The Running Girl

by Sara Blaedel

  “Have you spoken with Ulrik since you were in Iceland?” Louise asked and pushed her chair back so she could stand up.

  Vigdís looked up at her under her thick, straight bangs and smiled a little.

  “Well, yes. Now that Britt’s been arrested and he’s left alone, it seems like he’s had second thoughts and wants me to stay. He comes around all the time and has even offered to pay for Jón’s education, if he stays. He’ll also get him an apartment.”

  She shook her head.

  “But it won’t work. I don’t want to anymore. And now is when he needs to be there for his wife; otherwise he might as well have left her years ago,” she said. “What we had together will never come back. It’s time for Jón and me to go home and start fresh.”

  Louise nodded and stood up to get her coat.

  “When do you think he’ll be allowed to leave?” Vigdís asked as she followed Louise out.

  “It’s hard to say. It depends a lot on what comes out of the interrogations today.”

  50

  Louise had left the patrol car in a parking spot in front of the Cancer Center. With her cell phone to her ear, she crossed over Strand Boulevard.

  First, she called Sejr to hear if he’d received Ulrik’s foreign bank statements. When he told her, with more patience than she had, that they hadn’t yet come, she called Suhr.

  “It’s Jón Vigdísarson’s mother who’s been Ulrik’s lover,” she yelled into the receiver as she unlocked the car. “While Signe was dying in the National Hospital, he was with her.”

  The wind caught hold of her hair and whistled into the phone. The lieutenant asked her to repeat herself, and this time she left out that final remark and kept to what was relevant.

  “Are you saying that it’s the Icelandic mother who’s his lover?” he asked calmly.

  Louise got in the car and settled into her seat.

  “For eight years, they’ve carried on a relationship on the side. He and Jón have known each other since the boy was nine, so it sounds completely unbelievable that Ulrik didn’t know about the boys using his boathouse. He may have given them permission to. How else would they have known about the place?”

  Suhr muttered something that Louise couldn’t hear. Presumably, it was just the noise that accompanied his thoughts.

  “We just gave the kid permission to go,” he said. “He wasn’t with them the night Nick Hartmann was shot, but he told us what he knew, which happens to be pretty interesting. It was a paid job. Michael Stig and Toft are sitting with Kenneth Thim. He’s the one who was out there with Nymann, and he confessed as soon as they started to play the film. Now we just need to find out where the money came from. But that’s a little harder, since they won’t say anything. We know that it’s people who belong to the biker scene, but they won’t name names…yet.”

  “What about Thomas Jørgensen—what does he say?” Louise asked and rolled the window down a bit to get some fresh air in the car.

  “He was the driver, but didn’t go in with them. But we’re charging him with accessory to murder,” Suhr said and told her that the boys weren’t all that cocky and far from as hardboiled as they’d seemed that night out at Nick Hartmann’s house. “We’ll get it out of them who ordered the job, even though right now they claim not to know. It was apparently Nymann who was their contact, but Thim has already more than hinted that it was their deceased friend’s biker connections, and it seems like we’ll have to look in the inner circle. The money was paid out in cash, and they burned through it over a few nights in the city. They got twenty thousand.”

  “Twenty thousand,” said Louise. “It’s laughable to kill someone for twenty thousand kroner.”

  “They didn’t do it for the money,” Suhr said seriously. “For them, it was about the prestige that comes with it. They considered it a test of their manliness—that’s usually how you prove your worth in that circle.”

  “Yes, and so they can be happy they passed the test when they come out in sixteen years,” Louise said, thinking that there wasn’t much chance of their landing in better company while doing time. But as far as she was concerned, they could just rot away in a hole in the ground.

  Her thoughts drifted back to Britt Fasting-Thomsen in Vestre Prison. She was facing a sentence that was at least as long, if not longer, than the boys’ sentences. Boys who’d cynically and as cold as ice shot down another human being, just to show their courage.

  “Should we see about getting hold of Jón Vigdísarson again?” Suhr asked, interrupting her thoughts. “It’s been about fifteen minutes since he left. You could wait on him out there?”

  “I’d actually rather drive out to Vestre and talk with Britt, if that’s OK with you. I think it’s Ulrik who’s looking the most interesting,” she said and, to her surprise, Suhr agreed.

  “Do that. Then we’ll look at his bank statements tomorrow.”

  She started the car. Svendsen had again decked her out with the big Mondeo, and she had to give him credit—it was a pleasure to drive, but damned hard to park.

  “What about Mie and her daughter? Have they gotten away from the farm?”

  Louise had difficulty letting go of the young mother and the unfair emotional pressure that was being put on her.

  “She’s safe,” Suhr said calmly. “Nothing is going to happen to them.”

  “You sound certain.”

  “Willumsen has lodged her and her child at his home in a guest room.”

  “Well, my goodness. Has he gotten Annelise to stand guard?”

  “No, that he hasn’t. That cushy job he’s given to Lars Jørgensen, who’s keeping an eye on the house when Willumsen can’t be there himself.”

  “Lars Jørgensen! Isn’t he on sick leave?” Louise exclaimed.

  “Not anymore. He’s back on reduced time, and he comes into the investigation group without weekend and on-call duties.”

  “When was that decided?” Louise asked happily.

  “When it occurred to Willumsen that we didn’t have anyone who could look after Mie and her little daughter. He wouldn’t risk having anything happen to them. He thought a bit about putting Sejr Gylling on the assignment, but dropped the idea himself before he got around to asking.”

  Louise smiled. She was glad that a solution had been found so Lars Jørgensen could come back to the department.

  “I’ll see you tomorrow. I’ll call after I’ve talked with Britt. But I’ll be driving home afterward—there’s a dog that needs a walk and a boy that needs to do his homework.”

  “Sounds reasonable,” her chief conceded.

  Before Louise left the parking spot, she called out to Vestre Prison to announce her arrival. She also left a message with Britt’s attorney, saying she’d like to visit his client and was on the way out there.

  * * *

  The leaves on the trees were turning yellow, and the wind made a pair of them fall to the earth as Louise turned down Vigerslev Allé and crossed over the little street that led down the last stretch to the prison’s main entrance.

  “Britt Fasting-Thomsen,” she told the guard when he asked her who she wanted to talk with. Then she waited patiently for the gate behind her to close completely, so the one in front could slowly begin to slide open.

  Over in the visitors’ section, she had to show her badge and hand over her weapon before she was led to the check-in, where all visitors were registered. The set security routines took time, but once through them she was pointed to a little visitation room at the end of the hall.

  On the way, she stopped at a vending machine and bought two soft drinks and a bag of candy. Then she went in and took off her jacket. It would be a while before Britt made it over from her cell block.

  The room reminded her of a little waiting room, with a reproduction on the wall. Beside the door was a table and two chairs. Like a private nook, thought Louise, and was extremely glad they hadn’t been given one of the family visitation rooms, where besides the table and chairs there was
also a bunk with stains on the mattress for the hurried lovemaking that had to be completed before the end of the visit time.

  She tossed her bag on the floor and had just pulled out a chair when Britt was led in. She quickly offered her hand, so the prison officer wouldn’t get the impression that she and Louise had a private relationship.

  Britt sat down and accepted the soft drink Louise placed before her, but said no thanks to the candy, her pageboy hair swinging over her slender shoulders. Up at the part, her hair had grown out and revealed that the roots were more gray than dark. But her hair was recently washed and styled.

  “How are you getting along in here?” Louise asked when they sat across from each other.

  Britt smiled without irony.

  “I think I can get used to it,” she said, quietly adding that it was better than she’d hoped.

  There was a new calm about Britt. The sorrow was still there, surrounding her like an aura, but the new thing was that she seemed serene.

  Louise leaned back in her chair.

  “Camilla wanted me to give you her love. Lots of it, and a hug and a kiss on the forehead.”

  Britt smiled and thanked her.

  “She’s just visited Frederik Sachs-Smith in Santa Barbara. She had an interview with him about that whole family drama.”

  “Yes, isn’t that incredible,” Britt said. “That topic still fills the papers.”

  Louise let her talk, but thought how bizarre it was that she’d end up talking about that subject. Especially now when she herself had been front page news and on everyone’s lips since the arrest, and the journalists still tried to dig up anything they could on her and her family. There was no sparing of harsh words when they described how mercilessly she’d burned two young men to avenge her daughter.

  “Haven’t you ever run into Sachs-Smith? Hasn’t he had a lot to do with your husband?”

  Britt shook her head indifferently.

  “I’ve never met him. He lives so far away.”

  “But isn’t he in Denmark regularly?”

  She shrugged her shoulders.

  “To tell you the truth, I’m not that interested in my husband’s business associates, and when Ulrik had a meeting or luncheon with one of them I was the one who stayed home with Signe. And he’s always been so considerate not to invite them home for dinner, because then Signe and I wouldn’t be able to practice so well in the rooms.”

  Louise understood.

  “Last summer, as I understand it, Ulrik visited Sachs-Smith at his home in the U.S.”

  Britt thought about it.

  “In July,” she said with a nod. “During summer vacation.”

  Louise folded her hands and leaned in over the table, letting her eyes rest seriously on Britt’s face and her dull blue eyes.

  “Camilla is convinced that you’re innocent and that it would be a travesty of justice if the police succeeded in having you sentenced.”

  Britt looked away and slowly began to shake her head.

  “And,” Louise continued without letting herself be distracted, “maybe I’m starting to think she’s right. I have nothing to base it on. Except that I actually don’t think you know anything about what happened down at the warehouse.”

  Britt kept shaking her head, but said nothing.

  Louise sat thinking and observing her before she got started.

  “It seems that your husband has had a lover for quite some time,” she said. “Did you ever get a feeling that Ulrik was having an affair?”

  A moment passed before Britt answered.

  “Maybe,” she said, then nodded, as if it didn’t matter that much. “Maybe I did, but I always knew that he’d never leave Signe and me.”

  “Do you know who he was seeing?” Louise asked and looked at her intently.

  Britt shook her head.

  Louise took a deep breath and said that the lover’s name was Vigdís Ólafsdóttir.

  First silence, then the outburst.

  “What are you saying?”

  Now her face fractured. Fell apart piece by piece like a jigsaw puzzle shaken loose.

  “That can’t be,” she cried. “He couldn’t have known anything about the boys who chased Signe to her death. He would have said. He would have reported them.”

  She began to shake violently.

  Louise stood up quickly and went over to her. Pulled her up from her chair. Her body was slender like Jonas’s, but the sobbing inside of it was as violent as a storm that tore at every branch.

  They stood a long time before she helped Britt down into her chair. Blinded by tears and wet in the face, Signe’s mother dried her eyes with the sleeve of her blouse. She sat as still as a mouse and stared straight ahead. Into the wall. Into herself most of all, thought Louise and left her in peace.

  “How long did he know her?” Britt asked after a long pause.

  Something contracted inside Louise.

  “Eight years. Since her son started third grade. I don’t know more than that.”

  She didn’t have the heart to tell the rest, needed to let Britt digest.

  “This information is new to us,” she said. “And then, it’s interesting that there could have been a connection between your husband and one of the boys who were charged for the attack. Especially since I never got the sense that Ulrik knew anything about the group that stayed down in the boathouse.”

  Britt shook her head and sat up a little.

  “No, me neither. But that doesn’t change anything about my being here,” she noted.

  “That’s true,” Louise conceded. “In a way, it doesn’t. But it does change some aspects of the case, now that I’m trying to prove that you weren’t the one who set the fire.”

  Her laughter was dry and sounded more like a cough. Her eyes seemed even bigger in her pale face.

  “You shouldn’t even get started on that,” Britt said quickly, her voice still covered with a thin layer of sobbing. “Honestly, it would only be a relief for me to be allowed to stay here. Everything I had out there is gone.”

  She looked down at her hands, fiddled a bit, and folded them together.

  “They’ve ended their relationship and no longer see each other. So maybe it’s not so bad,” Louise attempted.

  Britt stared at her with a look that cut.

  “It is bad,” she said. “Every bit as bad. If my husband is having or has had a relationship with a woman whose son was there the night my daughter died, then that’s serious enough that I never want to see him. Then that’s it. Then there’s nothing that would give me reason or desire to speak with him again.”

  Her eyes looked away and the tears began to run.

  “I don’t understand it,” she cried. “How could he have known about the boys and not said anything to me?”

  Louise let her be. When they had sat a while, her crying died down. Louise took Britt’s hand from across the table and looked at her seriously.

  “I’m not supposed to ask you about this here, without your lawyer present. But I’m going to anyway, and it means that your answer won’t be recorded anywhere and therefore can’t be used in the case.”

  Britt looked at her with eyes red from crying, but she listened.

  “Did you drive down to the harbor and set fire to the boathouse to avenge your daughter’s death?” Louise asked quietly.

  Signe’s mother looked down at the table, her expression blank again, as if the thought of her daughter’s death suddenly stood out clearly.

  “No,” she said and looked up. “I did not.”

  There was nothing to trace in her eyes. They looked directly at Louise without trying to seem convincing.

  “I could have done it,” she admitted. “Would even wish that I had, and that’s at least as bad as if it had been me who was behind it. But it wasn’t me. I didn’t even think of avenging what they did to Signe, didn’t have the energy for it. But maybe there’s a goddess of vengeance, and maybe she’s been on my side since it turned out the way it
did.”

  She took a deep breath and sat a while.

  “I even allow myself to feel gratitude over the fact that it happened,” she admitted and straightened up a little in her chair. “And I’m more than willing to take my punishment for feeling this way.”

  She squeezed the soda bottle and looked down at the table as if she’d just bared her darkest thoughts and was ashamed of it.

  “That’s all I wanted to know,” Louise said and stood up.

  She gave Britt a hug and went over and pushed the bell to signal that they were ready to be let out.

  When the prison officer came and opened the door, Louise remained standing over by the table; she watched Britt being led away.

  51

  Fucking 87 million kroner,” Sejr said with a big smile when Louise came into the office the next morning. “I got the information about Ulrik Fasting-Thomsen’s foreign accounts from Interpol just before I went home yesterday.”

  After her visit with Britt, Louise had forgotten how impatient she’d been to have a look at the hidden account on the Isle of Man. On the way in, she’d followed Jonas to school. They’d biked together along Gammel Kongevej, and afterward she’d had time to stop in at a bakery.

  Now her adrenaline was rising.

  “Son of a bitch!” she exclaimed and was about to turn on her desk lamp but stopped herself. Instead, she turned on her electric kettle and found a tea bag for her mug.

  Sejr Gylling pointed to the lamp.

  “You can turn it on. As long as you aim it toward yourself.”

  Louise pushed a bakery bag across the desk.

  “There are a whole lot of bank statements we need to look through. If you have time, I’d suggest we go through the printouts from the foreign account.”

  Louise nodded.

  “That’s a helluva lot of money!” she exclaimed in a broad mid-Zealand dialect and tipped her chair back while she waited for the water to boil. “How in the hell did he earn so much on the side? Weren’t his businesses at home doing terrific, too?”

  Sejr nodded.

  “Yes, they look pretty healthy. It’s like we guessed: profits from foreign customers and investments that were made abroad. Buy and sell, and then he found it attractive to go into the fast-cash business that Hartmann had going, where he could double his investment in no time. It gives you quite a high to haul in that kind of profit.”