Theodor unfolded the bundle and saw that it was a balaclava with a big yellow smiley face on the front. “Hold on, you want me to come?” Panic spread through his body like the venom of a snake. “But why?” he finally managed.
“Because you’re one of us now.”
82
Dunja had been certain the bedroom invader was Magnus. She was absolutely bewildered when she felt the gun at her back. Magnus had his issues, but no one could accuse him of being violent.
The last thing she expected was to find Sannie Lemke standing there with wild eyes and Dunja’s own service weapon in her hands. She screamed, prompting a drowsy Magnus to stumble into the room. Which, in turn, ratcheted up the already tense situation and caused the frantic Sannie to wave the gun back and forth between the two of them, threatening to shoot.
Dunja tried to calm her down, repeating that she had nothing to fear. But Sannie refused to listen, and pointed the gun at Magnus. She looked ready to pull the trigger. Dunja screamed at her to stop, and put herself between Magnus and the gun. She tried to explain that she and Magnus were officially on sick leave, and were working on the investigation on their own initiative because they didn’t trust their colleagues to capture the killers.
Finally, Sannie listened, and they were able to convince her to put down the gun and take a hot bath. When she returned to the hallway all clean and wearing Dunja’s clothes, she could almost have been mistaken for an average citizen of Copenhagen. The only thing amiss was her nervous, glassy-eyed gaze as she kept peering back over her shoulder.
“Sannie, no one but Magnus and I know you’re here. You can relax.”
“Are you sure?”
Dunja nodded and gently took Sannie by the hand. “Come on, let’s go sit down in the kitchen. I’ve made some tea and put out a little food. You must be starving.”
Sannie nodded and followed Dunja to the kitchen table.
“Magnus, are you going to come keep us company?” Dunja called.
“You two get started. I just have to take care of something,” Magnus responded from the living room.
Dunja poured the tea. “Help yourself to whatever you want. Here’s some cheese and egg and salami, and here’s the honey, if you want any in your tea.”
Sannie hesitantly took a piece of bread but didn’t put anything on it; she drank some tea, her hands shaking. After a few bites she started to relax. By the time Magnus came in, dressed and freshened up, his hair water-combed and parted, there wasn’t much left but a sweaty piece of cheese and a few sad slices of bread.
“Sannie…” Dunja laid her hand over the other woman’s as she tried to make eye contact. “I think I know who murdered your brother.”
Sannie pulled her hand away and refused to look at Dunja.
“I think you came here because you want to help us apprehend them.”
“No.” The woman shook her head. “No, no, no, no. They took Bjarke and I…I didn’t have anywhere to go and I hoped you would be different from everyone else.”
“I am, and that’s why I’m so glad you came here. Bjarke, is that the guy with the lighter?”
“He was just heading out to collect empty bottles, but he never came back…” Sannie covered her mouth to keep from crying.
“This Bjarke,” Magnus said. “I don’t suppose you gave him my service weapon?”
“Magnus, perhaps that can wait a bit.”
“I just thought —”
“Magnus,” Dunja cut him off and placed a comforting arm around Sannie. “How about you grab some rum.”
“What, you have rum?”
“In the cupboard, up there to the right. But it’s not for you. You’ve had enough already.”
Magnus handed the bottle to Dunja, who spiked the tea and held the cup out to Sannie.
“Here. Drink some of this.”
Sannie drained the cup in one gulp, then put it down and dried her tears. “I looked all night, but I couldn’t find him until the next morning, and then all of a sudden he was everywhere, in every newspaper and on every TV.”
“What I don’t understand is how they found him.” Dunja poured another cup of tea and rum. “I mean, you’ve both been in hiding all this time. Right?”
Sannie nodded as she drank more of the tea. “They ask around and they threaten people, and they pay. All they have to do now is put on those masks and everyone will rat everyone else out. Next time they’ll be after me.”
“There isn’t going to be a next time. Do you hear me?” Dunja embraced her. “Sannie…that’s exactly what you’re going to help us make sure of.”
“How? How can I —”
“By identifying them. That’s all you have to do.”
“All I have to do?” Sannie wriggled out of Dunja’s grip and looked her in the eyes. “You mean I have to be a witness in front of everyone? That I have to report it to the police? They’ll register me and force me to do urine tests and lock me up for all sorts of crap.”
“Sannie, I promise to make sure that you —”
“You can’t promise me anything. The cops never help people like me. And what do you think will happen once they’ve done their time? If they even get any. Who do you think they’ll go after then?”
“Okay, what’s the alternative? That they keep picking you off, one by one? That we just stand aside and watch? Sannie, I understand why you feel the way you do. Believe me, no one knows better than me what some people on the force are capable of. But that’s not everyone, not by a long shot. The two of us at this table are one hundred percent on your side.” She turned to Magnus, who nodded in agreement. “And we’re prepared to do everything we can, as long as you help us.”
Sannie was silent for a long time before she finally nodded. “Can I have a little more of that?” She pointed at the liquor bottle.
Dunja fixed her another cup of tea and rum, then went off to find the photograph of the martial arts club. When she came back and placed it on the table, she could tell that Sannie recognized them immediately. Her eyes were fixed to those faces when the intercom in the hall buzzed.
“What was that?” Sannie flew out of her chair as her eyes searched for an escape route.
“Take it easy. It’s nothing to worry about,” Dunja said, trying to get Sannie to sit back down. “It’s this neighbourhood. Not a night goes by without someone hitting all the buttons and waking up everyone in this stairwell. You get used to it — I always sleep with earplugs.”
But the buzzing continued, as if the button had gotten stuck, and then it switched over to aggressive, intermittent blasts.
“Magnus, go see what that is. It’s after midnight.”
Magnus vanished into the hall.
“Sannie, you don’t need to worry. You’re safe here.” She poured a splash of rum into the cup, and Sannie gulped it down before taking her seat again. “See? It stopped. By the way, how did you get in?”
Sannie shook her head and allowed herself a smile. “You might think you lock the door when you leave. But an old door like that is never locked. At least not to someone like me.”
“Well, lookie here. It’s been ages.”
Kim Sleizner stood in the doorway, smiling his wide grin. Dunja tried to say something, but no words would come even though she felt her mouth moving.
“Aren’t you glad to see me?” Sleizner threw out his hands and came into the kitchen. “And this must be Sannie Lemke.” He looked back and forth between them. “In other circumstances, we could have had a really nice time together.” He patted Sannie on the cheek and felt her hair. “Of course, you’d need to be deloused first.”
“Kim, what the hell are you doing here?” Dunja rose. “And how did you know —”
“What does it look like I’m doing?” Sleizner held one hand in the air and snapped his fingers. Two uniformed officers trudged into the kitche
n. “Arrest her.”
Sannie overturned the table, trying to get away, but the officers quickly overpowered her, forcing her to the floor.
“Let her go!” Dunja turned to Sleizner. “You can’t just come in here and —”
“Of course I can,” he interrupted her as the officers forced Sannie’s arms so high up behind her back that her shoulders cracked before they could get the cuffs on her. “She stole police property and shot at you and your overweight partner. Furthermore, she’s the principal witness in our most important investigation. So I have any number of reasons to apprehend her out of the hands of a little private eye like you. If I even needed any, that is. Because to tell you the truth, I can do anything I feel like. To you. To her. To this whole pigsty. At any time. Anything.” He turned to the officers. “Take her down to the car and wait there.”
The officers nodded and headed for the door with Sannie, whose eyes nailed Dunja to the wall. She spat in Dunja’s face as they dragged her into the hall.
Sleizner laughed and shook his head. “You know what the biggest surprise is? Hmm? Do you know?” He walked over and stood right in front of Dunja. “That you’re so shocked. I mean, I knew you were naive. But this naive — words fail me. You didn’t seriously think it was over between us. That we were finished with each other. Or, more accurately, that I was finished with you. Did you?” He walked over to the fridge and took out a beer, which he opened with the back of a fork. “Because if you did somehow get that impression, I’m happy to inform you that I will never be finished with you. I’m like that client that just keeps coming and coming.” He took a few sips of beer and burped. “After a while you start to wonder when it will end. But the thing is, it doesn’t end, and you try to swallow to keep up, but more and more just keeps coming out and finally you start to gag and you can’t breathe anymore. And when you’re totally out of it, just lying there with your mouth all slack and gooey, I just keep going. In and out. In and out.” He demonstrated with the beer bottle. “Not because it feels all that great, it’s more that it turns me on to break down resistance. I do it just because I can.” He finished the beer. “Mmm…this is really good.” He looked at the label. “Mikkeller. Never heard of it. Is that one of those hipster breweries? Anyway. I think we’re done here. For now.” Sleizner walked over to Magnus, who was standing in the doorway and looking like he would have a breakdown at any moment. “You don’t have to look so upset.” He patted him on the cheek. “You can rest easy. You did a good job and danced your little dance as close to perfect as you possibly could. I’m not about to forget it. Have a beer and celebrate, why don’t you.” Sleizner disappeared into the hall, and a moment later they heard the apartment door closing behind him.
At first, Dunja couldn’t believe it. That Magnus, of all people, had gone behind her back and contacted Sleizner. That was obviously what he had been rambling about on their way home. And now he was just standing there, looking like he was about to throw up again.
“I’m sorry,” he said, swallowing. “I just wanted everything to be done the right way. So you don’t get in even more trouble. I had no way of knowing it would turn out this way,” he said, waiting for her reaction. “Please, say something.”
But she couldn’t say or do anything. She was still in the grip of shock.
And that was probably lucky for him.
83
After a sharp turn, the silvery-grey trailer rose out of the morning mist. It was parked just past the edge of the forest, next to a small truck and a motorcycle. A cheery bossa nova streamed from one of the windows, mixing with the chatter of birds.
Inside, a woman sat before an illuminated mirror in her underwear and a chestnut pageboy wig, humming along with the music as she applied pale powder, black eyeliner, and dark red lipstick.
The space around her was reminiscent of a cramped dressing room in a theatre. Rows of clothes hung everywhere, and one shelf was full of Styrofoam heads bearing different wigs. A bulletin board next to the mirror was full of Polaroids taken of some of the victims just after they were frozen, alongside pictures of the woman dressed as them.
When she was done, she put on a pair of large earrings and found a pair of tights, a navy blue skirt, and an ivory blouse. Last of all, she stuck her feet into a pair of high-heeled pumps, put on a navy blue jacket and a pair of thick-framed eyeglasses, turned off the music, and left the trailer with a well-worn leather briefcase under her arm and a helmet in her hand. A moment later, she kicked the motorcycle to life and blazed off down the forest road.
Once she reached the highway she sped up on her way to Helsingborg, the ever-growing Väla shopping centre on her right, and, a minute later, the offices of Helsingborgs Dagblad on her left. Slowing down, she moved into the right lane and turned off at Kullavägen, then took a right on Rundgången, which led straight to the police station.
But unlike Fabian, who was in the car in front of her and turned into the staff parking lot, she didn’t stop until about fifty metres later, not far from the adjoining jail. With a practised motion, she put down the kickstand and climbed off the motorcycle, hanging the helmet on the handlebars, and locked up and set the key on top of the back tire.
“You must be Cecilia Olsson,” said the guard who greeted her at the jail entrance.
The woman nodded without moving her red-painted lips and showed her identification.
“I thought he didn’t want a lawyer,” continued the guard as he studied her ID.
“People change their minds,” the woman said, offering a brief smile.
“Yeah, especially with those legs.” He winked and handed her ID back. “I’m almost tempted to run a red light or get up to some other mischief.” He swiped his badge through the reader and nodded at her to follow him through the security door. “From what I understand, today’s the day. Rumour has it they’ve got more than enough for a life sentence.”
“Then it’s even more important I meet with my client.”
“That’s one way of looking at it.” The guard set out a transparent plastic bin and the woman emptied her pockets of her cell phone, wallet, and keys. “You can put the briefcase on the conveyer belt and then go stand on those marks with your arms out to the sides.”
The woman did as she was told, and the guard passed a wand over her body; it beeped only at the metal underwires of her bra. Then he patted her down.
“Are you always this careful?”
“I’m sure you heard what happened here two years ago — the class killer who came incognito and killed people we were sheltering in the jail. We’ve been following updated procedures ever since. But I have to admit, some days I do a better job than others.” He winked again, letting his impudent hands explore her back and arms, then her breasts and waist, and on down, between her legs.
When he was finished, he returned her briefcase and opened another security door, where a female guard took over and showed her through a few corridors to a closed metal door. She opened it with the help of her badge and a six-digit code.
“Since you’re a lawyer, we’re not allowed to use any surveillance, as you know. But if you like we can make an exception.”
“Thanks, but I’d prefer to stick to the rules.”
The guard nodded. “If you want out, just press the red button. Otherwise I’ll be back in half an hour.”
The woman stepped into the windowless visiting room, which contained a plastic-encased cot and a table; the man was sitting at the latter awaiting her. His head was shaved, and both his pants and shirt were pale grey, with the logo of the Helsingborg jail on them.
“Hi. Cecilia Olsson,” she said, walking into the room and offering her hand.
“Hi there.” The man stood up as if to shake her hand as the guard backed out and closed the door. Its mechanical bolts slid into the wall.
The man walked up and stood face to face with the woman, who took off her pumps.
They looked one another deep in the eyes, as if they had been longing for this all their lives, and after a moment he leaned over and stuck his tongue out in a little point. She followed his example and began to stroke his with her own, like two snakes that couldn’t get enough.
“Soon…” he whispered, removing her glasses. “Soon this will all be over.”
She nodded, and as if on cue they began to undress. He took off his shirt and pants; she took off the blouse, tights, and skirt. And while he strapped on the padded bra and put on her blouse with a skilful hand, she took his shirt. Every movement seemed practised and choreographed down to the tiniest detail. As if it were a ritual they had drilled through innumerable times.
The man pulled on the tights and skirt in a single motion as the woman buttoned up the grey pants. When they were done, they stood face to face for a kiss as intense as it was short, before they moved to the next stage.
She took off her false eyebrows and stuck them on him as he removed her large earrings and placed them in his own earlobes. She opened the briefcase, took out a wet cotton pad, and wiped the makeup off her lips and face, while he took out the makeup kit and began to powder his face, put on a few expert swipes of eyeliner, and paint his lips red.
Last of all, she took off her wig and put it on him. She, too, was shaved bald, and when he put on the pumps and glasses it was nearly impossible to tell that they had switched places.
Ten minutes later, they heard the bolts sliding back. The door opened and the guard stepped in. “Okay, visiting time is over.”
The man nodded, adjusted his glasses, and picked up his briefcase before standing up in the high heels and turning to the guard, who showed him out of the visiting room and on down the corridor without so much as a thought.
84
Malin Rehnberg and her husband Anders had agreed to take an extra day off between Ascension Day and the weekend so they could finally get rid of all the construction junk left over from the renovation. It had been lying under tarps in the yard for almost two years. Their neighbours had started to grumble about it, and some had even stopped saying hello on the street.
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