The Running Girl

by Sara Blaedel

  The hours dragged on for the rest of the day. After he’d hung up his jacket on a hanger in the entryway, Jonas had taken his box set of The Olsen Gang movies down from the shelf and plopped on the sofa, barricading himself with Egon, Benny, and Kjeld.

  Louise walked around in the kitchen, not really knowing what she should do. Talk or shut up?

  The mood between them was forced as their sadness gnawed deep inside their bones. It took away their appetites, and dinner was left cold on their plates.

  At night, he cried.

  She heard him first through his door. Then she crept in quietly and sat down on the edge of his bed, stroked his hair. Since he’d moved in with her, she’d sat that way with him many times before. But until now it had always been his father he’d cried over.

  Finally, he fell asleep.

  As she was getting ready for bed, Mik called several times, but each time she’d declined the call. She didn’t feel up to more explaining. She turned her cell phone off.

  * * *

  On Monday, the class observed a one-minute silence. The school’s flag flew at half-mast, and the principal gave a talk.

  The next day, Jonas sat in the living room with a vacant look on his face, watching one Olsen Gang film after another. Whenever Louise tried to break through his armor, she was rebuffed.

  “Want to go to see a movie?” she asked.

  It was Wednesday afternoon and she’d just gotten home from work.

  “No thanks,” he said.

  There was a hint of irritation in his voice, and he didn’t take his eyes off Egon Olsen and the 1944 model Franz Jäger safe that needed to be blown up.

  She got the picture, understood that it was her own sense of inadequacy looking for a way out. But she didn’t know how to help him. They hadn’t grown close enough yet for him to completely let her in.

  She turned to go back into the kitchen.

  “When do you think the police will catch the boys who came and ruined the party?” he asked.

  He looked at her as the film rolled on.

  “I think they’re doing all they can to find them.”

  Louise sat down on the sofa beside him.

  “But, Jonas,” she said softly, “it won’t make any difference. If they’re found, they’ll be charged with unlawful trespass on private property and for attacking Signe’s mom. But those aren’t things that would give them just punishment for what happened to Signe.”

  “You’re in the police, so you can explain how it was their fault. How they broke in and destroyed everything.”

  Anger and desperation were there, but it was obvious he was holding himself back.

  “To begin with, the matter isn’t up to us. It’s up to the local police in Bellahøj—they’re the ones who need to find the boys and uncover what really happened. And as far as that goes, it doesn’t help if I go to them and say there was a boy who ran after Signe if we can’t find witnesses who saw it.”

  “I saw it!”

  His eyes went back to the screen, just in time to see Kjeld detonate the explosives.

  You saw him run after her, but not whether he chased her out in front of the van—so it’s not good enough, thought Louise, but she said nothing. Instead, she got up to go turn on the oven so she could start making dinner.

  * * *

  While they were still sitting at the kitchen table having dinner, Ulrik Fasting-Thomsen called. In a faint voice, he said that Signe’s funeral would be held in Hellerup Church on Saturday at 1:00 p.m.

  “We’re so sorry for your loss,” said Louise as she wrote down the address. “We feel terrible.”

  He thanked her, sounding completely worn out. Louise guessed he hadn’t gotten much sleep since the accident.

  “How’s Britt?” she asked.

  When Jonas realized who she was talking with, he set his silverware aside and looked down at the table.

  “You’ll have to excuse me if this sounds a little intrusive,” Ulrik said. In a sad voice, he told her how his wife had, understandably given the circumstances, taken a downward turn. “But I’d like to ask if you’d do me a favor and come visit her. She could use someone to talk to.”

  His voice sounded urgent.

  “It might help her, since you were out there and experienced some of it,” he said in a tone that revealed his utter despair. He’d tried to hide it with details about the funeral, but now she sensed how the catastrophe loomed large and powerful behind all the practical things that needed to be taken care of. “It’s like she hasn’t entirely grasped yet that this terrible thing really has happened. I’m sure it would help if she heard it from an eye witness.”

  Louise looked over at Jonas.

  Would it be a good idea to take him with her on a hospital visit? Maybe the visit would pull him out of the shell he’d crawled into. Even though Jonas had already been to see Jakobsen, and Louise didn’t claim to know a lot about child psychology herself, she still quickly decided that it would be better if he started coming to terms with the grief that sat and wore away at him instead of barricading himself off from it. And maybe it would move things along if he went with her to see Signe’s mom.

  “I’d be happy to,” she said.

  She looked up at the clock. It was six thirty. They’d have to get out the door now if they didn’t want to be too late.

  “I’m bringing Jonas with me,” she said and explained that he’d been the one who’d seen Signe running.

  “You should prepare yourselves. Britt doesn’t look so good,” Ulrik warned. “She has a large blood clot around her eye and a smaller one inside the eye itself, and her cheekbone’s broken in two places and caved in.”

  * * *

  There were flowers everywhere. The profusion of fresh colors seemed like an insult to the condition Britt Fasting-Thomsen was in.

  It wasn’t so much her physical injuries, which the doctors had carefully tended to, as the dull look in her one healthy eye. Where there’d once been a glimmer, there was now only pain and desperation.

  Even at a distance, Louise saw that Ulrik had been wrong. Britt understood perfectly well that the worst had happened, but that was a far cry from saying she accepted that her daughter had been taken from her.

  And it was that desperation that Louise read in her face when they walked into the private room.

  “Did she cry as she lay on the road after being hit?” Britt asked.

  She looked directly at Louise, as if Jonas weren’t there.

  Louise shook her head.

  “What did she look like?”

  Why do you want to know that? Louise thought, putting her arm around Jonas. Only then did Britt move her gaze to him and nod at him politely, but immediately she returned her focus to Louise. It was obvious that the questions were struggling to come out, but she forced them back and slumped over. She folded her hands together over the duvet and played with her wedding ring, turning it round.

  “I thought they were leaving,” she said.

  She closed her eye without waiting for an answer. God knows how many times she’d relived the scene.

  “I should have called the police as soon as they stood there and wanted to come in. But it didn’t even occur to me. Took it for granted they’d leave when I told them to.”

  She smoothed a fold in the duvet, then slammed her fists down on the bedsheets and exclaimed, “They were just kids, damn it. Not much older than you are!”

  Now she looked over at Jonas and shook her head.

  He looked away shyly and kept behind Louise.

  “I keep imagining how Signe had to stand there and watch it all, without anyone able to do anything. She must have been terrified.”

  Silence.

  “No, she wasn’t,” Jonas said suddenly and looked over at Britt. “She wasn’t scared. She was mad and she wanted to help you and make them stop. But she wasn’t scared.”

  Suddenly it was as though a shadow of Britt’s old self appeared and reminded her that she had guests, and
that she owed them a bit of good manners. With difficulty, she retrieved a large box of chocolates from the side table and passed them around. She told Louise and Jonas they could get coffee and soft drinks from a cart in the hallway.

  Louise shook her head and pulled a couple of chairs over to the bed. She prepared to tell Britt what she could about her daughter’s death.

  From experience, she knew that one of the worst things for parents who lose a child—or any relative—was uncertainty. All the things they didn’t know for certain, but imagined again and again. Uncertainty has a tendency to be a monster that grows bigger and bigger, and it can only be stopped by knowing what actually happened.

  Starting with the moment Jonas called her, Louise told the story in detail. She explained how she’d grasped through the telephone that the situation with the boys had gotten out of hand.

  Britt nodded and offered more chocolates.

  “They killed Signe,” she said quietly. Then she placed the box back on the side table.

  “Yes,” Louise conceded, “but that’s not what they came to do. Boys don’t go out on the town to beat up a woman they don’t know and chase her daughter out in front of a van. When they crash a party, they’re after booze and valuables. Maybe they go out to beat up other boys or maybe even a man. But not a woman. There’s something unnatural in it.”

  Britt seemed to have stopped listening. She lay and stared straight ahead.

  “I’ll never forgive them, no matter what their intentions were.”

  She gave Louise a hard look to emphasize that she was completely within her rights to fill herself with anger.

  “There were only two of them who went nuts,” said Jonas. “And then when Signe ran for help, one of the ones who kicked you ran after her.”

  “If only she’d been the quiet and frightened kind of girl who would crawl under a table and hide,” Britt said and suddenly began to smile. “But she wasn’t like that. My daughter was strong. But the van…why wasn’t I allowed to go up and be there with her when I could tell in my gut that something had happened to her?”

  Louise stepped in closer.

  “It wouldn’t have made any difference for Signe whether you’d been there or not,” she said, knowing that it sounded cruel. “She wasn’t conscious, and it was important for the rescuers to have calm and room to work. They did what they could to save your daughter’s life.”

  She told her about the van driver and his wife, how they hadn’t seen Signe coming until she was right in front of them, and how the girl was already lying on the road unconscious by the time Louise got there.

  Jonas listened attentively, and Louise started to think that perhaps he, too, was starting to work through what had happened. Of course, he’d felt plenty of difficult emotions. He, too, had been struck with feelings of guilt and ideas of how he should have helped Signe or should have run with her. She should have told him everything she knew about the accident, even though he hadn’t asked her to. She should have helped him control the images he’d doubtless created in his mind.

  Britt’s eyes began to close. The combination of her fatigue and the medicine she’d been given made her listless and sleepy. Louise signaled to Jonas that it was probably time for them to say good-bye.

  * * *

  After they’d gotten home and Louise had started cleaning up the kitchen, Jonas yelled from his bedroom, “There’s an e-mail from Markus and Camilla.”

  A few minutes passed while he read it, then she heard the printer start up. Soon after he came out into the kitchen.

  Louise took the paper from him and watched him walk to the bathroom with his eyes aimed at the floor. She heard him brushing his teeth as she began to read.

  Hi you guys!

  So, we’re here. Seattle is pretty. I had no idea there was so much water around the city. The trip was a rough one. First to Chicago, where we waited for five hours for our connection, but Markus took it like a champ.

  Our hotel’s nice, sits right in the middle of the city with a view of the Space Needle. We’re gradually getting used to the time difference, although it’s fine with me if I can avoid being awake for too many hours in the day!

  We’ve just been down to Pike’s Market. Have you ever heard of it? That’s where the fish merchants throw the fish! We watched when an elderly lady came to buy a piece of salmon, and a second later a huge fish was tossed through the air! Then it got weighed and tossed back again. Could you imagine the fish merchants down on Gammel Kongevej doing that?

  On Wednesday, we pick up our car at the airport, and then the road trip begins. First, we’re going to a national park called Mount Rainier—it’s mostly me who wants to do that, and I only succeeded in persuading Markus by tempting him with black bears and mountain lions!!!

  We hope Signe had a nice party. Markus still hasn’t forgiven me for not postponing our trip a few days so he could go. But he’s bought a really nice present, which we’re sending home to her.

  We’ll keep you posted.

  Warm hugs,

  Camilla and Markus

  Louise set the e-mail on the kitchen table. She needed more space and energy before she wrote back.

  For now, she simply turned off the kitchen light and went to bed.

  13

  On Friday afternoon, Louise sat in her office rereading the interviews taken with the three Folehaven gang members who’d been arrested.

  They hadn’t gotten any closer on the Nick Hartmann murder. No one spilled the beans or said anything. She was ready to throw up over these biker assholes and drug pushers, and her bold prediction that at least one of them would take credit for the Amager shooting didn’t come true. Earlier that morning, the lieutenant had released them, because the investigation had found nothing new that would make a judge extend the custody.

  Suhr had gotten the investigation group together just before lunch. Willumsen was furious because the lieutenant hadn’t fought to keep the suspects, but Hans Suhr had in his usual manner smiled forbearingly at his lead investigator. A smile that over the years had become a disarming tool that he used when Willumsen got worked up and threatened to go it alone.

  The lieutenant’s gray hair was combed back in stylish waves, and the furrows on his cheeks were smoothed out for as long as his smile lasted. When it disappeared, the vertical wrinkles returned and highlighted his cheekbones, his face regained its sharp features, and the tone of his voice bordered on irritation.

  “I’ve held them a week, and you haven’t found anything useful. Nothing indicates that these three had anything to do with the murder.”

  Willumsen cleared his throat, but Suhr raised his hand to stop him.

  “The crime techs are finished with their report. None of the bullets that were found out on Dyvekes Allé matches the firearms our colleagues seized in the raid. We’ve released these three guys, but, without question, they’ll be charged with unlawful possession of weapons. And, we won’t be giving up on finding the weapons that were used in this latest shooting. But as things stand, I had to let them go. And now the folks out in Bellahøj are keeping a close eye on them. You can get on with the investigation.”

  And that had been about it. Just, get on with it.

  It was all still eating away at Louise when she went for lunch. Way too loudly, she’d scoffed at the police higher-ups for not having the balls to put an end to the shooting sprees. It was only after she stood up that she saw the chief inspector of police, who sat at a table behind her with an open-faced sandwich and a small bowl of salad on his plate.

  But he’d only smiled and said he agreed with her. They just needed to get the justice minister on board so there’d be money for more resources. He was pretty cool, she thought. Understood, fortunately, that frustration sometimes took the wind out of his people.

  Once back, with her feet on her desk, she tossed the last report aside. She took her mug of tea between her hands and tipped back her chair. She’d untied her long, dark hair, and the curls hung down heavily
over her shoulders. As long as Lars Jørgensen was home on sick leave, she didn’t need to worry about looking decent when she sat behind her closed door and copied over reports. Gradually, though, it occurred to her how boring a private office was and how much she looked forward to her partner having enough energy to come back and take up the battle with Willumsen.

  Hearing a knock on her office door, Louise quickly fixed her hair and took her feet down off the desk. In stepped Toft with a case file in his hand, his pullover over his shoulder, and his glasses pushed absentmindedly on his forehead so they sat crooked.

  “Now I’ve gotten hold of all the relevant sources that, as I see it, would prove or disprove whether Nick Hartmann had any connection to the drug trade tied to the bikers’ inner circle.”

  Louise emptied her mug of tea while he talked.

  “But I no longer believe that’s how they were connected. None of my contacts knows anything about him, whether he dealt in hash or narcotics. No one has any idea who he is or recognizes him from his picture.”

  Nick Hartmann should be fairly easy to remember if you’ve seen him, thought Louise. Around six five, he had Greenlandic ancestry that gave him striking eyes and coal-black hair.

  “No one,” repeated Toft, and tossed the file aside as he sat down at Lars Jørgensen’s empty spot. “Now Michael Stig’s taken a trip down to see Mikkelsen to get him to check if the shooting victim had any connection to the bikers’ brothels.”

  Mikkelsen from Station City on Halmtorvet was the policeman with indisputably the most insight into Copenhagen’s prostitution scene. He was the one who could get hold of information unavailable to other police members, because he’d had his team in the area for so many years and had won people’s trust. But he was also very careful about who he passed information on to and what their goal was.

  Evil tongues accused him of being more on the side of the whores than the police. Still, the higher-ups had made him the lead investigator of a group that had just been formed to combat the sex trade that, until recently, hadn’t been taken seriously enough.