by Inger Wolf
After several seconds of silence, he breathed out cigarette smoke and said, "I followed her."
Lisa nodded. "I thought so. But did you follow her into the forest?"
"She walked by in her running clothes just as I came out of my brother's apartment. I wasn't going to do anything to her. Just wanted to look. I admit it, I'd been drinking, I was a little…my brother kept saying I had to tell you. That's why I called." His eyes were swimming. "She looked really good."
"How far did you follow her?"
"She went down behind the apartments, down along the fence by the field."
"Was she running?" Jacob said.
"No, just walking. I followed her."
"Did she spot you?"
"No, she didn't even look back, it was like she was walking somewhere. So confident." He paused again, a look of fascination on his face. "I like that kind of woman."
"Okay, and then?"
"Then we reached the forest. It was getting dark, but you could still see. She turned off on a trail."
"Did she start running then?" Jacob said.
"No, she just kept walking. A running partner was standing by a small bridge a little further down the path, waiting for her."
"Running partner? What do you mean, did she meet someone?"
"I don't know for sure. That's how it looked to me. The person was waiting there, they raised a hand and said hi to her. That's when I turned around. Probably fifteen minutes passed by the time I got back. Then I went and got the cream."
He raised his head and looked Lisa right between the eyes. "I just wanted to look at her. Not do anything to her. Maybe talk to her."
"Right, uh-huh," Jacob said. "Would you recognize the man she met?"
"It wasn't a man."
Jacob leaned forward and frowned. "You're absolutely sure? It couldn't have been a small man?"
"No, it was a woman. Absolutely sure. She was really thin. Had a ponytail, down to here." He held his hand at his shoulder.
"What color?"
"Her hair? I couldn't see good enough, but it was light."
"Not red?"
"No, no way. Are you going to charge me for DUI?"
Lisa shook her head slowly, deep in thought now. The group of runners. There were three women; one of them was dead and another had red hair.
"Trokic was the one who questioned the sociologist," Lisa said. "The third woman in the group."
Jacob grabbed his phone and punched his number. He let it ring eight times. "That idiotic answering service again."
"We both read the report," Lisa said. They were back inside the car now. "It could be her, the one Tony saw. She didn't mention anything about meeting Anna, and why not? It's suspicious. Maybe she's involved in some way with Palle. We're going to have to check this, just have to keep our heads down. Should we look her up and talk to her?"
Jacob fastened his seat belt and backed the car out. "No, let's wait to hear what Trokic has to say. I'm a little bit worried, not being able to get hold of him, I'm thinking about that blow to his head."
"Maybe he just needs a little time to himself. Meanwhile, we can take a look at the sociologist's past."
Chapter Fifty-One
"A single mother lives there now, Benedikta's her name. She rents it from an old lady," the man said. He stuck his nose in the air as if he were sniffing for something. "She has a cat, long-haired. I give it shrimp and caviar."
The man was short, around five-three, and slightly hunchbacked. There were crumbs on his knitted sweater, and his large ears were filthy.
"But you remember the family who lived there twenty years ago?" Lisa said, pointing to the house on the other side of the hedge. Isa Nielsen was an uncommon name, and it had been easy to track down the address on Siriusvej.
The man spoke slowly. "It's because I dreamed that cats are going to take over the world. Yeah, I remember them all right. He was in the military. I never did like them. Those career military people. There's something perverted about that."
He focused on a point behind Lisa's neck and sighed as if there were something they didn't understand. "He acted like a big shot, the way he marched up the sidewalk every day. She was nice, very nice. We had a chat over the hedge once in a while. That's before I got sick."
"What did she do?"
"She was a housewife. I guess she polished the buttons on his uniforms. And drank. I could hear her carrying the bottles out to the garage. Makes your skin ugly. Unnatural. But what's natural anymore in this semi-artificial reality we live in? The PVC-fortified prettified landscape. My God, Coca-Cola almost has less acid than the rain, and the—"
"What about the daughter?" Lisa said.
The man shrugged. "A quiet girl. I never saw her play with the other kids on the street. I used to watch her toddle around the yard. As you can see, I've got a good view. There was a time…"
Suddenly, he looked sad, and for a moment Lisa imagined he felt sorry for the girl. But then he said, "One day a blackbird flew into their front window. It just laid there on the porch, dying. The little girl watched it, like…like it fascinated her. Then she buried it in her sandbox."
"And?"
"A week later she dug it up. Plucked the feathers off, carried it around all day. Finally, I saw her throw it into the living room. I mean, I think she did—anyway, her mother screamed bloody murder in there. It must've been full of maggots."
Lisa stared uncomfortably at him and cringed inside her coat. "You don't happen to know where they moved?"
"No. I think the girl might have been put in a foster home when the father disappeared. He drowned, they said. She must've been about thirteen. The mother moved out a few years ago."
"Where to, do you know?"
The man shook his head.
Lisa peered over at the yellow house. It looked quiet. Almost as if no one lived there, or at least hadn't been home for quite a while. Advertisements hung out of the mailbox on the wall, the Venetian blinds in the kitchen window were halfway up. Time had stood still here; it could just as well have been a wet October day in the mid-1980s.
"I might have the address on a piece of paper somewhere," he said. "I don't know why she gave it to me. It's probably in the bureau, but I don't go in that room. I'm afraid of snakes."
"I'm not," Jacob said. "Show me where it is, I'll find it."
"Someday the world is going to end. Then there won't be any more snakes."
Chapter Fifty-Two
When they pulled out on the freeway late that afternoon, Lisa sensed they didn't have much time. That wasn't unusual; they were always working against the clock while following leads that turned cold and faded out. But now she felt it physically, a vacuum in her stomach and chest as they drove south.
It stunk of cabbage and urine out in the hall, and she unconsciously held her breath while Jacob rang the doorbell of the first-floor apartment. A few moments passed; thinking she might not have heard it, he knocked on the door. They heard steps, and a few seconds later a small woman opened the door a crack.
"Police, my name is Jacob Hvid. I'm the one who called earlier." Lisa kept her feet moving on the cold floor.
The woman eyed them. "Where's your uniforms?"
"We're detectives; we don't wear uniforms." He brought out his badge and showed it to her.
"Let me get my glasses, just a second."
Lisa stifled a sigh as she listened to the woman's footsteps fade out and then return. She reached out and pulled his badge close to her eyes, then finally she opened the door.
"There are so many sick people around here, they'll even steal from an old lady." She was still suspicious of them.
"I know. But we're harmless," Jacob said. "We'd just like to ask you a few questions about your daughter."
They followed her into a small, dim living room with brown rugs. The TV was on, a quiz show. The host looked worn out. The living room had no plants, and it smelled like cheroots.
"I don't have a daughter," she said. "Would you like
some coffee?"
"No, thanks, I had plenty at the station today," Jacob said.
"Same here," Lisa said.
"Well then." Her hands shook as she poured herself a cup. Lisa guessed she would have liked to add a shot of schnapps from the bottle hidden under the table. The woman was younger than she'd first thought, probably not over sixty. Her bent back and saggy skin made her look older. It was difficult to imagine what she'd looked like when she was younger.
"You don't have a daughter, you say?" Lisa said.
"I did once. A long time ago."
"What happened to her?"
"She moved away."
"To a foster home?"
"No, she moved out on her own. She didn't want anything to do with me; I never saw her again. She just came home one day, picked up all her stuff, and left. That was right after my husband disappeared."
"How old was she then?"
"Fourteen."
"That's early to move away from home. How could that happen?"
Mary Nielsen hid her face in her hands. For a moment, Lisa thought she was crying, so she spoke softly. "I understand it's hard to talk about this."
"No. There was something wrong with her. I don't know how these things can happen."
"What do you mean, exactly?"
"She was evil. You have to respect your parents, that ought to be natural. My daughter was a nasty person. It's so hard to believe…she killed her own kitten. I went into the bathroom, and she'd smashed it against the floor and crushed its head. It peed in her school bag, she told me. My husband was an officer, he tried all sorts of ways to make a decent person out of her. She was his princess. She was an only child; I couldn't have more."
"We understand that your husband drowned."
"He disappeared August fifth, seventeen years ago. They never found his body or the boat; finally, they declared him dead."
"Was he out sailing alone?"
"Yeah, and he fished a lot. But he was a good sailor. Sometimes he took Isa along, just not that day. Why are you asking all these questions? Is she dead too? Is that why you're here?"
"No, your daughter's in good health."
"I see. But like I told you, I haven't heard from her all these years. And honestly, I don't want to. I'd rather not even know anything about her."
"We'll respect that," Jacob said.
After a few moments of silence, Lisa said, "What did the authorities say about her living alone at the age of fourteen? Didn't they get involved?"
"They'd have had to know about it. So, no. I knew where she lived for several years, the apartment was in my name. I put some money in her account every month until she was eighteen, so she could pay rent and eat. I had my husband's life insurance, I could afford it. Whatever else she did to get by, I have no idea, but she's always found a way. She was like that even when she was little. She never asked. Found out about things herself."
"How did she get along with her father?" Jacob said.
"Like I said, she was a nasty person, but he adored her. He bought dresses for her all the time."
The woman's eyes blurred, and Lisa looked at her watch. It was late, there wasn't much else they could do that evening. Who was this woman, this Isa? A young, popular sociologist? Or the devil her mother made her out to be?
Chapter Fifty-Three
Just as Trokic had hoped, a light was on in the old whitewashed house set back from the street. The neighborhood was exclusive; small round bushes stood like small dwarfs along the sidewalk leading up to the pathologist's house, where he'd lived all the years Trokic had known him. He'd inherited both the house and his profession from his father and grandfather. It was more like a family religion than a matter of acquired knowledge.
"Have a seat," Bach said, after showing him into the large living room. He didn't seem the least bit surprised to see Trokic, though it was almost midnight. A stack of papers on a small table indicated that he'd been busy with a scientific report on ballistics. "What happened to your head?"
"Long story. First, I have some questions."
"I'm assuming you want to talk about the hand? I've only been home a half hour or so. I was going to call early tomorrow morning, but now you're here. Cognac?"
Bach opened a cabinet and brought out two glasses without waiting for an answer.
"I need to know where it comes from," Trokic said.
"It's an unusual specimen."
"Can you say how old it is?"
"Not precisely. It's possible a taxidermist can."
Trokic leaned back in his chair and stretched out his legs. "Okay, what else can you tell me?"
"I checked it for gunshot residue, just on a whim. It tested positive."
Trokic's thoughts swirled. Was there a third body lying somewhere? The area around the two bodies had been searched thoroughly; could it be buried in some hidden place?
The pathologist spoke as if he were reading Trokic's thoughts. "I found several grains of sand under the nails. Not that it necessarily means anything other than whoever the hand belongs to was around sand—"
"A beach," Trokic murmured. "And the residue? Did this person fire a weapon?"
"Definitely. There was enough left to see the pattern."
"A fight, then. There must have been a fight somewhere."
"You can't be sure of that. Lots of people shoot at gun ranges. Or they use guns in their line of work. Like you, for example."
"True enough."
Trokic thought about the forest. The quiet forest. What significance did it hold for the killer? Was it just somewhere off the beaten path? Hardly. Something told him there was a connection. Right in front of his nose.
"You know what?" Bach said. "I just remembered, I know someone who might be able to help us. He's an archaeologist, he wrote his thesis on conservation. He knows all about these things. I'll find his number and send it to you."
"Thanks, that would be great."
They sat for a few moments, letting their cognac warm up. "Have you been back to Croatia lately?" Bach said.
"Not since Spring. I'm spending Christmas down there with my cousin and her husband."
Bach stared at the wall. "Don't know if you knew, but I was down there with several other forensic pathologists, to identify bodies in some of the mass graves?"
Trokic was surprised. "No, I didn't know."
"It was only a few weeks. I felt like it was my duty. I don't know why, really. Maybe because there aren't many of us doing this work, and it means so much to the families left behind."
They chatted a while longer until Trokic realized he was tired. "I have to get some sleep, I'm dead tired. Thanks."
Bach smiled. "Glad to help, you know."
Chapter Fifty-Four
Her eyes stung from the many hours in the dry air and cold light of the office. They needed to go home soon and sleep. Her fingers raced over the silver-gray keyboard; Agersund wanted to read her report about the newest interviews tomorrow, and she was almost finished. The door behind her opened, and she heard the steps of the man she cared about more than she had about anyone for a long, long time.
"Coffee." He set the mug on the desk. "You still haven't gotten hold of Trokic?"
She shook her head. "I can't believe that damn phone of his. Why doesn't he get a new one? We can't sit here working on something this important without him knowing about it. I imagine we'll catch hell for not telling him. We can't stay here all night, either."
"I know. But that father who drowned, I'd like to see the report."
"I'll find it for you while you write. Hopefully, it's in the database, so we don't have to wait until tomorrow for one of the office girls to find a copy."
The room felt cooler when he left, and she kneaded her sore muscles. Moments later, she was a million miles away, and the letters on the screen began to fade out. The phone in Trokic's office rang at ten minutes to midnight. Who would be calling his office this late? She punched eight and took the call herself. "Yes?"
"
I know it's late."
She recognized the deep, assertive voice. Hanishka.
"I don't think Palle took his own life," he said.
Lisa's stomach sank, her muscles tightened, and she more or less knew what he was going to say. That despite everything, Palle was innocent. Just like Søren Mikkelsen. They'd been blind to have focused so much on the semen.
"I think you should stop by early in the morning. He knew who killed Anna Kiehl. And when you read his diary, you might know who did, too."
Chapter Fifty-Five
Sunday, September 28
Lisa woke up and stared at the man asleep beside her. The morning light shone softly on him. It had been a long time since she'd had a man in her bed. She had tumbled around with faceless men in strange beds the past few years, but she'd always left before dawn. That was the safest way to avoid rejection. This man, however, warmed her bed and showered her with his wonderful scent. Had she finally found her man?
He'd located the case about the drowned officer, but her conversation with Hanishka took center stage. They'd gone home together, neither one of them able to sleep. Hyper from the many hours of work. Finally, they'd made out-of-their-minds love.
She turned off the alarm on her clock beside the bed and got up. Jacob mumbled contentedly in his sleep. She thought about making breakfast—sausage, scrambled eggs, thick slices of bacon—but they didn't have time. They'd have to grab something on the way. She let Jacob sleep fifteen minutes longer while she read the report on the disappearance of Isa Nielsen's father.
The lettuce in the sandwich wasn't exactly crisp. The tomatoes were mealy and had soaked the white bread, turning the whole sandwich into a soggy affair. So much for breakfast. Jacob drove as she guided him through the streets to the sect's house. They had tried to call Trokic again, but all they got was his answering service. Again. She could barely sit still at the thought of telling him everything they'd found out. It worried her that he might be driving around alone, which he should not be doing in his weakened condition. Had something happened to him? To top it all off, Agersund had called that morning and wondered aloud if she knew where he was but wasn't telling him, which annoyed her to no end.
