The Running Girl

by Sara Blaedel

  “They’re friendly,” he yelled from a distance and walked across the pebbles in his bare feet to greet them, the two dogs barking and jumping around him.

  Markus stayed behind his mother and wasn’t convinced until the dogs lay down affectionately and rolled over on their backs to have their stomachs scratched.

  They were led into a large hall with tall wooden panels painted white and double doors into the living room, where there were huge, panoramic windows out to the sea. Their host waved them with him out to the terrace. The pool was somewhat larger than the one Markus had just swum in at the hotel—there were lounge chairs and raised umbrellas all the way around.

  It looked like a vacation paradise with waving palms, but Frederik Sachs-Smith did not, however, look like someone who spent much of his time lounging beside the pool. He seemed restless, as if a great deal of energy poured out of him, and he’d normally be making better use of it.

  On one of the shaded tables there was a laptop, and beside it was a thick manuscript with a large white stone on top to keep the pages from blowing away.

  Staged, thought Camilla.

  She guessed he usually sat and worked in his office. There was something about him that came across as more goal-driven professional than what you’d associate with the writer type who sits and writes beside the pool, but she found it in a way sympathetic: that he tried to tone himself down a little and wanted to present himself as a bohemian. When it was obvious to anyone that he was stinking rich.

  “I’m sitting and working on some corrections to my film script. Universal starts filming next week, so I’m a little pressed for time.”

  Camilla smiled and was going to assure him that she’d keep it brief, but stopped herself. He’d agreed to talk with her, so he’d have to deal with his deadline himself.

  “First, I’d like to say how sorry I am for your loss,” she said.

  It was always awkward to have to go through those sort of condolences, but it was also impolite to skip them.

  He brushed her words aside and nodded toward the living room, where an older Mexican maid with a tray came into view. Fruit, water, and coffee. They’d have time for that.

  The woman served them, and a moment later came back with a child-size bathrobe and a pair of white swimming trunks, which she handed to Markus. She smiled and pointed to the pool.

  Markus looked over at Camilla, who nodded and said that if he were allowed to, then it was perfectly all right with her.

  “Of course, that’s what I have it for. I only use the pool when I swim in the morning.”

  She’d gotten it right. He wasn’t the sort who spent his days loafing.

  He lit a cigarette and lazily blew the smoke up into the air. Observed her with curiosity. His eyes were gray and his eyebrows pronounced and dark, unlike the medium-length blond hair.

  “So, you’re the one who’ll satisfy the gossip-hungry Danes with my comments on the drama. Why’s it interesting?”

  From the pool came the sound of a splash, as Markus jumped off the diving board. Camilla suppressed a sigh. It could turn out to be a long afternoon if that was his attitude toward the interview.

  “Because I think it could be fascinating to hear your views about what’s happening back home,” she said honestly. “My son and I have been traveling around over here for the last month, so during that time I’ve only followed the write-ups from a distance.”

  He seemed uninterested in her explanation.

  “What are you doing over here?” he asked.

  “Traveling around.”

  “Why?”

  Now she sighed so he couldn’t miss hearing it.

  “Because…to tell you the truth, I’m so damned tired of the Danish press and various other things that I wanted to get away.”

  The look in his gray eyes changed a bit. He crushed out his cigarette in a glass ashtray on the table.

  “Well, what d’ya know,” he said in a special Zealander dialect that pegged him as coming from the edge of Roskilde, where the singsong tone wasn’t quite as pronounced as it was in people from Holbæk, Ringsted, or Næstved, or anywhere else in the area.

  That was something Camilla really liked about him, she decided. He hadn’t cultivated an American accent, and he didn’t search for words in order to carry on a conversation in his mother tongue. It was so pathetic when Danes ventured out into the world and after five minutes suddenly couldn’t remember simple words or spoke Danish with a strong, fake accent.

  “I’m curious,” she said. “How do you feel about what’s happened? Your mother’s death and your father’s disappearance? And your siblings? It’s not being put in the best of lights.”

  He leaned forward toward her. The two dogs had come out to the terrace, and one of them put its head on his bare feet.

  “My mother is one matter. But you’re nuts if you’re sitting there feeling sorry for how my siblings have been treated by the press. What’s come out in the media is only the tip of the iceberg. I sure as hell don’t feel sorry for them, and you shouldn’t, either.”

  Camilla raised an eyebrow in surprise, but kept from interrupting.

  “They’re no sacrificial lambs, those two. They’ve gotten exactly what they wanted. And now that they have it, they’re starting to fight with each other, as expected. Just wait and see,” he said and nodded to her. “Up until now they’ve agreed about going after power in the firm. Now that they have it, I’d lay ten big ones they won’t be able to agree on anything anymore.”

  “I don’t quite know what it is they’ve agreed on,” Camilla confessed and looked at him questioningly.

  He leaned back and folded his hands behind his neck. The sun hit him in the eyes and made him squint a little.

  “A few years back, my father drew up what’s called an ongoing generational shift. At that point, I’d already moved away fifteen years earlier, so I wasn’t there physically, just on paper.”

  He paused for a moment when he saw Camilla beginning to write.

  “The board consisted of my father, me, and my siblings. Besides us, there were two members and the family attorney.”

  Camilla looked up from her pad as he leaned toward her.

  “But all of this is simply boring, nothing but business talk, and I’m sick to death of hearing about it. Just like sex: It’s always more fun when you’re part of it.”

  She kept her eyes on the lined paper and got by with a nod.

  “The short version is that the family attorney retired three years ago. His replacement was voted in, and it was quickly apparent that he was disloyal toward my father and the values that Termo-Lux was built on. He was greedy and must have thought there was more money in the youth. I don’t know what Rebekka and Carl Emil paid him under the table to get him over to their side, because at that point I announced that after the next general assembly I wouldn’t be continuing on the board. I had no need of being involved. I sat over here and looked after my work.”

  As if he needed to work at all, Camilla thought.

  “I didn’t want to listen to them, and it had gotten to where I didn’t care what happened to the business. I didn’t want to take it over, and financially I’m not dependent on it.”

  He tossed out his hands in a gesture of regret, as if he knew how extreme it was of him to not give a shit about the family enterprise.

  “I left the board, and at the last general assembly my father did the same. He couldn’t take it anymore. It’s disturbing what happens to people when they get both money and power. It’s not many who can handle the job. My siblings at any rate can’t,” he said, and for a moment he looked sad.

  “And now my siblings are also the only family members on the board, and they’re going on with the firm, and do you know what?” he asked and again leaned toward her.

  Camilla, as expected, shook her head.

  “The smartest thing is to stay far away…”

  He’d apparently known it would turn out like that if his siblings came t
o power, yet he hadn’t intervened to prevent it from happening.

  “Was that the reason your mother took her own life?”

  Frederik Sachs-Smith stood up and stuck his hands in his pockets. The dogs got up, too, and looked up at him expectantly, sweeping their tails over the tiles.

  He shrugged his shoulders and looked out over to the sea, closing off any further questions in that direction.

  Camilla studied him as he stood with his side to her, and wondered how much envy and resentment there was in the relationship between the three siblings.

  He started walking over to the living room door, and Camilla stood up to follow him.

  “What about your father?” she asked.

  He stood with his back to her.

  “My father…!” he repeated.

  “Do you think he’s followed your mother in death, like the newspapers say?”

  He still stood with his back turned.

  “How do you know Ulrik?” he asked.

  Finally, he turned and faced her. His parents were apparently a closed topic.

  Camilla waved Markus out of the pool. She sensed that the visit was drawing to an end. She’d gotten less time than she’d hoped for, but wasn’t prepared to leave the house before she’d gotten a couple of good quotes.

  The story was in the bag; there was enough in what he’d said about his siblings and the whole background for why the renowned family had suddenly landed on the front pages, but she could really use a little about his grief, she thought and called for her son again.

  “Markus and Signe have been in the same class since kindergarten,” she said and walked with him into the living room.

  “It’s terrible what happened to her. That sort of thing just isn’t bearable.” His voice was full of sympathy. “Ulrik and his wife were here last summer. They visited me and stayed here a couple of days before they went on to Hawaii. He was going paragliding or something like that. He’s completely possessed with putting his life in danger.”

  He smiled a bit and shook his head, as if it was a part of life he simply couldn’t fathom.

  Camilla stopped short and looked out at Markus, who was still drying himself off.

  “That’s odd,” she said. “I’ve never heard of that.”

  “I hadn’t met his wife before, but I’ve known Ulrik since my midtwenties. We have some businesses together. He’s one of the best, but on the other hand he’s got that hobby I’ll never understand.”

  “He couldn’t have been over here with Britt. She suffers from a fear of flying, and never travels with him. And she’d never leave without Signe.”

  Frederik Sachs-Smith blinked at her.

  “Trust me, it’s amazing what a person can get over for a trip to Hawaii,” he said, and laughed. “I have a house on Kauai, and I don’t know anyone who couldn’t pull himself together and get on a plane if they had a chance of vacationing there.”

  Markus came in. His wet hair was plastered against his head and dripped down his T-shirt.

  “Maybe, but it’s not like that for people with aerophobia,” Camilla said, not really caring for the arrogant tone he’d suddenly adopted. “If you have that, there’s nothing that’s attractive enough for you to willingly get on a plane and fly over to the other side of the globe. Not even your house in Hawaii.”

  He was still smiling, as if he knew a good deal more about what you could get a woman to do if what you were offering her were attractive enough.

  “And certainly not if you have the opportunity to have your vacation in Skagen, as Ulrik’s wife and I did last summer,” she added.

  She told Markus to go to the bathroom and dry his hair properly.

  “Are there any pictures from their visit?” she asked.

  Frederik shook his head and seemed irritated.

  “It’s not like I go around photo-documenting every time I have visitors.”

  “Of course not,” Camilla said hurriedly. “But can you remember what she looked like?”

  “It’s hard to remember that sort of thing, but I recall a really nice set of breasts, and then she had blond hair, the way most women get it colored, I think.”

  “Then it definitely wasn’t Ulrik’s wife who visited you,” Camilla said. “To begin with, she is not in possession of a memorable pair of breasts, and her hair is dark.”

  He looked like he was starting to be amused by her.

  “Tell me, wouldn’t you like a glass of wine? We could also have a bite to eat?”

  He walked out to the terrace and Camilla followed him.

  Frederik Sachs-Smith called for his Mexican house maid and asked her to bring provisions of various kinds.

  “Actually, I’d rather you remember who the hell Ulrik had with him when he visited you,” she said.

  “Does it really matter who he was with? Now you know that he screws around—that should be enough.”

  She shook her head.

  “Yes, it does so matter,” she snapped. “I’ve known their family the last seven years, and I want to know who the woman is. I happen to know that his wife—that is, his real wife, Signe’s mother—is sitting in prison at Vestre, charged with double homicide, which could send her to prison for life.”

  His face turned serious while Camilla spoke.

  “That’s terrible for them,” he said quietly, then suddenly shook his head with obvious regret. “But if it wasn’t his wife, then I don’t know who it was. She was good-looking—maybe she was someone he paid for.”

  He paused a while and thought it over.

  “When a friend introduces a woman as his wife, you don’t ask anything more,” he said.

  They sat a little.

  “I can tell you went to school in Roskilde,” Camilla said. “You talk just like the boys I went to school with at the Cathedral School.”

  “That’s where I went. Are you from Roskilde?”

  The maid came out carrying a large tray covered with white cloth napkins. He nodded for her to set it on the table.

  Camilla couldn’t remember ever meeting him, but everyone knew that his family lived just on the edge of town.

  “Would you like a cola?” he yelled to Markus, who was coming back from the bathroom.

  The boy nodded and sent his mother a questioning look. He’d just gotten the message that they were about to leave, but now apparently, they were staying.

  “We might know some of the same people. Do you want to sit in the sun or shade?” asked their host, who suddenly was not so busy with his manuscript, for which Universal was presumably still awaiting his corrections.

  “Sun.”

  “When were you in school?” he asked, positioning the umbrella so the things on the tray wouldn’t melt.

  “I think I started just after you left,” Camilla said and was about to sit down. Instead she looked at her watch and figured out what time it must be in Denmark.

  “I just need to make a call first,” she said.

  45

  At half past four, Louise was ready to drive home. She wanted to be sure she and Jonas had plenty of time to sit down together. The night before, when she’d come back from Mie’s, he’d closed himself in his room with the puppy. On the kitchen table, he’d laid Morgenavisen for her. The front page was splashed with a large photograph of Britt Fasting-Thomsen, and in bold caps it read:

  VENGEANCE THIRSTY MOTHER

  JAILED FOR ARSON-HOMICIDE

  She’d knocked softly on his door and asked if he wanted to talk about it. She wanted to tell him about the investigation, but he’d shaken his head and focused on the puppy. She, for her part, hadn’t been ready to talk about that issue yet.

  The next morning, he was out walking Dina when Louise got up, and they came back just before he had to leave for school. With her tea cup in hand, she’d stood listening as he grabbed his book bag and went down to drop off the puppy at Melvin’s.

  It wasn’t very grownup of her not to have talked it through with him. Poor of her to delay. She should
also have told him about Britt’s arrest. Jonas had known Signe’s mother much longer than Louise had known her, and it was low of her to make him read about it in the newspaper when she could have prepared him first. But the dog and Mik had gotten in the way, and then she’d had to drive out to Mie and her little baby.

  Louise unlocked her bike and tightened her helmet.

  They needed to talk about the dog, she thought, and that was the hardest part of the conversation for her to tackle. She needed to be sure that she’d thought it over thoroughly, so she was able to make a lasting decision.

  After Louise had driven Britt back to prison following the day’s interrogation, she’d taken her coat and gone for a walk down to the harbor. She walked down along the water past The Black Diamond library, while she tried to bring order to her thoughts and make them clear and definite to herself. Went back and forth, tried to look ahead and feel it out. Words like “consequence” and “forever” emerged and filled her thoughts a good deal, but at the same time she felt a heavy load of sadness overshadowing everything.

  She kept walking and saw a couple of men sail by in a little motorboat. Mik still hadn’t called. Her anger had settled down a bit, but far from enough for her to want to call him.

  An hour later she felt ready to walk back. To say that she felt serene was probably going too far, but she felt satisfied. At the office, she’d packed her things and went around to Suhr’s office to say she was leaving for the day.

  “Is something wrong?” he asked, worried.

  She shook her head.

  “I was just out to Nick Hartmann’s widow last night.”

  So far nothing had come out of the technicians’ inspection, and that made Louise doubt that they’d find anything.

  “I’d like to spend some time with Jonas today.”

  “Understandable enough,” her boss said, and nodded. “Michael Stig and the president of Danish Furniture Design are about to go through the furniture in the warehouse, so we’ll soon have a general idea of what the fake furniture would bring in if it were sold as authentic.”