by Chris Ould
“No, I don’t think so,” Hentze said. “I think it’s too soon.”
“Okay then,” Friis said, apparently satisfied. “Then I’ll get a status report from the technical team. Do you want to look at the site?”
“No, I don’t think that’s necessary,” Hentze said. “Maybe later.”
With a nod Friis went to the door and when it closed behind him I stood up again. “Coffee?” I asked Hentze.
“Yeh, takk.”
I went along to the kitchenette area at the end of the Portakabin and set the kettle to boil. When I turned back Hentze was checking his phone.
“So, what didn’t you tell him?” I asked.
“Was it so obvious?”
“I don’t think so to Friis, but he doesn’t know you.”
Hentze made a dry “huh” and put his phone away. “What I didn’t say is that I think the man you called Mickey could be someone named Mikkjal Tausen. He was Boas Justesen’s cousin, he visited the Colony commune and he lived for some time in Denmark during the seventies. He also came back to the Faroes about three weeks ago, just after Justesen had made contact with him for the first time in many years.”
“So you think he fits the criteria for a suspect,” I said.
“Yeh. It seems possible to me that he could have been Justesen’s accomplice in killing Astrid and Else at Múli, and if he was then he also had a motive to kill Justesen last week. If Tausen was also here at Vesborggård House in 1976 then, as you say, he could have killed these other girls, too.”
“Do you know where he is now?” I asked. “Could he be questioned?”
Hentze shook his head. “Unfortunately not. It’s possible he left the islands yesterday on the Norröna.”
That made me frown. The Norröna wasn’t the obvious choice for a quick getaway if that’s what Tausen was trying to make.
“Does he know he’s a suspect?” I asked.
“No, I don’t see how he would think so. But of course, if he is guilty he may not have needed to know. He could have decided to leave to be on the safe side, just in case we came looking for him.”
Behind me the kettle came to a noisy boil and clicked off. I made coffees, both black, then handed one mug to Hentze.
“I don’t want to throw a spanner in the works,” I said. “But if Mickey is your man Mikkjal Tausen then I think there’s a problem with your theory. Thea Rask told me that Mickey was Lýdia’s friend, and from some of what she said I think he might even have helped Lýdia to get Thea away from here after she was raped.”
“But you don’t know this for sure?”
“No. Thea was drugged before the attack. She doesn’t remember it or what happened immediately afterwards.”
That made Hentze thoughtful. “You said the treatment given here at the house involved drugs as well?”
“Yeah. The clinic was run by a company called Juhl Pharmaceuticals. From what Thea told me it sounds as if they were using some sort of drug therapy to try and modify antisocial behaviour. Why?”
“Because Mikkjal Tausen is a chemist,” he said flatly. Then his phone rang and he looked at the screen. “Remi,” he said.
* * *
“Mikkjal Tausen is on the Norröna,” Remi said. He was at his desk with a passenger list in front of him, although it wasn’t really necessary. “He’s travelling with a woman named Sigrun Ludvig. According to the Smyril Line, Tausen booked a suite on board yesterday lunchtime. He told the booking agent it was a last-minute surprise for his girlfriend, which could be true: there were seats available on the flights to Bergen and Copenhagen yesterday, so if he’d wanted to get away in a hurry…”
“Yeh,” Hentze said. “Although it was just before lunch that I went out to see him. Anyway, we can leave that aside for the moment. We know where he is, that’s the main thing.”
“Yes, that’s true,” Remi said. “But I think the most important question here is how strongly we believe he’s a suspect, and for which crimes? Now he’s left the islands we can’t just invite him in for an interview, so we need to decide how to play this.”
There was a pause while Hentze thought about that, but finally he said, “To prove Mikkjal Tausen was involved in the killing of Astrid and Else we still need more information about his movements in 1974. However, I also have some new information which suggests that Tausen could have been involved in a sexual assault at a place called Vesborggård House in 1976, and possibly even a death here.”
“Another death?” Remi asked, unable to keep a note of slight dismay out of his voice.
“Possibly, yes,” Hentze said. “The body has only just been found.”
“By the Danish police?”
“Yes. They’re here now.”
There was a knock on Remi’s door and Annika came in with a notebook in hand.
“Hold on, Annika’s here. I’ll switch to the speaker,” Remi said as Annika came to the desk. “Can you hear me?”
“Yeh, that’s fine,” Hentze said.
Annika leaned in a little. “Hjalti, you know I said I’d check to see if Sigrun Ludvig’s car had used the Leirvík tunnel? Well it hadn’t, but then I remembered Tausen’s Suzuki was a rental so I checked with the agency to see how long he’d had it. It turns out he didn’t get it from them until last Thursday, the 26th: the day after Boas died. So I rang round all the other agencies and found out that he’d been using a Skoda from Avis before that, and the Skoda had been through the Leirvík tunnel on the evening of the 25th. It went north at 19:17 and came back at 21:56. Allowing half an hour to get from the tunnel to Múli and the same to come back, that leaves nearly two hours when Tausen could have been at the house with Boas.”
There was a moment of silence while they all processed that, but Remi was keen to move on.
“Hjalti, listen,” he said. “The way I see it now, if we know that Tausen lied about his whereabouts on the night Justesen died we don’t need anything more. It makes him a suspect for Justesen’s murder, plain and simple. Anything else – any connection to the deaths of Astrid and Else – can be dealt with around that. So, leaving aside any additional crimes and just thinking about the death of Boas Justesen, what’s your opinion? Bottom line: do we have enough to treat Tausen as a prime suspect for his murder?”
“In my opinion, yes,” Hentze said. “At the very least I think we need to conduct a formal interview and press him for answers.”
“Fine,” Remi said. “So in that case how do we tackle it? If he’s actively trying to get away from us I’m concerned about the possible danger to his girlfriend. She may or may not be an accomplice.”
“We could ask the captain of the Norröna to have Tausen detained,” Annika suggested.
Remi made a moue. “Even if the captain was willing to do it I’m not sure where that would put us legally,” he said. “Hjalti, what do you think?”
“No, I don’t think that’s necessary,” Hentze said. “If Tausen believed we were actively suspicious of him I think he’d have left more quickly, on a plane. My guess is that he’s simply trying to put as much distance between himself and the Faroes as he can, just in case. If that’s so then he has no reason to do anything that might draw adverse attention to himself.”
“So we leave him until they reach Hirtshals?”
“I think so. Unless he jumps off the ship there’s nowhere he can go.”
“Right,” Remi said then, decided. “Can you be there to detain him when the ship docks tomorrow or shall I ask the Danes to do it?”
“No, I can be there. Given that he knows me I think that would be best anyway, but I’m pretty sure I’ll have to arrest him when he realises what it’s about.”
“No doubt,” Remi said. “So we need to decide how to play it once he has been detained. If you interview him there we’ll have more time for questioning, but will the Danes try and push in because of this other case? How far have they got?”
“Not very far yet. I think any evidence against Tausen would be coming from us at t
he moment.”
There was a short silence, then Remi made up his mind. “Okay, bring Tausen back,” he said. “If he killed Justesen then that’s the most recent case and as far as I’m concerned it trumps anything anyone else might have at the moment. The arrest clock will be running, but once Tausen’s back here we can ask for an extension if necessary. I don’t think we’ll get any objections, do you?”
“No, probably not,” Hentze said.
“Right. Good. Annika will sort out the transport details and be in touch later.”
“Okay, that’s fine.”
“And, Hjalti, just remember we have enough on our plate without getting embroiled in Danish cases as well.”
“I’ll keep it in mind,” Hentze said. “Speak to you later.”
In his office Remi reached forward and hung up the phone, then turned to Annika.
“Hjalti will need a second officer for the escort, especially if he needs to bring back this woman, Sigrun Ludvig, as well. Will you go?”
Surprised but covering it quickly, Annika nodded. “Sure, of course.”
“Get Oddur to help you sort out the transport, then. If you’re going to be at Hirtshals in time to meet the Norröna you’ll need to catch the last flight tonight.”
* * *
Hentze came out of the Portakabin as I trod out my cigarette. The earlier sunshine had gone and the breeze was cooler now, carrying light flecks of rain. It would be dark in a couple of hours.
“Mikkjal Tausen is on the Norröna,” Hentze said. “It arrives in Hirtshals tomorrow so I’ll meet it in the morning to detain him for questioning.”
“Are you going to question him here or in the Faroes?” I asked.
“At home. It will make things easier, I think.”
I nodded. Possession was nine-tenths of the law. “Are you going to tell Friis?”
“I think he has enough things to think about already, don’t you?” Hentze said. “Of course, if Tausen tells us something in questioning that makes him a suspect here, too…” He made an open-handed gesture. “But for the moment Remi would like us to concentrate on our own most immediate case: Boas Justesen’s murder.”
“You think you’ve got enough to hold Tausen for that?”
“Yeh, I think so – at the least to answer questions and to see if we can find any forensic evidence that he was at the scene of that crime.” He gave me a briefly assessing look. “So, what will you do now?”
I shrugged. “That depends on Friis. He wants a statement, but after that I don’t know. Go back to Copenhagen, I suppose. There’s nothing much else I can do.”
Hentze looked as if he was going to say something, but then he glanced away. Thomas Friis was coming up the path from the lake shore.
“I’ve spoken to the technical team leader,” Friis said as he approached. “Because the weather forecast is poor for tonight and tomorrow they’ll excavate now, as soon as they have lights and equipment. It will probably take several hours so I don’t think there’s any need for you to wait here – unless you want to, of course,” he added as an acknowledgement to Hentze.
Hentze seemed to consider, then shook his head. “No, I don’t think I can do anything useful and I have some things to do for my own case. Perhaps we should agree to speak in the morning and see what we have then.”
“Okay, of course,” Friis said, without any hint that Hentze’s absence would give him one less thing to worry about. They exchanged numbers and then Hentze took his leave, shaking hands before heading to his car.
“Do you know him well?” Friis asked, as if he wanted to establish a context for Hentze, although it was a bit late for that.
“I wouldn’t say well,” I told him. “But I trust him, and he’s a good copper.”
“And a friend?”
“Yeah.”
Whether that altered Friis’s opinion about anything wasn’t clear, but he accepted the fact with a nod. “Well, as I said, I don’t think the remains will be out of the ground for several hours, so unless you object, I’d like you to stay until tomorrow when we’ll know better what we have. I can arrange a hotel for you in Aarhus if that would be okay – at our expense, of course.”
I wondered what he’d do if I did choose to object, but I didn’t. After all, I was the one who’d set this hare running and it felt only right to see where it would finish. At least if I knew that I’d have some idea of the whole.
35
WHEN THE TRAIN ARRIVED IN HUMLEBÆK, TOVE ALIGHTED WITH one other person. It was dark and she summoned a street map on her iPhone, following it closely as she left the redbrick station. The light from the screen illuminated her face within the hood of her coat, which was occasionally tugged by the breeze.
Once away from the main road and on residential streets there was little traffic and no other pedestrians, but Tove would probably not have noticed anyway. She was intent on her destination, walking briskly and with purpose, undistracted by thoughts outside her immediate goal.
The street she was looking for was lined with young trees and the houses were modest but modern and probably comfortable enough, Tove judged. It was the sort of place someone might downsize to in retirement if they were looking for easier and convenient living: Old People Land, she decided, and now that it was categorised she took no further interest, except in the house numbers.
Lene Sønderby’s house was the third from the end of the row, the windows on the ground floor lit behind vertical blinds. A Japanese hatchback was parked in the bay directly outside it and the small garden was carefully tended.
Tove followed the path to the door where she rang the bell and then pushed her hood back, remembering that older people in particular could be wary of strangers after dark.
A few moments later she heard movement inside and then a voice. “Who is it?”
“Are you Lene Sønderby?” Tove asked.
“Yes. Who is that?”
“My name is Tove Hald. I would like to speak to you about your husband, Dr Carl Sønderby.”
After a moment the door opened, but only as far as the chain on the inside would allow. In the gap a woman’s face looked out. She was in her seventies Tove assessed, using her memory of her grandmother’s appearance as a guide.
“My husband passed away,” Lene Sønderby said.
“Yes, I know that,” Tove said. “However, I have some questions about his work at Vesborggård House near Skanderborg.”
“Vesborggård?” Lene Sønderby frowned suspiciously. “Who are you? Where are you from?”
“My name is Tove Hald,” Tove repeated. “I am a student at Copenhagen University and I am conducting research into Vesborggård House and the Juhl Pharmaceutical company.”
This additional information seemed to give Lene Sønderby a moment’s hesitation. “How did you get my address?” she asked.
“From Silas Thygesen at the university. I believe you spoke to him some time ago.”
Again Lene Sønderby appeared to weigh up this information and then – albeit reluctantly – make up her mind. “All right. Wait a moment.”
The door closed while Fru Sønderby took off the chain, then reopened it wider. In the light Tove saw that she was rather formally dressed in a neat jacket, frilled blouse and a skirt. She also wore face powder and lipstick that had been applied some time ago and not renewed.
“You can come in,” she allowed. “But for five minutes only. This isn’t convenient. I have to go out very soon.”
“Thank you,” Tove said, stepping inside. “I don’t think it will take very long. I have only a few questions.”
Fru Sønderby led the way along the hall to a neat sitting room with a single high-backed armchair facing the TV and a two-seater sofa with precisely arranged cushions. The room was very warm, and Tove immediately took off her coat.
“I can only give you five minutes,” Lene Sønderby said again, clearly interpreting Tove’s disrobing as a sign that she intended being there for longer.
“Yes, you
said that.” Tove sat down on the edge of the sofa, set an app on her phone to record, then switched the screen to her list of questions. “Your husband was Dr Carl Johan Sønderby, is that correct?”
“Yes, that’s correct.”
Like a good hostess, Lene Sønderby hadn’t sat down yet, but given that this rude girl seemed to have no concept of etiquette she now lowered herself on to the armchair.
“Can you tell me the dates he worked at Vesborggård House?”
Lene Sønderby frowned a little, thinking back. “It was from 1971 until 1977. Six years.”
“And what was his position there?”
“He was a psychiatrist; the medical director.”
“So he was responsible for the treatments of the inmates?”
The last word made Lene Sønderby bridle a little. “It wasn’t a prison. It was a clinic, for the treatment and rehabilitation of young people.”
For a second Tove was on the point of saying that the word “inmate” was valid in either case, but decided it would be an unnecessary distraction. “Can you tell me what sort of treatments were used?” she asked instead.
“No, I don’t know,” Lene Sønderby said. “Carl didn’t talk about his work.”
“Never?” Tove queried.
“No, not in detail.”
“But you do know that he published two papers on experimental drug treatments for behavioural modification while he worked at Vesborggård House.”
“Yes, yes, I knew that,” Fru Sønderby allowed. “But as I said, I didn’t know the details of the work. I’ve told people before. All I know is that they tried to help people: that was their job.”
“Which people did you tell before?” Tove asked, looking up from her phone.
Lene Sønderby shook her head, as if she resented the topic. “I don’t remember their names. People from a lawyer’s office. They said they were representing patients who had been mistreated at the clinic but I told them the same thing I told you: Carl only tried to do good. He would never have mistreated anyone. He was a good man, a good doctor.”
