was boasting about. It was you, wasn’t it? Your father was as proud as a peacock. Proud of his daughter who had shown so much resolve, eliminating the person who was poisoning her life.”
She looked away, neither confirming nor denying. Then she slowly turned toward them and lifted her head as if she took pride in making one last comment in the case.
“How is James?” she asked rather surprisingly.
Carl leaned forward toward the ashtray and tapped the ash from his cigarette. “He’s dying, Birgit. A dying man who wouldn’t imagine letting a woman like your mother continue to live in this world.”
She nodded.
“When you’ve found Denise, I’ll sign my confession and not a moment before,” she said.
50
Monday, May 30th, 2016
When Anneli turned the corner onto Webersgade, she was unpleasantly surprised to discover that there wasn’t one single free parking space near her house. What the hell were they showing on TV, since everybody had chosen to stay at home on the same night? It wasn’t only a wrench in the works; it was almost fatal.
I can’t double-park, drag Denise over the sidewalk and bicycle path, and then in between two cars. It’s far too risky, she thought while letting the car run idle at the end of the street.
So she took a chance and drove up onto the bicycle path at the point before the parking spaces started, assessing whether or not there was enough space to let her drive down to her house.
Good thing that the car isn’t wider, she thought, continuing on with one pair of wheels on the bicycle path and the other pair on the sidewalk. It was a risky maneuver, but if she managed to drive all the way there she would be able to park just one meter from her door.
Please, neighbors, don’t complain, she thought as she slowly rolled along. If they stayed indoors, the only thing she had to worry about was a passing patrol car. She smiled at the thought. Patrol cars in Copenhagen? There certainly weren’t many of those left in this permanent period of retrenchment.
She parked as intended, right next to her door, and let herself into the building.
Strangely enough, she had to brace herself before stepping into the mechanical engineer’s sitting room, where Denise’s body was leaning up against the shelf to the right of the door.
It had been several hours since she had killed her, and one single look at the body was enough to make Anneli worried.
Rigor mortis had already set in.
With a slight feeling of discomfort, she dragged the body away from the shelf to confirm her suspicion. Denise’s head was tilted to one side, her neck leaning backward in a fixed position that definitely didn’t look normal. Anneli grabbed Denise’s head with her fingertips and tried to straighten it. But despite some nasty crunching sounds from the stiff muscles and spine, she didn’t succeed. She took a deep breath and grabbed the body under the arms, only to discover to her surprise that even the shoulders were stiffening up. With some difficulty, she managed to press the silencer and then the gun into Denise’s hand and gently press her index finger against the trigger. That took care of the fingerprints.
I have to get her out of here before she becomes as sti
ff as a board. Otherwise I won’t be able to get her in or out of the car, she thought.
To her amazement, she felt sad looking down on this awkward corpse of a girl who had once been so full of life and fight.
She wouldn’t have liked this sight, thought Anneli in a moment of absurdity. It was almost laughable.
Even though it was almost ten thirty in the evening, it still looked like daytime outside. That was just the way it was in this part of the world.
Did that mean that she ought to wait until it was reasonably dark? That would make it way past midnight, and the body would be completely stiff.
No, she couldn’t wait.
Anneli dragged the body out of the mechanical engineer’s cluttered sitting room and propped it up against the wall in front of the main door so she would be able to move it quickly out into the car.
The traffic on Webersgade was still pretty busy at this time of day. But as long as there were no cops, it would be okay. She would just have to keep an eye out for cyclists and pedestrians. And when there was a lull in the traffic, she would drag the body out to the Ka and stuff it in.
Anneli held the door ajar, and from behind the crack in the door she could see that there were still people cycling up and down the street. Why the hell would you be cycling at this time of day? Couldn’t people just stay at home?
She heard cheerful laughter down from the corner by Øster Farimagsgade and saw a couple of girls walking directly toward her house. One of them was walking with her bicycle while the other one was walking next to her, chatting away. They didn’t seem to be in a hurry.
Stupid bitches, she thought. Now the jabbering brats were heading directly toward her car.
Watch where you’re going, she thought. Couldn’t they just cross the street to the other side?
She pulled the door closed when the girl without the bike banged her knee against the trunk of the Ka.
“Ouch! Goddamn it! Who the hell parked their car on the pavement?” she shouted, banging her fist on the roof of the car several times while she walked around it.
The Scarred Woman Page 42
