The Stolen Angel

by Sara Blaedel

  He did not seem particularly surprised to hear that the wealthy businessman was still alive out there, taking the information in stride.

  “I think so,” Louise said, without knowing how much they actually spoke.

  “But he’d be informed about the kidnapping, I take it?”

  She shrugged. “If Nymand’s in charge of the investigation I’m sure he’ll have been in touch with her. He knows there’s a connection between the two at any rate, so I assume he’ll have asked her to make contact with him.”

  Louise leaned back against the headrest and found it strange that her friend had yet to phone if she already knew about this new and rather serious turn of events.

  23

  They’ve got your grandchild,” Camilla said when Walther Sachs-Smith finally called her back. She had phoned him on the new number he had sent her in an email, which up until now he had not been answering.

  Following her first interview at Roskilde Police Station and the meeting in Willumsen’s office, she had written to him and informed him the police now suspected him of his wife’s murder. That same evening he had responded with a new email saying that he had left Hawaii and providing her with the new phone number. Moreover, he would be shutting down his Hotmail account and promised to get back to her from another address once he had gotten settled in his new location.

  Despite the allegations against him she sensed he still felt sure the police would help him as soon as they began to believe his story.

  And now they do, Camilla thought. She sat curled up in a corner of her sofa. Markus had left his phone behind when he had gone off to school. It was in his father’s name and she was using it now to make the call. Her own lay on the coffee table in front of her, but she was too scared to use it. Maybe she was being paranoid, she thought, but after the meeting with Willumsen it wouldn’t surprise her if Nymand were tapping her phone.

  After she received Nymand’s voice mail, she’d started calling Walther’s number at five-minute intervals.

  “I’m coming home,” he told her.

  She could hear how shocked he was.

  “I’ll get to the airport right away and find a flight.”

  “The police would like to speak to you.”

  “Call them and tell them I’m on my way. But even if I’m lucky and find the flights there’s no way I can get back to Denmark tonight. Tomorrow, more likely. Perhaps not even until Friday.”

  Suddenly he sounded so much older than Camilla remembered, his voice thin and tinny, devoid of strength.

  “Do you need help with your tickets? I can book online if need be,” she offered.

  For a moment he was quiet. Camilla heard only the sound of his breathing until he cleared his throat.

  “I just don’t understand,” he said instead of answering her question. He spoke so softly she could hardly hear him. “How could it come to this all of a sudden?”

  He paused a moment, silent again, before going on:

  “In all these years there’s never been the slightest trouble with that icon. The few inquiries I’ve received have never been aggressive or threatening in any way. I wish now that I’d handed it in. The Angel of Death has no worth to me other than its sentimental value. To my father it was the history of the object that meant something, that was where its value lay, and I respected that after he was gone. I was always aware it was a highly sought-after piece and that there were collectors out there who would very much like to acquire it, but I never imagined it would come to this, that people would be willing to commit murder to lay their hands on it…”

  His voice trailed away.

  “I realize this may be asking a lot of you, but it’s for my grandchild’s sake, you understand,” he said.

  Camilla sat up and swung her feet back to the floor. “I’d like to help,” she said immediately, unsettled by his despair, which came through clearly even though he was on the other side of the world.

  “I don’t want the police jeopardizing my grandchild’s safety in any way,” he continued more firmly. “They may be planning some kind of action to free her, and of course they would be interested in arresting whoever is responsible.”

  “Absolutely,” she said. It was a highly plausible scenario.

  “No harm must come to Isabella under any circumstances,” he reiterated. “For that reason I shall not hand over the icon to the police. Doing so would be inviting its exploitation in some risky operation. What I want is for Carl Emil to be in charge of the exchange. Then at least we can be certain he’ll do everything in his power to ensure the child’s safe return. My son has always been devoted to his niece.”

  “We might not have any say in the matter,” Camilla began, only to be cut off.

  “I shall call the police myself and explain my wishes to them.”

  She resisted the urge to smile at the man’s authority in a situation in which he hardly had a card to play.

  “But I will ask you to collect the Angel of Death.”

  “Me?”

  “Yes,” he said. “It would be too much of a risk to have Carl Emil drive out and pick it up. If they’re targeting his sister, I’m sure they’ll be keeping an eye on him, too.”

  “Yes, you may be right,” Camilla conceded after thinking it through.

  “Do you know where the estate is?” he asked.

  “I’ve got a GPS in the car,” she said, jotting the address down in the margin of her newspaper. “But what if the icon’s not there?”

  “It is, believe me. Otherwise they would not have taken my grandchild.”

  “No, you’re right.”

  “In the hall you will find a key to the wood house, a small brick building at the rear of the main house. When you open the door you will see there is a gap under the floor to keep the firewood aired. The icon is concealed there.”

  He gave her the code for the front door, and Carl Emil’s cell number.

  “Call me if you have difficulty finding it.”

  “Do you want me to take it to Carl Emil’s address or your daughter’s?” she asked.

  Camilla sensed him thinking about it before answering.

  “Take it to the Hotel Prindsen in Roskilde and check into a room there. I’ll reimburse you, of course. Their parking lot is at the rear, so you should be able to take it inside without drawing too much attention. Leave the icon in the room until the exchange is set to take place.”

  He paused.

  “Do tell me if this is too much to ask,” he added after a moment, sounding rather humble all of a sudden.

  “Not at all,” she replied, already on her way into the bedroom to get changed. It had been a long time since her pulse had raced so fiercely, and she would have been lying if she claimed not to be enjoying it.

  “I’ll phone your son as soon as I’m at the hotel.”

  “Thank you,” said Walther Sachs-Smith, and then he hung up.

  24

  The fjord lay dense and black behind the white house, where a pennant in Danish red and white hung limply from a flagpole.

  Thiesen pulled up next to the carport and together they walked up to the front door. It was opened by a young Filipina who ushered them inside and took their coats.

  Nymand appeared from a door at the far end of the hall, explaining that Rebekka had fallen asleep in the sofa in her office, so they had withdrawn to the kitchen to allow her some peace.

  “A counselor has been with her. Just left.”

  Louise nodded and greeted the chief superintendent, who was holding a small black Nokia phone in his hand.

  “There’s been no contact since yesterday,” he told them, gesturing for them to follow him into the kitchen as he spoke, revealing that the phone in his hand was the one that had been left in the envelope at the front door and that its display still showed the kidnappers’ demand.

  “We need a place to set up in the house,” said Thiesen, looking at Nymand. “Do you want us in the office or in the living area?”

  “I�
��ll leave that to you. There’s room enough both places.”

  Thiesen looked at Louise. “Where would you prefer? You’re the one who’s going to be looking after her while it lasts.”

  Louise nodded and went back into the hall to find the living area.

  “Left-hand side,” Nymand called after her.

  The living area comprised three rooms, all looking out onto Roskilde Fjord. The first was a dining room; the two others were furnished with comfortable sofas and matching armchairs, and the room in the middle had a television.

  She crossed cautiously to the office on the other side of the hall and opened the door. The view was just as impressive here. Besides the desk there was a small conference table and bookshelves on all the walls, as well as a sofa on which Rebekka lay asleep with her back to her.

  Without a sound, Louise withdrew and went back into the kitchen.

  “We’ll use the two living rooms,” she decided. “I’d like to get her out of the office and put her in less formal surroundings. Is that okay with you?” she asked, looking at Thiesen, who had just opened the door for Palle Krogh. Tall and rangy, Palle entered carrying a big box he had brought from the incident van. It would be his job to coordinate all the information they received and keep a record of exactly what was said every time they were in contact with the kidnappers.

  They accepted the au pair’s offer of coffee and then asked her to leave again and close the door behind her before they began taking stock and Palle started to unpack.

  * * *

  “What do we know about this icon they’re asking for?” Thiesen asked, looking at Nymand.

  “We know it probably exists, but neither Rebekka nor her brother Carl Emil has any idea where it might be. It seems their father is the only person who knows.”

  “And what do we know about him?” Thiesen went on, without mentioning what Louise had already told him.

  Nymand sighed heavily. “Primarily that we most likely were wrong in suspecting him of killing his wife. The rather serious development on our hands now would seem very much to indicate that whoever is trying to get their hands on the icon also committed that murder, as Sachs-Smith has always maintained, according to the journalist Camilla Lind. We’re doing our utmost to trace him and hope very much we’re going to have him home again as quickly as possible. Walther Sachs-Smith is our strongest card if we’re to give the kidnappers what they want.”

  “Have there been other threats against the family since Inger Sachs-Smith’s death?” Louise asked, glancing at the Nokia that lay on the table. It could ring at any moment, and she was anxious to speak to Rebekka so they could agree how best to deal with the situation when the call came. If it came at all, she corrected herself, and looked back at Nymand.

  “None we know of,” he said and shook his head. “Neither the sons nor the daughter seem to know much about the icon at all. They knew the reproduction that hung on the wall of their father’s office, but that was it.”

  “Do we know for certain an original exists?” Thiesen put in from across the table.

  Louise nodded. “I’m certain we can take what Walther Sachs-Smith told Camilla to be true. Have you spoken to her?” she asked, turning to Nymand.

  The chief superintendent shook his head. “Not since this. I’ve left several messages on her voice mail, but I’m still waiting for her to call back.”

  Louise got to her feet while he spoke. “What time did you call her?”

  “About eight-ish. I explained briefly what had happened and asked her to make sure Sachs-Smith contacted me as soon as she’d informed him. But she hasn’t responded. Does she have any other numbers you know about?”

  “I’ll see what I can do,” Louise promised and was just about to go when she stopped in her tracks and asked if anyone had spoken to the girl’s father.

  Nymand nodded.

  “He’s been informed. I’ve got two men with him now and nothing would seem to indicate he’s involved in any way. He’s pretty shaken up, as you can imagine.”

  * * *

  The little Nokia made no sound, its display simply lighting up as a new message came in. It lay there on the table and for a moment, it seemed none of them was sure what to do. But then Thiesen reached out and picked it up.

  His eyes darted almost imperceptibly from side to side as he read the message on the little screen before looking up.

  “They want the icon tonight at nine,” he said, putting the phone down.

  “As soon as you have yourselves sorted out and ready here, I want a statement put out saying we’re interested in the girl’s whereabouts,” said Nymand.

  They needed the whiteboards and flip charts up so Palle could map their contact with the kidnappers. Every word would be written down, every time noted, so Louise could keep track of what was going on, and within the hour surveillance equipment would be concealed about the house so they could be sure Rebekka Sachs-Smith was not communicating with anyone without Louise’s knowledge.

  Thiesen nodded. That was Nymand’s domain; the negotiation unit had no prerogative there.

  “We’ve already drawn up a statement to the press, it’s ready to go. I’ll call a conference sometime this afternoon,” Nymand went on.

  Louise paused in the doorway. It felt strange for her not to be a part of the investigating team. The first thing the detectives had to focus on was scrutinizing the family to make sure there was nothing going on that they hadn’t been informed about. It was not uncommon that people very close to those affected were involved in an attempted extortion.

  But that didn’t have to be the case here, Louise thought. When an heiress of one of the country’s wealthiest families was kidnapped, anyone at all could be involved. The ransom was a big enough motive on its own.

  None of that was her concern now, though. She was not looking for the icon or even for a perpetrator. Her sole task was to provide Rebekka Sachs-Smith with the right things to say when the kidnappers made contact again.

  “I’ll go and wake her up,” Louise said. “We need to be ready when they come back with their instructions.”

  Thiesen nodded and followed her into the living area.

  25

  Carl Emil hadn’t slept properly. He bent down to pick up the tray he kept next to the dishwasher, then took a glass out of the cupboard and some chocolate milk from the fridge.

  Negotiation unit, he thought to himself, switching off the oven after heating up some rolls for Isabella’s breakfast. He wondered what they did. His sister had said they had taken over half the house.

  He would have to go there. Not knowing what was going on made him restless. He had not heard a word from them since he sent his message. Maybe they were waiting for something more from him, but he felt unsettled by Nymand having called in a special unit. He had to get down there and find out what their plan of operation was.

  “Morning, little wonder,” he whispered, sitting down on the edge of the bed with the tray on his lap.

  “Morning,” his niece replied sleepily and rubbed her eyes. Her long hair fanned out over the pillow as she turned onto her back and peered up at him.

  Carl Emil bent forward and kissed her on the cheek.

  “I’ve got to go to the office for a couple of hours. Here’s some breakfast. And look what else.”

  He placed the PlayStation games he had bought on top of her duvet and studied her reaction as she picked them up one by one and beamed.

  “Thanks!” she said excitedly. “Is it today we’re skipping school?”

  He nodded, hoping she wouldn’t ask why he was going in to the office if they were supposed to be staying at home. Fortunately she said nothing and was already tearing the wrapper off her new SingStar.

  “I’ll be back around lunchtime,” he said, with a nod toward the kitchen. “There’s plenty to eat in the fridge if you get hungry.”

  She nodded absently, putting the games aside in favor of the TV remote.

  “I think I’ll watch Dirty Dancin
g again,” she said.

  He nodded and smiled. “You do exactly what you want, but don’t forget your breakfast.”

  * * *

  Miklos Wedersøe’s big Mercedes S65 was parked outside Rebekka’s front door. The black van would be the police, Carl Emil surmised, as he pulled up in the Range Rover behind his sister’s two cars.

  Wedersøe himself appeared in the doorway as he walked across the gravel.

  “We’ve got to talk before you go in and meet the police,” he said, pulling Carl Emil aside. “Obviously, we’ve had to tell them about the Angel of Death, but they don’t know about the offer we’ve gotten for it.”

  Carl Emil nodded and took deep breaths again to steady his nerves. “We have to tell them that, right?” he said. “They’ll need to know about the wreath and the headstone, too.”

  His plan all along was for the police to link the kidnapping with the death threats he had received and investigate on that basis. The headstone gave him one more day to live. He very much wanted the police to take those threats seriously.

  “Certainly,” Wedersøe nodded. “As long as you’re prepared to tell them our plans to sell the icon illegally. You could go to prison if they decide to charge you.”

  “Charge us both, you mean,” Carl Emil hissed back, incensed at his attorney’s angle on the matter. “You’re the one with the contact, remember.”

  Wedersøe dropped his hand to his side and nodded.

  “It wouldn’t exactly be good for business,” he mused. “But at the moment, your niece comes first. None of us could have foreseen that whoever was after the icon would take a child hostage.”

  Carl Emil’s thoughts were a fog as he tried quickly to weigh up the pros and cons. He had a lot to lose if the sales agreement did come to light. There was more to gain if they kept it to themselves and simply informed the police that the family was in possession of the priceless artifact and left it at that.

  “We won’t tell them,” he decided eventually. “It wouldn’t give them any advantage anyway. We don’t even know where the threats are coming from ourselves.”