by Chris Ould
* * *
Overnight, Tove had sent me an email with an attached photograph and the title “Vesborggård staff 1973”. It showed thirty-odd people lined up semi-formally in front of the house. God knew where she’d found it, but from the fact that it had been sent at 05:52 that morning I guessed that my attempt to close her down hadn’t been very successful. That concerned me a little because if she kept digging around, there was a good chance she’d eventually run foul of the police investigation into Vesborggård House. By and large, coppers don’t like outsiders dogging their tracks, and they like it even less when they discover they’re playing catch-up to an amateur’s interest.
I couldn’t see a way to deflect Tove any more than I had, though, so rather than risk encouraging her, I didn’t respond to the email. Instead I studied the staff photo for a few moments longer. It didn’t tell me a lot because it predated Lýdia’s time at Vesborggård, and also Thea’s. But thinking of Thea as I surveyed the faces in the picture, I did have another thought: perhaps not a good one given everything else, so I decided to let it lie – at least until I’d fulfilled my obligation at the police station.
Because I was expected I got a proper interview room this time, on the third floor of the building, with coffee and a pleasant enough man called Martin Davidsen, a balding kriminalassistent in his mid-thirties.
“Thomas says you’re a detective inspector with a major incident team in the UK,” Davidsen said, by way of a start. He was recording the interview on a small DAT machine.
“Was,” I acknowledged and admitted in one. “I resigned a few days ago, so technically I’m serving my notice.” It seemed better to get it out of the way so nothing was based on erroneous assumptions. They had their job to do.
“Ah. Okay,” Davidsen said, choosing to leave it at that, at least for the time being. “So, perhaps you can tell me what you know about the human remains found at Vesborggård House yesterday.”
I knew or could make a good guess at what he’d want to know and what would be extraneous detail, and by now I’d had chance to order things into a logical progression. There was no point in cluttering the account with any reference to the Faroes, so I started with the images in the camera Peter had found with Lýdia’s possessions and went from there to Lýdia working at Vesborggård and leaving at the same time that Thea had absconded.
I was pretty sure Thomas Friis would have told Davidsen about my belief that the abuse photographs of Thea had been taken in the building overlooking the lake, but I repeated it for the sake of the record and added that Davidsen could apply to Ben Skinner for the evidence photos if his team needed to do so. Beyond that, the case history of Inge-Lise Hoffmann’s disappearance and any link it might have to Thea’s rape was something Thomas Friis would know better than me, I told Davidsen. That was as much as I knew.
Of course, it wasn’t, but Davidsen was only interested in the direct chain of association that might or might not throw any light on the remains from the lakeside. One crime was enough to be going on with for him. He made a last note when I got to the end, then put his pen to one side.
“Well, I think that’s all the questions I have at the moment,” he said. “I have your phone number, so if there is anything else I can call you. Would that be all right?”
“Sure. If I can help just let me know.”
Now we were finished, Davidsen accompanied me down to the lobby, but before we parted I said, “Just out of interest, do you know any more about the remains now?”
He hesitated briefly, then said, “Not very much yet. Some items – clothes – from the grave seem to have belonged to a female, but they were found in the grave, not on the body, so…”
I nodded. So they confirmed nothing just yet. I took my leave and headed out on to the main road, waiting until I’d turned off on to a quieter street before calling Thea Rask.
39
ANNIKA EMERGED FROM THE TERMINAL AT AALBORG AIRPORT from the first flight of the day out of Kastrup. She had an overnight bag on her shoulder and was pulling Hentze’s case behind her. They had ninety minutes before the Norröna was due in at Hirtshals and, uncharacteristically, Hentze had ignored the no waiting zone at the entrance until Annika emerged. He’d already had to show his warrant card to one security man.
“I’m pretty sure I got all your stuff,” Annika said as Hentze opened the boot and put their bags in.
“Thanks. You know there aren’t many women I’d ask to do that.”
“Oh, by most men’s standards you’re very neat and clean,” Annika said with a grin. “Which is more than I can say for that hotel. It’s awful, especially after midnight.”
“You stayed there?” Hentze asked, surprised.
“Yeh, in your room.” She saw his look. “It was Remi’s idea since you wouldn’t be there and we’d already paid for it. I’m pretty sure they had changed the sheets, but even so…” She pulled a face.
“Yeh, well, it’s all glamour in CID,” Hentze said. “You’ll just have to get used to it.”
Once they’d cleared the airport and found their way to the E39 Hentze checked the time and put his foot down, settling on 105 kph and sticking at that.
“So, have we a schedule?” he asked.
Annika nodded. “I’ve been in touch with the Norröna’s captain. When they dock they’ll delay opening the doors and put out an announcement for Mikkjal Tausen to go to the purser’s office. We go on board, arrest Tausen and escort him off. After that, assuming he doesn’t tell us anything to change our minds, we’re booked on the 13:15 flight from Aalborg to Kastrup, then the 19:45 Atlantic flight to Vágar. There’s a detention cell we can use at Kastrup during the wait and the tickets have been arranged, so all we have to do is show up at the gate.”
“Sounds like you’ve got everything covered,” Hentze said approvingly.
“I hope so.”
He glanced at her as she shifted in her seat a little, adjusting her posture, and saw the Heckler & Koch holstered on the belt of her jeans.
“You brought your pistol?” Hentze said.
“Remi’s orders. He thinks you brought yours.”
“Yeh, well, I might have if I’d known I’d have to arrest someone.”
“You don’t expect Tausen to make trouble though, right?”
Hentze shook his head. “I doubt it, but if he does I’ll be right behind you.”
* * *
They arrived at the Nordsøterminalen with time to spare and were met in the terminal building by two uniformed betjente from the local station. Remi Syderbø had requested the assistance, it transpired. They waited as the Norröna entered the harbour and executed its manoeuvres to come alongside. By then there was rain on the wind and the cold air whistled through the gaps in the covered gangway as it was extended out – twenty metres up – to reach the side of the ship.
Although he thought it unnecessary, Hentze didn’t object when the betjente accompanied him and Annika to the end of the walkway, and in fact the uniforms served a useful purpose, parting a way through the passengers waiting on board until they reached one of the ship’s younger officers.
“Did you locate Herre Tausen?” Hentze asked.
“Yes, he’s in the office,” the younger man said. “We told him there was a problem with the payment for his cabin suite.”
Following the ship’s officer they moved quickly through the passageways until they arrived at a varnished oak door with the sign “Purser” and the purser himself standing beside it. Hentze showed his warrant card. “Herre Tausen’s inside?”
“Yes, and his girlfriend.”
“Okay, thank you,” Hentze said. “You can open the exits now.”
As the purser went off to do so Hentze instructed the two betjente to wait, then opened the office door and went in with Annika.
The office wasn’t very large: enough room for a desk and two armchairs but not much else. The three bags standing just inside the door – two cerise pink, one black – made the space even mo
re cramped.
Hentze’s entrance immediately drew Mikkjal Tausen to his feet from one of the chairs. He was smartly dressed in a blazer and open-necked shirt and he looked surprised and then puzzled in turn.
“Officer Hentze? I don’t understand. What’s going on? Are you…? The purser said there was problem with the payment for the cabin, but…”
“No, that’s not the issue,” Hentze said. “I’ll explain in a minute.” He turned to Sigrun Ludvig who was still seated. “Miss Ludvig, would you mind waiting with the two officers outside, please?”
The office door was still open and Sigrun Ludvig cast a glance in that direction before looking back at Hentze. “I don’t understand. What’s this about?”
“Please, if you would,” Hentze said with a gesture to the door.
Sigrun shifted, but then looked towards her boyfriend for clarity.
“I guess you’d better do as he asks, love,” Tausen said, still giving the impression that he was no wiser than she. “I’m sure this is… that there’s a misunderstanding. Don’t worry. I’ll be there in a few minutes, okay?”
“Okay,” Sigrun said, not entirely convinced. All the same, she rose from her seat and left the office. Hentze closed the door behind her, then turned back to Tausen.
“Do you have your passport with you?” he asked.
“Yes, of course.”
Tausen patted his blazer and produced a green Faroese passport. Hentze gave it a cursory glance, then put it into his own pocket. The action caused Tausen to frown.
“Look, will you tell me what’s going on here?” Tausen said. “There’s obviously been some sort of mistake, so…”
“I’m afraid not,” Hentze said. “And before we go any further I have to tell you that I’m arresting you on suspicion of murder. Please hold up your arms so I can search you.”
Tausen didn’t move, as if dazed by bright light. “Murder? You’ve got to be joking. That’s… You must be mad. Murder of who?”
“Boas Justesen,” Hentze said flatly. “Also Astrid Dam and her daughter, Else, in 1974.”
“No,” Tausen said, shaking his head, although the colour was already leaving his face. “No.”
Hentze stepped forward. “Please hold up your arms.”
Finally, in dumbfounded resignation, Mikkjal Tausen raised his arms and Hentze patted him down, making sure he did a thorough job, although he doubted that Tausen was the sort to carry any kind of offensive weapon. He did not, but Hentze found and removed the phone from his pocket and also his wallet, handing them to Annika, who put them into an evidence bag.
When he’d finished the search, Hentze straightened up. “Thank you,” he said. “Now, hands in front of you, please.”
As Annika stepped forward with handcuffs Tausen took half a step back. “Is that necessary? What do you think I’m going to do?”
“It’s regulations,” Hentze said. “They can be in front to make things easier for you, or behind your back if we think there’s a need. It’s up to you.”
After a moment’s hesitation Tausen reluctantly raised his hands to waist height and Annika put on the cuffs.
“Thank you,” Hentze said. “Please sit down. I’ll be back shortly.”
Outside in the corridor Hentze glanced left and right, then moved towards Sigrun Ludvig who was standing with a worried expression, distractedly fiddling with a ring on her finger. A diamond ring; third finger, left hand, Hentze noted.
“What’s happening?” Sigrun asked as soon as Hentze approached, and then a little more belligerently, “This is ridiculous, to think Mikkjal has somehow avoided paying for the cabin. He has money, you know that, so why would he—”
“I’m afraid it’s not about the cabin,” Hentze said, interrupting. “It’s a more serious matter and now I need a truthful answer from you.”
“About what?”
“Two days ago – Thursday – you told officer Mortensen that you were with Mikkjal during the evening and night of 25 September; the night that Boas Justesen died. Do you remember?”
“Yes. Yes, of course.”
“Was that true? Were you really with Mikkjal that night?”
“What are you— Why are you asking? Why wouldn’t it be true?”
“I don’t know,” Hentze said. “But I’m investigating a very serious incident and I have to tell you that anyone attempting to interfere with that by withholding or providing false information could be treated as an accomplice.”
“An accomplice? An accomplice to what for God’s sake?” Despite her attempt at a no-nonsense attitude, worry now showed in Sigrun Ludvig’s eyes.
“To Boas Justesen’s murder,” Hentze said flatly. “So, please, just tell me the truth: were you or were you not with Mikkjal Tausen on the night Boas died?”
For a moment Sigrun’s face lost all expression. She was still for several seconds, then finally and with seemingly bitter realisation she shook her head. “Not all of it, no.”
“Okay,” Hentze said, measured. “So for how long were you with him, and from when?”
“I— I was supposed to be going earlier – for dinner,” Sigrun said, her voice dull now. “But about six o’clock Mikkjal called me and said he had a lot of business calls to make – to the States. He said it would take a few hours, so could we postpone dinner till the following day. I said— I said we could, or I could come later and… And so I did.”
“How much later?” Hentze asked.
“I don’t know. About eleven, I suppose.”
“So, two days ago, did Mikkjal ask you to lie about when you arrived at his house?”
“No – no, not— He just said he thought the police were looking into Boas’s death as if it was suspicious. He didn’t believe it, he told me, but they kept asking questions and he said it was just like Boas to still cause him problems even though he was dead.”
“So why didn’t you tell us the truth about this,” Hentze asked. “Did you suspect Mikkjal of something?”
“No! No, of course not. He wouldn’t— I know he wouldn’t do something like that.”
“Then what was it?”
Sigrun shook her head, as if she already knew that the reason would be too complex for anyone else to understand. “It was because— Because I just thought… I thought it wasn’t fair. This was my chance for the future: to have something more.” She broke off and lowered her head quickly. “He— He just asked me to marry him,” she said, her voice choked by the disintegration of hope. “We were going to go to the States.”
She was crying, Hentze realised. “I’m sorry,” he said for want of anything better.
Sigrun searched for a tissue then dabbed her eyes, still not looking at him. “What do I do now?” she asked. “Am I… What will you do?”
“For the moment, nothing,” Hentze said. “When you return home you’ll need to come to the police station on Yviri við Strond to give a statement, but for the time being you’re free to go.”
Sigrun seemed to find no consolation in this. “But what about Mikkjal?” she said. “What’s going to happen to him?”
“In a few minutes we’ll be taking him to the airport and then back to Tórshavn,” Hentze said. “So you might want to wait here until we leave before collecting your bags.”
Sigrun Ludvig turned away so Hentze left it at that. He went back to the purser’s office and as he closed the door behind him Tausen shifted in his seat.
“What’s happening? Where’s Sigi? Is she under arrest, too?”
“No, she’s not under arrest,” Hentze told him. “But I’m afraid she’ll have to make her own way from here.”
For a moment Tausen seemed to assess that, then he said, “Okay, listen, I want to speak to a lawyer. If I’m under arrest, that’s my right.” His tone was businesslike now, as if he’d made up his mind.
“Yes, it is,” Hentze agreed. “And as soon as we get back to Tórshavn I can arrange that. In the meantime—”
“No, not in the meantime: now,” Tausen
said. He rose from his seat and instinctively Annika stiffened. “We just came from Tórshavn. We have hotels booked – a car – and this is a mistake. I keep telling you that. So I want to see a lawyer right now. I want this whole thing sorted out so we can be on our way.”
Hentze didn’t waver in the face of the outburst. “I’m afraid that isn’t possible,” he said flatly. “Nothing will happen until we go back, so in all our interests I suggest we do that with the least possible fuss. Do you agree?”
For a couple of seconds it looked as if agreeing was very far from Mikkjal Tausen’s mind, but then he drew a hard, demoralised breath and gave up the protest. “All right. If there’s no other way.”
“Good. Thank you,” Hentze said. “In that case, we can go.”
40
THE RAIN SLOWED THE SATURDAY TRAFFIC ON THE E45, heading south past Horsens and Vejle. That was all right, though; I wasn’t in a hurry. Few people rush to admit a deception or that they’ve broken a trust.
In Snestrup I rang Thea’s doorbell. There was no car on the drive and I guessed she’d be alone.
“Hi,” she said when she opened the door. “Come in.”
She had a faintly wary, questioning air now, leading me through to the kitchen where a newspaper was spread on the table, as if she’d been filling the time waiting for me. I took the seat she offered as she cleared the paper away.
“Did you stay in Odense last night?” she asked; an ice-breaker.
“No, in Aarhus. After we talked I went to Vesborggård House,” I said. “Can I ask you to look at something?”
“What is it?”
“A photograph taken at the house in 1973. I know that’s before you were there but some of the same people might still have been there in 1976, so if you can identify anyone – maybe Mickey, Lýdia’s friend… Would that be okay?”
