by Sara Blaedel
She thought it might be the uncertainty. The vagueness of being away for two months without really knowing what they’d spend their time doing. Except traveling that route they’d traced on the big map of America while sitting together at the dining table.
But more likely, she thought, her son was having a hard time being away from his father for such a long time.
Camilla had agreed wholeheartedly with Markus staying with Tobias for the entire week leading up to the trip. Markus, for his part, had been terribly upset when his father hadn’t driven them to the airport. But Tobias had had a business meeting on Funen starting early in the morning. Instead of driving them, he’d gotten the bad idea of calling the night before and telling Markus how much he was going to miss him while he was away, which naturally led to the boy crying and losing interest in the trip.
And as if that weren’t enough, Tobias had supplied Markus with gift-wrapped presents and told him that during the flight he should open one an hour, knowing full well that his feelings of missing his father would flare up every thirty minutes. The first was to be opened when they’d been in the air for an hour, followed by the others—a Donald Duck comic book, a deck of playing cards, and a packet of Haribo candy.
Camilla brushed back her blond hair and gathered it in a ponytail, straightening the elastic band so it wouldn’t sit and press up against her headrest. She’d tried to read, but had given up and stuffed the Danish newspapers down in her bag.
Now a running text scrolled across the little screen. Markus shook his head a bit, trying to return to reality, and asked for juice when the stewardess came by with her cart. He squirmed around on his pillow and tossed his blanket on the floor, then leaned up against her with his head on her shoulder.
For a moment, she just sat there and enjoyed him. Then she straightened up enough to get her arm around him. She put the armrest between them back up and pulled him closer to her.
“I really wanted to go to Signe’s party,” he mumbled.
He let Camilla run her fingers through his hair without moving away.
Maybe it was his friends, too, that he was sorry to be leaving. She’d noticed a lump in her own throat when she’d said good-bye to Louise in Departures. It was hard to imagine being away for such a long time.
She closed her eyes and tried to sleep a little before they landed and had to go through Immigration and Customs, fingerprinting and passport stamping.
5
It took longer than Louise had expected to fry the many small meatballs that were generated from seven pounds of meat. She was working on the last batch when Willumsen called.
“So, he died,” the lead investigator began.
The shooting victim from Amager, he said, had been declared dead an hour and a half ago.
“You’re going out and talking with the widow. They have a little newborn daughter. Right now, the family’s all together at National Hospital, so you might as well wait until tonight.”
The interview with Nick Hartmann’s young wife, he added, should be on his desk before noon on Sunday. She could find him at Headquarters.
“I’ve just read the report from our colleagues at Amager Station,” he said. “It seems a little odd that neither his wife nor the baby was harmed in the shooting. The victim took eleven shots, fired through the kitchen and living room windows of their duplex apartment. They have the ground floor on a corner lot in one of the popular residential neighborhoods behind Amagerbrogade.”
Louise listened to him as she took the pan of meatballs off the burner. She was still a little groggy from a night with too little sleep but, on the other hand, there had been a fair amount of sex. Toward the end, she’d almost given up hope and started to think the whole night would pass by with them just holding each other and watching movies. But around oneish, she pulled Mik into the bedroom and he finally woke up.
“The crime techs found bullets from four different weapons and bullet holes in the walls and woodwork of all the rooms,” Willumsen continued.
“I’ll drive down there after I drop Jonas off at the party.”
He sounded content.
“Since the shooting, we’ve put extra patrols on the street,” he said. “If this is related to the gang wars, we need to watch out for a swift attack in revenge.”
“Was the deceased mixed up in that sort of thing?” Louise asked.
She distributed the meatballs from the pan to the bowls that were going to the party.
“Not unlikely,” said Willumsen.
Narcotics. Money. Power and territory. She sighed and asked him for the address.
“Get it from Toft. And now that Lars Jørgensen’s staying home, you’ll have to drive out there alone. The rest of us will take care of the three we’ve already arrested.”
Louise hadn’t known they’d arrested several, but then she’d been the first one to close up shop and head home for the weekend.
“How did the interrogation go?” she asked.
Willumsen snorted.
“Entirely predictable. Naturally, he refused to say a word. And his attorney was an hour late and didn’t land at Headquarters until a little past seven. After which, she had to speak with her client before we could get started. It ended up being a midnight show without much at all coming out of it,” he said, adding that he was starting to see the advantage of rival gangs wiping each other out. “Then it’d be done and over with, and we could get a little peace on the street and not have to throw all our energy in their direction.”
* * *
Louise turned at Svanemøllen and drove all the way down to the harbor. The sailing clubs and the cozy, unpretentious restaurants with roast pork and Skipper stew still brought people in, even though the high season was drawing to a close. In the distance, she saw candles lining the wooden pier down to the sailing club’s little terrace. The first classmates had already arrived.
“We’re having a welcome toast out on the boat,” said Jonas.
He was wearing a new Björkvin jersey and had a little extra gel in his hair to keep it out of his eyes.
“After we eat, we’re going to dance, and then the bar opens with cocktails and soft drinks.”
“Hopefully alcohol-free!” said Louise.
Jonas looked at her with his eyebrows raised.
“What do you think?” he said.
She’d talked it over with Camilla, and so far, the subject of booze wasn’t on the boys’ radar screens. So, parties were still harmless.
Her whole Saab stank of meatballs. Louise edged the bowls out of the back seat, where Jonas had wedged them in amid her kayak gear. Each carrying a bowl, they walked over and greeted Signe and her mother, who stood and received the guests.
Signe was in a lilac dress. Her long red hair fell in soft curls, and a little bit of makeup brought out the green in her eyes. Britt was dressed more classically in a smart silk pantsuit and short jacket. Both Louise and Jonas got hugs and embraces, before Signe’s mother pointed down a short hallway and said they could set the bowls in the kitchen.
“Have a great party,” Louise said. “I’ll be back to pick him up at ten thirty.”
“Then I hope you’ll stay and have a glass of wine with us,” said Britt. She explained that the parents usually relaxed together when their kids had a party. “It’s good for class morale, and it gives us a chance to talk a little with one another.”
Louise could see the sense in that, so she said she’d look forward to it. She’d definitely be there, even though she had some work to take care of first.
Jonas stood chatting with a couple of boys. Louise waved to him. No hugging good-bye when his friends were watching. By and large, she was a little reticent about intruding on his private boundaries; didn’t want to force her caresses on him. Sometimes he’d put his arms around her and give her a hug. Other times, it was clear he’d rather be left alone.
On her way back to her car, she absently greeted several of the children and their parents. Her thoughts were alr
eady focusing around Mie Hartmann, who less than three hours ago had sat beside her husband while he’d died from his wounds.
Louise sighed deeply and punched the address into her GPS.
6
The duplex was on a corner lot with a hedge around it all the way out to the road. There were cars parked along the sidewalk. In the first-floor apartment where the Hartmanns lived, the entryway and kitchen looked dark, but Louise knew they were home. She’d phoned ahead to see if six thirty were too early, but Mie’s mother thought they’d be home from the hospital by then. They had to pack some things because afterward she was taking her daughter and granddaughter back home with her and setting them up in her guest room.
Up at the house, Louise saw a dim light spilling through grayish plastic attached to the south-facing windows. There was no trace of the police technicians, who’d left the residence earlier in the day. The cordon tape had been removed and all evidence secured.
It was the grandmother who answered the door when Louise rang. She was middle-aged, with short blond hair and dark rings under her eyes.
“Come on in,” she said. She sounded exhausted, as if someone had taken all the strength out of her voice. She stepped aside before locking the door and fastening the security chain. “We don’t really like being here after what happened,” she said and pointed Louise through the entryway. “My daughter is in the bedroom with the little one.”
With her jacket over her arm, Louise followed behind her past hooks with hats and coats and a wardrobe that was stripped of its paint and took up most of the space in the small entry. In the kitchen, which was just beyond the living room, she felt a draft from the two windows that had been shot out.
“You can’t step anywhere,” the grandmother said. She pointed at all the tiny bits of glass. “The insurance company is sending over a glazier tomorrow.”
It was a mess in the kitchen, which had a modern island counter and a flat-screen TV on the wall. Obviously, no one had bothered to tidy up.
“We really haven’t done anything to the house. We just got back from the hospital, so no one except the police has been here since my son-in-law was shot. My daughter, of course, went to the hospital when the ambulance arrived.”
She seemed absent for a moment.
“It’s unbelievable how someone can do that kind of thing. To come and shoot, when a little family lives here.”
Louise noticed how quiet the house was. No radio playing or TV on. No sign of the baby or voices. The house contained absolutely no sound, except for a little street noise that drifted in through the plastic-covered window frames.
“Unbelievable,” the grandmother repeated. “It’s always someone else. You need to put a stop to all these shootings, soon. It’s one thing that you can barely walk down the street, but now you can’t even feel safe in your own house. And then there are the home robberies, too.”
The living room was chilly and lit by a single floor lamp in the corner facing the kitchen. Where the light did reach, however, it was easy to see traces of the shooting. The technicians’ labels were still on the walls and doorframes, and there were several small chalk circles. More than Louise could count as she was shown to the bedroom.
The grandmother knocked softly. She waited a moment, then opened the door and told her daughter the police had arrived.
“The little one’s just fallen asleep,” she whispered to Louise and then introduced her to her daughter. Mie Hartmann sat in a high-backed wicker chair beside the window and looked out at the trees in the yard.
The bedroom was light and airy. There was a dresser with mirrors from floor to ceiling. A bow of braided silk held the French-lace curtains away from the window.
“You don’t have to whisper,” said Mie.
She nodded to the crib next to an unmade double bed.
“Our talking won’t wake her up.”
Louise had learned that Mie Hartmann was twenty-four years old. She looked even younger, sitting there with her long blond hair flowing down her back and appearing to be more in shock than grief. She had a vacant expression on her pale face. It was red around her nose, as if she’d blown it far too often over the last two days.
A tiny sound came from the child’s bed, and Mie moved her eyes toward it, but then let them slip back to the trees in the yard. She wore a soft velour dress with a hood, and next to her was an Eastpak suitcase with wheels, ready to be packed. But that must be her mother’s doing, Louise guessed, since it didn’t look like the young widow had the energy for anything more than sitting in the chair and looking out the window.
Louise walked over and offered her hand, receiving a limp handshake. She gave her condolences, then asked if they shouldn’t go into the living room to talk.
“Can’t we stay here?” asked Mie. She pointed to the double bed.
Louise moved some of the clothes that were spread out on the bed, then took out her pad. It was understood that Mie Hartmann wanted to stay here so she could avoid the room where her husband had been killed.
“How many were there?” Louise asked.
“Do you mean in the afternoon, or when they came back at night?” said Mie, her eyes still fixed on the yard as if she found herself on a different frequency.
“I didn’t know you’d had more than one visit,” Louise said. “I’m talking about the night before yesterday, when your husband was shot. Thursday the twenty-fifth of September. I have here that the shooting occurred at 10:37 p.m.”
Mie Hartmann nodded.
“There were some who came earlier in the day, too, but it was just me and the dog at home. Well, and Cecilie.”
She nodded to the crib.
“OK, so let’s start there,” said Louise. “Who came in the afternoon, and at about what time?”
“I don’t know exactly who they were. But they were a couple of psychopaths who should thank God Nick wasn’t here, because then he would have killed them, and it never would have ended like this.”
No, then her husband would have ended up in a jail cell, thought Louise.
But that didn’t seem to figure into the young widow’s thinking. Louise could find no trace of feeling in her face, which seemed to have shut itself off. The shock kept reality at a distance, and perhaps that was a mercy.
“They came a little past three.”
Her eyes met Louise’s.
“I’d just been shopping at Brugsen, and took a little walk around the neighborhood with the dog. I was standing in the kitchen taking Cecilie’s coat off. I don’t know why the dog didn’t react, but she didn’t bark until they were right outside the door.”
Louise hadn’t noticed any dog. She looked around.
“Zato was hit with a bullet when the men came back at night,” the grandmother explained from the door.
“Won’t you sit down?”
Louise pointed to the other side of the bed.
The grandmother hesitated a little before coming over and sitting down. As if she didn’t want to join them, but still wanted to be there for her daughter.
“The bullet entered just behind her front leg, and she died almost immediately,” said Mie. Her eyes went blank.
“Nick was trying to get her away when he was shot.”
Louise brought the conversation back to the first visit in the afternoon.
“Did they leave when you told them Nick wasn’t at home?” she asked.
Mie Hartmann shook her head and uttered a sound that lay somewhere between a sob and a brief laugh.
“I wouldn’t let them in, right? But then they pushed past me and came in anyhow. One of them walked over to Zato and opened her mouth. He grabbed hold of her jaws and twisted until she yelped. Then he asked me what kind of laughable watchdog we’d gotten ourselves, when you can stick your hand in its mouth and it doesn’t even bite you.”
She took a deep breath, holding back the tears.
“Even though she was half Labrador and half Rottweiler, she’d never do anything to anyone.”
“They trampled all over the place and pointed at a bunch of things they said Nick owed them. They acted like they were in a self-service store.”
Mie Hartmann kept fighting back her tears.
“Did your husband owe them money?”
She twisted her hair with her index finger and held Louise’s gaze, as if that would do the job of convincing the police that someone must have gotten it wrong and mistaken her husband for someone else.
Louise had a hard time taking Mie Hartmann’s look seriously. According to the information Toft had given her before she drove Jonas to the party, Nick Hartmann was known to have had dealings with a Copenhagen biker gang. Several times he’d been observed in and around their headquarters, and during a raid in the biker stronghold he’d been among those arrested. If he’d been involved in the gang wars that were dividing up the city into gang districts, then it was natural to expect him to be fighting for the bikers.
At the moment, the bikers’ territory was under heavy pressure from both the Folehaven area in Valby and the Vestegn, where a rather aggressive gang was trying to intrude on the city. Besides these there were both Chinese and Pakistani mafias, who showed themselves to be steadily more and more brutal in the fight for power in inner Copenhagen and the big money they could make in whatever fell under the heading of serious crime.
Nick Hartmann could easily have had enemies in several camps, too, but after his arrest in the biker stronghold the police had had to let him go. They didn’t have anything on him, and during the interrogation he claimed that he’d just been visiting. He wouldn’t say who he knew, and he refused to speak about his connection to the bikers.
That’s why Louise ignored Mie’s look. There could be several reasons why Nick Hartmann had been sought out, and why it had ended as it did. Right now, the investigation pointed to the gang from Folehaven as being behind the shooting. A witness had noticed a yellow box van parked on Englandsvej late Thursday evening, and the Folehaven guys were known for using run-down postal vehicles for transportation. Toft had told her that their colleagues from Amager Station had made a search of their hangout the day before and seized a considerable number of firearms of various makes and calibers, and these were now out at Slotsherrensvej waiting to be compared with the crime technicians’ evidence from the duplex.
