“It didn’t need the whole weekend to dry out?”
“No, it does, but you know me, I couldn’t keep my hands off it.” Molander looked Fabian in the eye and smiled broadly. “Don’t ask me why,” he went on, as he carefully began to untangle Fabian’s desperate efforts with the bow tie. “But for some reason all it took for the GPS to wake up again was a little warm air.”
“Was there a destination programmed in?”
Molander nodded.
“And he wasn’t heading for Hamntorget?”
Molander shook his head. “And that’s where it gets really interesting.” He paused for effect as he performed the first manoeuvre on his tie. “According to the GPS, he was on his way to Stormgatan 11 in Sydhamnen. Know what’s there?”
“Sydhamnen…Yeah, isn’t it one of the truck depots for transferring containers?”
“It was a depot. But now that more and more trucks prefer the route through Malmö, over the bridge, it’s empty. Someone put it up for rent.”
“You mean, Brise was on his way there to look at a new location for his company?”
Molander shook his head and kept working on the tie. “Your mind is totally elsewhere, isn’t it?”
Fabian nodded with a sigh, even though it wasn’t true at all. He just didn’t understand what Molander was getting at.
“Whoever it was behind the wheel, he wanted to make it look like Brise was on his way to look at the building,” Molander continued. “Don’t forget, he was probably wearing a wetsuit, so I would guess the plan was still to drive off the quay and into the water. But in Sydhamnen, not right downtown.”
“I don’t get it. If he was planning to drive into the water, then what was the point of this whole —”
Molander cut Fabian off with a deep sigh. “God, you’re really not the sharpest knife in the drawer today. He wouldn’t have had any witnesses there, and considering the victim’s blood alcohol content, it would have looked like a regular old drunk-driving accident. But then Tuvesson popped up out of nowhere and threw a wrench into the works with her Corolla.” Molander chuckled and shook his head. “It’s almost too good to be true.”
Molander’s reasoning seemed solid, and it certainly made a few of the puzzle pieces fall into place. There could be no doubt that the perpetrator had planned things out meticulously. The only thing he hadn’t anticipated was for a raving-mad Tuvesson to appear on the scene and start chasing him along the E6, causing him to miss the Sydhamnen exit.
“There we go. Now you’re starting to look halfway decent.” Molander made one last little adjustment to the bow tie. “Come on, before Sonja forgets about you altogether.”
14
Kim Sleizner’s Thursday couldn’t have started any better. At quarter to six, his phone had woken him with its cheerfully corny organ melody. He used to wake up to “Chimes” in an early-morning mood that left quite a bit to be desired. But six months ago he’d accidentally changed the alarm ringtone to “By The Seaside,” and woke up laughing out loud to the goofy tune.
The weather in Copenhagen had been brilliant, and he had set out on his nearly ten-kilometre jogging route along Islands Brygge, under Langebro, and on along Stadsgraven, before turning back down past the opera house. He had managed it in under fifty-five minutes, which anyone had to admit was a very good time for an old man like him.
He was in better shape than ever. On days that did not begin with a run around Holmen, he spent the morning in his building’s gym. He allowed himself to rest on the weekends, although he usually did at least one session of yoga. The fact was, he felt considerably younger than he had just a few years ago, and he was convinced that Viveca regretted leaving him. Especially considering how her gut hung over her belt these days.
Yes, indeed, he certainly did keep an eye on her, and he knew exactly how she filled her days, how much she earned, and where she ate lunch. He even knew where she liked to buy her underwear. In his position, it only took a few clicks of the mouse to find all this information. Not that he was particularly interested; Sleizner mostly did it because he could.
It was a different matter with Dunja Hougaard. Until six months ago, he’d had her under constant surveillance. He knew exactly who she spent time with, which jobs she was applying for, and where she usually hung out for her pathetic habit of getting laid on Tuesdays. He noted down every move she made, as though she were a tiny mouse held captive in his laboratory.
In some ways, this is how Sleizner thought of her. His own little pet who wandered around her cage, completely ignorant of the control he had over her — over when she would be given food and fresh water, whether she deserved a new hamster wheel, or when it was time to turn out the light and say good night. It was all up to him.
The hatred he felt for her knew no bounds, although the entertainment he got out of it had begun to taper off. Of course, it had started at a shamelessly high level. But that bubbling thrill of happiness whenever she was taken down a peg didn’t quite reach the levels it once had.
And just like the vast majority of children who solemnly swear to feed their furballs and walk them and take care of them, he grew bored of it in the end. Her new job as a street cop up in Helsingør had been the nail in the coffin; he hadn’t spared her as much as a thought in the past month. But then, this morning, she had once again piqued his interest by somehow managing to lose track of her service weapon, when it fell into the hands of a junkie.
Without a doubt, it was a serious offence. Sleizner had no idea how it had happened or what the consequences might be. But it didn’t matter. He would make sure it devastated her. From now on, he would once again keep an eye on her, and this time he wasn’t going to let her get away as easily. This time he would persist until she was so far past rock bottom that she would never make it up again.
Only then would he be satisfied, turn out the lights, and say good night.
15
The 81-square-metre gallery, which had felt overwhelmingly large the day before, was now full of so many visitors that it was flat-out claustrophobic. Fabian gave up on the idea of trying to find Sonja and focused instead on looking for someone else he knew.
He found his kids in the hall outside the gallery. Theodor was sitting on a chair, his eyes fixed to his cell phone. He was wearing his usual uniform: the old leather jacket Fabian himself had bought as a teenager at Robert, a vintage store in Copenhagen; black jeans; and beat-up boots. He hadn’t seen his son wear anything else in the past six months, and he was seriously starting to wonder if Theodor took off his clothes when he went to bed.
Matilda, in a nice dress and with bows in her hair, was handing out programs to the visitors and trying to explain the theme and title of the exhibit, “The Transience of Eternity,” by comparing it to her favourite board game, Monopoly. You could play it as many times as you liked and each game would be different from the last. Fabian didn’t agree. Matilda had won their last few games in the very same ruthless way.
“Dad, where have you been? We have to give her our present. Everyone else already has,” Matilda said as she handed a program to a middle-aged couple. “Welcome.”
“Matilda, it’s fine.” Fabian smiled at the couple. “Our being here is present enough. And anyway, you and Theodor have to sign it.” He took out the card with The Little Mermaid on the front; the back contained information about their weekend trip to Copenhagen. Matilda wrote her name on it and handed the card to Theodor, who finally looked up from his phone.
“Why would I sign it when I can’t come along?”
“What? Theo’s not coming?” Matilda said. “Dad, you said the whole family was —”
“I have other things to do,” Theodor said, signing the card.
“What do you mean, other things? Like what?”
“Buzz off, none of your damn business.”
“You buzz off.”
“Theodor,
of course you’re coming,” Fabian tried. “The whole point is for all of us to spend time together. I promise, it’ll be —”
“There you are!”
Fabian hurriedly stuffed the card into his jacket pocket and turned to Sonja, who was with a man at least ten years her junior. He was dressed all in black, with blue glasses and short bangs that were so evenly trimmed it almost looked unnatural.
“This is my husband Fabian. And this is Alex White. You know, the art collector from Arild I’ve told you so much about.”
Fabian nodded and shook hands, although he didn’t remember hearing about any Alex White.
“So this is the man behind the name,” White said in such a strong American accent that it instantly grated on Fabian’s nerves.
“Yes, this never would have happened without him,” Sonja said. “Yesterday he assisted me all day, carrying things and hanging the pieces, and here he’s even put on his Christmas present just for me.” She patted Fabian’s cheek. “I didn’t know you could tie a bow tie.”
Fabian wanted to change the subject. “So what do you think about the exhibition?”
“Top notch. To be perfectly honest, it’s not often I stumble across someone who’s so uncompromising and dares to go balls to the wall. This is what I call the perfect combo of kindling and fuel.” He turned to Sonja with one index finger raised. “Just so you know, you are exactly what everyone is looking for right now.” It seemed that White liked to sprinkle American idioms liberally throughout his speech.
“And what is that, if I may ask?” Sonja asked with that gleam in her eye Fabian had been missing for so long.
“You of all people should know.” White laughed. “Sorry, just kidding. No, but seriously, almost all of your pieces share one thing you almost never see here — the so-called L.A. vibe.” He emphasized the phrase with air quotes.
“Fabian, are you okay?” Sonja asked, and Fabian nodded as he wondered how he could kill this man without taking too much focus off the exhibition.
A few metres away, he saw his salvation in the form of Irene Lilja, who had just arrived with the rest of the team, wearing lipstick and a summery dress that matched her well-worn Converse. “I’m just going to go say hi.” He kissed Sonja on the cheek and turned his back on them.
Sonja seemed to lose her train of thought and watched Fabian go as if she didn’t understand what he was up to.
“Are you okay?” White asked in English, placing a hand on her shoulder.
“Yes, no problem.” Sonja forced a smile and turned to Matilda and Theodor. “And these are my children, Matilda and Theodor.”
“Hello there.” White bent down to Matilda with a smile and put out his hand.
But Matilda neither took his hand nor responded.
“Matilda, say hello to Alex.”
“Matilda, say hello to Alex,” Matilda parroted, and turned back to Theodor.
“Hold on, let me make sure I understand all of this,” Cliff said, helping himself to a small pile of canapés from the tray passing by them. “The woman you met today — her boyfriend, Per Krans, has been missing since Monday and he also works at Ka-Ching.”
Lilja nodded. “I have trouble believing it’s just a coincidence.” She took a glass of champagne and tasted it. “Oh my God, it’s so sweet.” She quickly put it down again.
“Here. Have a beer instead.” Fabian handed her a bottle as he raised his own for a toast. No one had planned it, but the whole team had drifted toward one another and were standing in a group.
“What does he do at Ka-Ching?” This was Tuvesson, picking up the thread again with her obligatory bottle of seltzer water in hand.
“He was their financial manager.”
“Was? Why ‘was’? Do you think he’s dead?” Elvin asked, finishing his glass of red wine as he took a canapé from Cliff’s pile without even hesitating.
“I don’t know if this is the place or time, but okay.” Lilja looked around before she went on. “Get this. The girlfriend, Ylva Fridén, hasn’t seen him since the early hours of Monday morning. Apparently they had a fight on Sunday, and she assumed he spent the night on his friend’s couch. But then this morning, one of his colleagues at Ka-Ching calls her up wondering why he’s not at the office or answering his phone. It turns out they haven’t seen him since Monday either.”
“Which is far from the same thing as being dead,” Molander said, allowing himself to show the smile that often made Lilja lose her cool.
“I never said it was. I wasn’t done. So if you would just try listening until I’m finished, I’m sure this will go much faster,” Lilja said, taking a sip of her beer. “From what I understand, this all started when Peter Brise decided out of the blue to sell all of his shares in the company, a move Per Krans opposed.”
“This Krans, was he part owner too?” Tuvesson asked.
“No idea. But apparently the news came as a surprise to everyone at the company. Plus the price was so far below market value that Krans tried to stop the sale.”
“Why such a low price?” Cliff asked. “Just like the rest of them, Brise should have had an interest in making as big a profit as possible.”
“Probably for a quick sale,” Elvin said.
“Anyway, during the last few weeks, the conflict between Krans and Brise grew more and more hostile,” Lilja continued. “It went so far that Krans tried to freeze all of their company accounts when he realized that Brise was about to clear them out.”
“This sounds absurd,” Tuvesson said. “As if he had lost his mind.”
“Yes, and that’s probably exactly what Krans thought had happened. Because it seems he went to Brise’s home on Monday to talk some sense into him. And he hasn’t been seen since. But if you ask me, he’s the one we fished out of the car.”
“Okay, so what you’re saying is, you think Brise killed Krans?”
Lilja nodded and sipped her beer.
“Then what was the point of the whole car chase, driving into the water, and the wetsuit and all of that?” Tuvesson asked. “Why not just kill him and bury the body somewhere?”
“Maybe he wanted it to look like an accident, like he was the victim,” Elvin said, making sure a passing waitress refilled his wine glass.
“Right, that would be a smart move,” Lilja said. “That way he could go underground with all the money and start a new life pretty much anywhere.”
“What about freezing the body? What was the point of that?” Cliff wondered as Elvin took another of his canapés.
“Okay, this seems like a plausible scenario to me.” Lilja sipped her beer. “Krans goes to Brise’s house on Monday morning. Their fight spirals out of control and ends in Krans’s death. Brise doesn’t know what to do, so he hides the body in the freezer, mostly to buy some time to think. Don’t forget, he’s already well underway selling off all his assets. And who knows? Maybe he’d already decided to go underground and start a new life. Then, on Tuesday, he gets this idea and makes all the necessary preparations in order to execute it the next day. And one more thing — they do actually look quite a bit alike.” Lilja passed around a photo of Per Krans, and sure enough, he wore black glasses and had no hair on his head. “And considering that the face was so battered, it’s no surprise Braids and Gruvesson assumed it was Brise and no one else.”
There was no denying her argument made a lot of sense, thought Fabian. He had to give her that. But it was far from certain that it would bear out. Either way, he had to get hold of Braids and back him up against the wall, as Cliff had put it. If it turned out there was a chance Braids was wrong, both when it came to the time of the freezing and the identification of the victim, he was prepared to continue down Lilja’s line of reasoning.
“God, Sonja is so talented!” It was Cliff’s wife, Berit, who had joined the group with a small grey Cairn terrier on a leash. “And so beautiful too, if
I may say so.”
“Thank you,” Fabian said. “I’ll pass that on when I see her.” He looked around at all the visitors crowded into the airless gallery and remembered Molander’s comment in the bathroom, about how Sonja was busy with all her admirers and wouldn’t have time for him anyway.
“My, aren’t all of you so cheerful?” Berit took a sip from Cliff’s glass. “A person would almost think you’re standing here working and talking about that Peter Brise who drove into the harbour and drowned.”
“Berit…” Cliff took back his glass. “Don’t you need to take Einstein out for a walk?”
“No, he just did his business in the middle of the floor in the entryway. Numbers one and two, although there wasn’t much difference. But don’t worry. I took care of it, and the floor has never been cleaner.” Berit vanished toward a tray of full glasses.
“Sorry, where were we?” Cliff said.
“At Sonja’s exhibition opening.” Elvin raised his glass and walked off to look at the artwork.
“Unfortunately, my beer is finished.” Lilja held up her empty bottle.
“I’ll grab another.” Fabian walked over to Matilda, who was sitting by herself in the chair where Theodor had been. “Have you seen Mom?”
Matilda shook her head and looked like she was fighting back tears.
“Matilda, what’s wrong? Did something happen?”
“Theo said I was retarded.”
“What? Why would he say that?”
Matilda shrugged. “I don’t know. But he said it. And that he hates me. Then he just walked away.”
“Well, that was a cruel thing to say, even if I’m sure he didn’t mean it.”
“Sure he meant it. He’s always hated me.”
“Of course he doesn’t hate you.” Fabian squatted down and hugged Matilda. “You know how he can be. You didn’t happen to say anything to him first, did you?”
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