Dark September

by Inger Wolf

He sipped at his wine without taking his eyes off her. "But don't you still work on these cases?"

  She smiled sarcastically. "Yeah, I'm a big expert with a lot of experience—because I did it for so long. We all went through a lot of long, expensive courses and training. Computer forensic courses in the States a few times. I had to threaten to quit to get this job. Agersund knows I'm sick of those cases, and he's smart enough not to push me too far. I only spend about ten percent of my time on them."

  "Enough of that. I've got something else for you to think about, a line from a film…"

  "What is it?"

  "Nine million terrorists in the world and I gotta kill one with feet smaller than my sister."

  "Not you, too!"

  "Of course, it's entirely possible you don't know the film."

  "I know it, I just need a little time to jog my memory."

  While they ate lamb chops and a great chocolate mousse, he told stories about his two teenage nephews and their escapades. She couldn't stop laughing. He also talked about his first year as a police officer, then about his stint on the Emergency Response Unit and the lasting friendship with a colleague there.

  "Have you been back to Croatia after the war?" she said.

  "Yeah, I was down there last year, matter of fact. I drove around several weeks. Saw all the places I didn't manage to see before."

  "How was it?"

  "Strange. I remembered it as almost a black-and-white urban landscape, with the last signs of communism hanging in the clouds of smog. Now the streets are full of new expensive cars, the streetcars are full of ads for cell phones. Lots of places they rebuilt incredibly fast after all the destruction from the war. Like they wanted to erase all the memories."

  "That sounds natural, don't you think?"

  "Definitely," Jacob said. "But it feels weird when you talk to them about it. It's like there's a hole, or a short-circuit or something in their memories when it comes to their role in what happened. They were absolutely ruthless when they retook their territories during Operation Storm in 1995. I saw Croatian soldiers mow down Serbian civilians running away, saw them burn their houses down. That's why they won't hand over anyone to Haag. In their eyes, there are no war criminals. Only heroes. They were only taking something back they believed was theirs."

  "But that was the military's doing; surely other Croatians can't be judged for it."

  "No, but anyway they allowed it to happen. First, you stop talking to the local flower shop owner like you always used to because he has a different background. Because hostility has gained a foothold through the media over the years. And then war psychology takes over, suddenly one day the flower shop owner is the bad guy, according to propaganda. You snitch on your neighbor. Too many people have too much on their consciences to want to talk about back then."

  "It sounds like you don't particularly like them."

  Jacob pushed his plate aside and rested his elbows on the table. "On the contrary. It's a beautiful country. I don't believe they were any different from others back then, or that they're worse than other Europeans."

  "How does Trokic feel about it?" Lisa said.

  "That's not something people talk to him about. It's too touchy because of what happened to his family."

  "I won't, definitely not."

  They sat in silence for a few moments. "It was Bruce Willis," she finally said.

  "What?"

  "Die Hard I. The film dialogue."

  Jacob smiled. "Aha. So, you win the prize—a decent beer. Let's head over to Waxies."

  They left money on the table and stepped out into the cool evening. "I've never been there," she said.

  "You're kidding! I've been here less than a week, and I'm the one who has to show you all the good places?"

  "Well, take me then," Lisa said.

  He laughed. "Take you to Waxies, or just take you?"

  She felt herself blushing for the first time in years, and she swung at him, but she couldn't stop the smile from spreading across her face. Quickly, he grabbed her hand, then her arm, then her neck and her mouth. He touched her hair and played with it lovingly.

  "I don't think we're going to Waxies."

  She woke up late that night. Confused. Her throat was dry, and she instinctively reached for the glass of water on the table beside her bed. Jacob lay spread out, only halfway under the comforter. She felt a stab in her groin at the sight of his naked body, at the thought of him. So absolutely perfect, his angular body against the sheet. He had taken her, all right. Kissed her everywhere. A long time. Woke her up with his tongue, touched her like no one had in years. And she had given herself up until her intense longing faded. She felt at peace.

  She drank half the water and laid back down beside the sleeping man. The faint odor of his aftershave was wonderful. She slipped her hand down his hips and gently pressed the right places until he made small sounds of pleasure in his sleep. He reached for her.

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  Saturday, September 27

  The head doctor was watering flowers when Lisa entered his office.

  "Passion flowers," he said.

  "They're very beautiful."

  "They were my wife's favorite plant. She always had a few of them around. Have a seat."

  Lisa smiled politely, and she and Jacob pulled chairs over to the desk. "We're sorry to bother you on a Saturday, but we received certain information yesterday, and we have a few more questions."

  "Nothing to apologize about. I'm here anyway."

  Lisa hesitated. As usual, she wasn't sure how much she should reveal about their investigation.

  "We have reason to believe that some of Christoffer's final research was very valuable," Jacob said. "Also, a report was apparently stolen from his sister's home. We need to know who has detailed knowledge of his research area."

  Albrecht gasped. "If that's true, it's disastrous. If you had any idea of how much money we've spent on this research. The rats alone…see, we import them from the States. Rats that have already been stressed out sufficiently, to save us time. But these types of research results are difficult to understand. And someone would have to repeat the experiments described."

  He rubbed his forehead. "But that would probably just be a formality. Christoffer was extremely thorough."

  "Does all this somehow have anything to do with Søren Mikkelsen's research? We know he's taken a different direction, but is it possible that—"

  Albrecht shrank back. "Is Søren a suspect? Because I simply can't believe—"

  "No, not really, but we have to eliminate everyone who knew Anna Kiehl and Christoffer Holm." Jacob was being diplomatic, if not strictly truthful.

  "Well, their fields of research are very closely related, of course he is very knowledgeable in the area."

  "But no one here has talked about his research results?"

  "No, not to my knowledge. I have to admit, I'm very surprised if it's true Christoffer made a significant discovery without sharing it with us. Results like that aren't something you're supposed to keep to yourself. But he must have had his reasons."

  Lisa thought about Anna Kiehl as she looked at the pale violet passionflower. Could loving a woman make a man change this way? Yet the researcher had earlier expressed reservations about how biological psychiatry was advancing. At most, the female anthropologist had supported his growing conviction.

  Bo Mikkelsen wasn't just Søren's brother; they were twins. Lisa and Jacob spotted him walking out to a garbage can in front of his house on Stadion Allé, and apart from their haircuts, they were indistinguishable. Lisa got straight to the point.

  "Can you tell us where you were last Saturday?"

  "I already told the police. With my brother."

  "And what were you doing?"

  "Not much. We ate dinner and watched a movie."

  "What time did you arrive?"

  "About six."

  "And no one left the house that evening?"

  "No."

  "Do
you remember the film you saw?"

  Bo looked as if he was trying to remember, then he smiled. "I don't remember the name of the movie. But it was on TV3."

  "Who was in it?"

  He blinked. "It was something with Andy Garcia and Richard Gere."

  "Internal Affairs?"

  "Maybe."

  Jacob squinted and pointed as he said to Lisa, "Back in a sec, I'm going to run over to my car." He sprinted across the street.

  "Do you live here alone?" Lisa continued.

  "No, my girlfriend lives with me."

  "What do you do?"

  "I'm a lawyer. I work for Dahl and Laugesen."

  Jacob returned, panting now. He was carrying a magazine. "I bought this last week. You have to have something to do alone in a hotel room every night." He found the TV listings. "There's no film here with those two actors."

  "Maybe it was another channel," Bo said.

  "None of these channels showed that film. Or any other with those actors."

  "Maybe they changed their program."

  Jacob looked at the previous page. "But they showed Internal Affairs Friday."

  The twin suddenly looked uncomfortable.

  "So, are you still sure it was Saturday you watched TV together?"

  "Yes, definitely. Maybe I watched the film on Friday and got the days mixed up, thought I watched it Saturday."

  Lisa lowered her voice. "This is a homicide case. It's serious. So maybe you should sharpen up that memory of yours and get it right this time."

  He squirmed. "Maybe we saw it on Friday. Now that you tell me what was on."

  Lisa smiled at him triumphantly. "Thank you. That was all we wanted to hear."

  Back in the car, Jacob said, "Let's pick him up. Right now, I can only see one reason for him to lie. He doesn't want us to know what he did that Saturday."

  Chapter Forty-Eight

  The yellow brick house with the black roof wasn't particularly attractive, but Lisa knew this neighborhood was high dollar. The forest and water were attractions. Specifically, the place wasn't all that far from the part of the forest where Anna Kiehl had been found.

  It struck her how devious it would be to disguise the murder as a rape that got out of hand. Placing his semen on the woman was taking a big risk, but it would imply the wrong motive and lead the police astray. The killer probably hadn't counted on them searching the pond.

  The pale creature in the half-open doorway was losing it. His mouth had an aggressive set to it, his muscles underneath the tight, striped shirt were taut, and his hair looked like it had been mashed by a cap.

  "What is this? It can't be legal to bust right into people's homes."

  "Just open the door," Jacob said, a bit annoyed now. "We're investigating two homicides; it wouldn't take much to get a search warrant. We would appreciate your cooperation. We need Christoffer Holm's research reports. Either you can find them for us, or we can look for them ourselves."

  Jacob stepped halfway between Lisa and the young researcher. Finally, Mikkelsen opened the door and stepped aside, looking resigned now.

  "I didn't know someone working in the public sector could live this well," Lisa said, as they walked into the large living room. "How much is this house worth?"

  "Find out yourself."

  "Don't worry, we will," Jacob said.

  "I don't have anything that belonged to Christoffer."

  They entered a room with large windows. Had he just moved in? The heavy black leather furniture looked brand new, and unlike hers, the wooden coffee table had no scratches or stains from wine or coffee. It seemed more like a display room, unlived in. The walls were bare, except for one narrow side wall, where a single piece of needlework stuck out as the only personal touch in sight. They searched systematically, looking into cupboards, shelves, and rooms, while two officers kept their eye on Mikkelsen out in the kitchen. He'd grabbed a cola from the refrigerator, and he took several quick drinks as he watched them.

  Lisa was halfway done in the office when Jacob yelled out from the other end of the house. A trapdoor in the back hallway stood open.

  His voice sounded hollow. "Come on down…Jesus, you're not gonna believe this."

  Lisa climbed down the ladder and joined him. Even without much knowledge of medicine, it wasn't difficult to figure out what the various bottles and distillation equipment could be used for. It turned out to be simple.

  "No wonder he didn't want to let us in."

  The small basement lab smelled of something acrid. Jacob picked up one of the several small bags on the table. "Gotcha," he mumbled.

  "What?"

  He handed her a small, lilac-colored pill. A small "K" was imprinted on one side. She turned it in her fingers. "K for Kamikaze. I think we've just put a stop to all the bad trips in town. At least until the next new shipment comes in from Holland."

  They met Agersund on the way in.

  "We arrested Søren Mikkelsen for illegal manufacture of narcotics. And we also have reason to believe he's the killer. We didn't find Christoffer Holm's research records, but he's hidden them somewhere, and we'll get it out of him."

  Agersund's expression was inscrutable. "It's not him. I just got an email that points elsewhere."

  Chapter Forty-Nine

  So much for that weekend, Trokic thought, as he arrived at the station. Agersund had called him in earlier that morning. No less than fifty-two officers had been questioning people from near and far with some sort of connection to the murdered couple, and now the case might be coming to a close.

  The whiteboard had been a central focus for the small team leading the investigation. It was completely covered with photos, scribblings, and notes. And now an enormous circle had been drawn around Palle, the sect member.

  "We requested a DNA analysis of Palle on the basis of finding hemlock in his room. It was strange when we found it on her body. Made no sense. But sometimes these analyses are money well spent. They're absolutely certain, the semen found on Anna Kiehl is his."

  Several of those in the room looked relieved.

  "On the surface, it looks cut and dried, a rape that got out of hand. But several things point to him knowing her. First and foremost, the symbol of the Golden Order we found in her calendar. The sect also says he was an emotional wreck when he arrived, because of a woman. It's easy to imagine him being in love with Anna Kiehl. Secondly, someone from the sect called—probably him—claiming to know the killer's identity. And finally, he takes his own life by drinking hemlock."

  "But Anna Kiehl wasn't his first murder," Jasper said.

  "No. I think we can assume that jealousy was a motive for Christoffer Holm's murder. Holm was in Montréal, and he runs into Palle before he gets home. There could be lots of reasons why Christoffer picked him up in his car. On the way home, he or they had an accident. Maybe someone smashed his windshield, or maybe he lost control of the car. Whatever happened, Palle killed him and dumped his body in the pond. A short time later, someone from the sect finds him walking around on the beach, almost in a state of psychosis."

  "Am I the only one who thinks this business with the semen is a little suspicious?" Jasper said.

  Agersund turned to him. "What do you mean?"

  "We found almost no other evidence. Everything was cleaned up, everything around both bodies was almost sterile. Except for the semen we found on Anna. Which is practically the same as using your DNA as a signature."

  "Okay, but where are you going with this?" Trokic said.

  "I don't know, really. I just think it sticks out."

  "Yeah, okay, there are a few loose ends in this case," Agersund said. "But the man was totally deranged. We'll follow up on the—"

  "What about the hand we found, where does that fit in?" Trokic said.

  Lately, he'd felt the male hand was the most intriguing part of the case. He'd searched cases from the past few years, though he couldn't say precisely what he was looking for. No one had reported any grave robberies or desecra
tions, and no one knew where it came from. A sample had been sent for a DNA analysis, but the results weren't in yet.

  "We simply can't spend any more time or resources on this, Daniel. Palle must have had a weird sense of humor, he placed the hand in the apartment that evening before killing himself. He was mentally ill to some extent, and we may never find out where he dug the hand up or why. These types of people have their own agendas."

  Everyone had left the room except Jasper and Trokic, and they felt they could breathe again. The young detective picked out small blocks of licorice from a bag of candy. "I don't buy it, do you?"

  "It's really strange, anyway. I'm going to look for the owner of that hand. To hell with that resource business; I've got to know where it fits in all this. Go home for the weekend, at least what's left of it."

  Agersund stepped in the doorway. "A Tony Hansen wants to talk to us."

  "What?" Trokic said. Hadn't they eliminated him?

  "Okay, okay, I'll see if Lisa has time."

  Chapter Fifty

  The apartment was as cluttered as the last time they'd talked to Hansen. It was late morning, and Lisa and Jacob sat very close to each other on the stained black sofa. Almost illegally close.

  "So, what is it you want to tell us?"

  They waited as he struggled to roll a cigarette, spreading the tobacco unevenly. He lit it, but there was too much paper on the tip, they could all smell it. He was nervous.

  "We know you lied to us," Lisa said. "And wasted our time."

  She was sick and tired of the lies, and the reasons for them. Such as Søren Mikkelsen wanting to hide the fact he'd been dealing drugs the evening Anna Kiehl was killed.

  "I didn't hurt her."

  "No, we know that. But you lied to us about something. The clerk at the gas station remembered you, and so did their surveillance camera. You did your shopping close to where you watched the soccer match. What did you do the other twenty minutes?"