by Inger Wolf
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Irene was cornered. Her pupils were slightly dilated, every muscle in her body tense. It was easy to stand in a doorway and let drop a little white lie or two, but sitting in a police station with two officers staring her down, ready to give her a verbal beating, was an entirely different animal. And there might be consequences. Trokic sat in the chair across the desk from her, while Jasper leaned against the wall.
Trokic began slowly. "You told me earlier today you didn't know Christoffer Holm personally or know about any connection between him and Anna. Now we know that's not the case."
"I just didn't think—"
"You didn't think what? That it was relevant? Or that it looked so good? Because it doesn't. Once, you were Christoffer Holm's girlfriend, and now it turns out your friend who was murdered was carrying his child."
"I didn't know she was pregnant; I told you that."
"No, but when you did find out, you must've known he was the father. Yet you kept it to yourself."
"And he wasn't my boyfriend."
"No? What would you call it?"
"We went out a few times. It never got to that point."
"To what point?"
"We only went to bed together once, if you absolutely have to know."
"But you were in love with him?"
"I suppose so. Yes."
She looked like she'd eaten a piece of absolutely forbidden cake. She stared to the side.
"So, what happened? Did she steal him from you?"
"I suppose you could put it that way. Even though I hate that expression."
"How long were they together?"
"Since my birthday early this summer. That's where they met each other." She sighed. "I threw a party for a bunch of my friends, and they started talking. And kept on talking. They went out into the kitchen, and they were so wrapped up in each other that they forgot where they were. Not that they started kissing or anything. They were just talking, but intense, nonstop. So into what they were talking about that it was like everyone else was just so fucking uninteresting."
Trokic remembered the note they found in Anna Kiehl's apartment. He grabbed his notebook and wrote: Christoffer and Irene. Then he held it up to Jasper.
Irene swallowed nervously and looked directly at him. He should feel sorry for her, but he didn't. He couldn't. He sensed a selfishness in her way of being in love. It sounded as if she were talking about other people, but in fact, she was talking about herself.
"She knew very well how I felt about him, and that's why she never talked about him to me after they started seeing each other. But, suddenly, one day he was gone. Anna was totally crushed, I could see that. Now I can better understand why. Of course, she knew she was pregnant."
She bit her lip. "Maybe she told him about it, and he just took off." She didn't look unhappy at the thought.
"Now you're guessing. Let's stick to the facts here. You weren't angry with Anna because she was pregnant with a man you loved?"
"But I didn't know it, did I?" she snarled.
"You have no knowledge about anyone involved with Anna's murder?"
"No," she spat. "And now I want to go home."
"Take it easy. We're only talking."
Trokic tipped his chair back and tried to digest what the woman had said.
She took a sip of the water in front of her.
Trokic's phone rang. He almost ignored it, but he decided to check who was calling. Agersund. "Yes?"
"What the hell have you been doing all afternoon?"
"We're right in the middle of an interrogation—"
An interrogation that was over, he realized, from the tone of Agersund's voice. "They're busy out at the pond. You'd better get out there, the sooner the better."
Trokic raised his eyebrows. "Murder weapon?"
"Still looking. But we found Christoffer Holm, and he doesn't look one damn bit good.”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
On a late autumn day a few years earlier, Trokic had seen a body washed up on a beach. He'd been dead three weeks. Two kids from a free school had found him. Trokic had never been able to rid himself of the image.
But this was worse than that, worse than anything he'd ever seen. The forest loomed over them, darkness was about to fall. Trokic studied the gruesome sight.
The body of the blond man had been handled very carefully to avoid damage. His brown skin had loosened over most of his body; only the once-white shirt and jeans seemed to hold it in place. Most of his hair, nose, and eyelids were gone, also the lower part of his face from his lips to his chin, revealing his white, wide jawbones. His marble-like row of teeth was bared at Trokic. A leg was covered with sludge and duckweed, and the pond's small insects had burrowed in a few places.
The area around the pond was a scene, like an operation room set up in the fading day, lit by intense spotlights. The sweet odor spread and Trokic instinctively held his breath while stepping around to keep out of the techs' way. The absolute worst stench in the world came from rotting human beings. For example, a body quickly transferred its odor to the upholstery of a car seat, after which the car was worth a match and a few cans of gas.
Forensic Pathologist Torben Bach had been called in once again to investigate. He spoke quietly into his dictaphone.
"Are you sure it's Christoffer Holm?" Trokic asked one of the techs.
"His driver's license was in an inside pocket. It's the only ID we've found so far. Maybe something more will show up. I'm guessing he wasn't anywhere else since he got back from Montréal. Doesn't look like he's been in there less than eight weeks. He was hidden over in the southwest corner. It's really not so deep, only about three or four meters. Jesus, he stinks! Incredible."
"Why didn't we spot him earlier? Don't bodies rise up to the surface?"
"Yeah, he probably drifted up to the surface after a week or so, when the decomposition process was at its peak. It's the gases that cause bodies to rise in water. But this guy sank to the bottom again when the air leaked out of the balloon, so to speak."
Trokic shivered at the thought of the diver who found the body. The thought of touching it, perhaps even his face brushing against something so nauseating in the muddy water.
"A little like one of the old bog people," the tech said.
"Maybe."
The historic area and the symbolism didn't interest him; he was convinced this was a more ordinary murder. Christoffer Holm had most likely been killed on the way home after several days in Montréal. And almost eight weeks later, the mother of his unborn child met the same fate. He wanted to bring in everyone who had worked with the researcher. Plus neighbors, friends, former lovers. He wanted to know the man's financial transactions, business connections, legal situation. There could be other people rejected in his past. People would kill for a gram of heroin or because of an offensive remark, but this was different, this was something evil, a crime committed by someone seriously screwed up.
He called Lisa. She already knew and was about to try to comfort the victim's sister, who was in deep shock.
"I want you and Jacob to investigate his professional life. His projects, the reviews of The Chemical Zone, his standing in neurochemistry, everything you can find about him, nationally and internationally."
"We'll get right on it," Lisa said.
Trokic was sweating, even though it was cool in that isolated part of the forest. He could stand a glass of fine red wine. His facial muscles were starting to twitch, a sign of overexertion. After a final glance at the decomposed remains of Christoffer Holm, he turned and left.
Jasper walked in to deliver the latest witness statements. "Can we do this while we drink a cup of coffee?" Trokic sighed and rubbed his eyes. "I'd like your opinion on something."
"Here or somewhere else?"
"How about my place? I'll drive you home later, or you can sleep on the sofa. I just need to run some reports over to Lisa…let's say in an hour, okay?"
"No problem."
Jasper had no family responsibilities. In fact, Trokic doubted he'd ever had a girlfriend. And really, it was less complicated that way.
Chapter Thirty
Lisa wrestled her apartment building's front door open with one arm while practically dragging a much too heavy grocery sack from Netto. She wanted to cook a decent meal, Mexican, and have a serious talk with her niece before getting back to her work. Her bag was filled to the brim with papers, and the strap bit into her shoulder muscles as she lumbered up the stairs. The events of that afternoon had tied her stomach into knots. She hadn't seen Christoffer Holm's body, but the description had been vivid enough to etch the sight in her mind.
A few steps past the second floor, the handle of the plastic sack ripped off. The small cardboard tray of cherry tomatoes placed strategically on top fell out and trickled down the stairs like miniature red balls. A bottle of balsamic vinegar followed them.
"Freaking sack!"
She set the sack and her bag down and gathered all the small runaways while breathing in the fumes of red wine vinegar. The front door below slammed shut. Nanna! She could use an extra hand with the meal; otherwise, they'd be eating awfully late.
It wasn't her niece. The startled face of her new partner appeared, and he hooted when he saw her in the middle of all the chaos. "On a scale of one to ten, how popular will I be if I help pick all this up?"
"You'll earn a few points, no doubt about that. Especially if you carry the bags up, too. And lose the grin on your face."
She smiled at him and handed him a sack.
"I stopped by to invite you out to eat."
"I can't this evening. My niece is coming in a bit, and I promised Trokic I'd do some reading on Christoffer Holm's professional life."
She gave him a disappointed look, then she said, "But you could stay and eat, and help with the reading if you like?"
"I won't be butting in?"
"Absolutely not."
"What's on the menu?"
"Mexican."
"I'm in. I'll make the gravy."
"Gravy? There's no gravy in Mexican!"
"Yeah, I know."
They laughed as they climbed the last few steps.
"It's a bit of a mess in here," she said.
That was the understatement of the year. Bombay during tourist season would have been a better way to put it. She glanced around in embarrassment at the ravaged landscape of case files, overflowing ashtrays and orange peels on the coffee table, the stacks of glasses and plates and a half-empty bottle of wine in the kitchen. Topped off by Flossy screaming: "Fuuuuck—good you're home!"
"Whoa!" Jacob said. "The bird talks."
He looked around at the room. "You have been one busy cop, haven't you?"
"You could say that," Lisa mumbled.
They set the sacks down. She glanced at him to see how he was taking all this, but he was already focused on the contents of the sacks.
"This looks great. Give me a few minutes, I'll run down for a few bottles of wine."
"You don't need to do that."
"Of course I do."
She watched him every step of the way until he was out the door, then she turned to her apartmental anarchy. How quickly could she pick up?
Chapter Thirty-One
"Did anyone take care of Elise Holm?" Trokic asked. An hour had passed; they'd made Nescafe and scrounged up a bag of peanuts and a Swiss roll out in the cupboard. TV2 late news droned in the background. Tomorrow, they'd be doing a segment on the researcher and his girlfriend, but apparently, they hadn't heard about Holm's body in time for this broadcast. Which pleased him.
"Lisa found a friend," Jasper said. "Elise's parents are dead. Am I seeing things, or is that a plant over there? A real living plant, Daniel! So how long has it survived the drought in this hostile environment?"
"My neighbor gave it to me a few weeks ago; I took care of her guinea pig while she was on vacation."
Jasper always had a comment ready about his house. In his opinion, the dark gray walls were "sinister," even though Trokic had pointed out it was a greenish-gray. His eternally empty refrigerator was also "sinister," also the fact that Pjuske would never talk to him.
Trokic thumbed through the witness statements to find Irene's. "What do you think about Anna's friend's reaction to all this?"
"I think it shocked her."
"I'm not so sure."
"Doesn't seem like an act to me," Jasper said. "So, you don't have anything with a higher alcohol content than coffee?"
"Wine?"
"That would qualify."
Trokic went out to the kitchen for two glasses and a bottle off the wine rack.
"She seemed more on edge when we saw her a few days ago," Jasper said.
Trokic poured two glasses of wine and drank most of his in one gulp. His favorite wine. A Chilean Cabernet Sauvignon. Inexpensive, but as smooth on the palate as a marshmallow.
"It doesn't look good that she had such close relationships to both of them. She could be involved."
Trokic leafed through the papers. He would go through all of it again more carefully tomorrow.
When he finally glanced up, the young assistant detective had fallen asleep on the sofa. Trokic sighed and emptied the rest of the bottle. No reason to waste Chilean grapes. He was about to doze off when his phone rang a meter away from him.
"Yeah?"
"Bach."
"What's up?"
"We're starting early tomorrow. At seven."
"Okay. I can't say I'm looking forward to it."
He scraped a wad of chewing gum off the coffee table. Jasper was snoring now. He could stand some sleep himself.
"I think it's going to be interesting," the pathologist said. "It looks like he wasn't killed at the pond."
"What do you mean?"
"Something else happened to Christoffer Holm before he landed in the water. That much I can tell you."
"Why do you think that?"
"You'll have to see for yourself. See you tomorrow, Daniel."
Chapter Thirty-Two
Lisa's niece slept curled up in her bed. They had kept her from going to the movies, though she'd tried to talk them into it when she arrived. As they expected she would. But, before long, she was giggling at Jacob's comments and tales from work. Line and Oliver had been forgotten. The evening, including the Mexican food, had been a success. Work awaited them, though, and they each grabbed a stack of papers and sat down on separate sofas. She started reading The Chemical Zone, and Jacob leafed through several articles. A soft female voice sang in the background.
"I don't understand much of this," he said, after an hour of reading. He reached for his wine glass. "This stuff isn't for amateurs."
"This is okay," she said, holding the book up. She'd made a good start on the three-hundred-twenty-page book version of the thesis, a discussion of the pros and cons of antidepressants in layman's terms. At first, she'd battled with the slightly convoluted writing, sorting out the differences in neurotransmitters such as serotonin, noradrenaline, dopamine, glutamate, and a new one, nitric oxide, but now she was making progress. Her respect for the young researcher was growing; he seemed to have been very concerned for the mentally ill, but he also recognized the long-term risks for society, the opportunity for abuse. The book had personality, and many cases from the laboratory as well as psychiatric and neurological hospital wards were described. It also contained a statistical section to help give an understanding of the issue.
"Actually, it's strange to think we have these types of people here, in this small of a city. People helping solve one of the greatest mysteries of the human mind. And the nature of happiness."
"But what's the book about?"
"It's a sort of reckoning with the media's distorted picture of biological psychiatry and psychopharmacology, and it tries to put the knowledge we have into a modern perspective. He does a pretty good job. You feel like he wants to discuss what it means to be happy."
Jacob stretche
d his legs under the coffee table. He looked comfortable. "Happiness is freeing yourself from the world's eyes and giving up the hunt for material goods."
He let that hang in the air for a moment. "What's that music we're listening to? I'm glad you don't share our mutual colleague's sick musical taste."
"It's an EP by Aztrid, a band I heard in town one night. A demo. Nanna found it for me. I like it a lot."
"Me too. Unusual voices."
She put the book down. "It would be nice to know if any of this is relevant to the case, or if we're just stuffing our brains with all this knowledge."
"What do you think?" he asked.
"He was at the top of his field, looks like. There's always someone wanting to take people like that down. It brings out the worst in us."
"You might have something there. I'd better get home. If you can call that lousy hotel room a home."
She followed him to the door and turned on the hallway light.
"Okay, get a good night's sleep," he said.
She nodded. "You too."
He waved goodbye and closed the door behind him. She permitted herself a sly smile.
It was one-thirty in the morning when she finally settled in on the sofa. She could sleep five and a half hours before getting up and sending her niece off to school.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Thursday, September 25
As always, Bach sounded neutral and sober when he began describing his observations at the autopsy. They were all there again, several of them holding up handkerchiefs to avoid the sickeningly sweet odor of the corpse on the table. Lisa stood at one end, frowning, pensive, but apparently not even this could throw her off. And it was bad.
"The dental records are arriving this afternoon. The medical authorities found his dentist, and the forensic odontologist will have a look at it later. The body fits the description of Christoffer Holm. Late thirties, one hundred eighty-five centimeters tall, medium-blond hair. There are no special identifying marks or objects, no rings, tattoos, old broken bones, nothing except an older scar in the groin area. The condition of the corpse corresponds to what could be expected after being submerged underwater for eight weeks, in a state of advanced decomposition and partially skeletonized."
