How in the hell could he be so fucking stupid? He’d promised himself that the last time was it. Maybe he deserved to go to jail and have his driving licence taken away. It could be exactly what he needed – just not right now.
It was crucial not to drive too slowly, which was always the biggest mistake people made when they were driving under the influence. To over-compensate and stay far below the speed limit to avoid an accident was the surest way to attract police attention. Instead it was critical to stay as close to the speed limit as possible, or even better just over it. The hard thing was staying in your lane at the same time. Dammit, he was still drunk, almost more drunk now than when he got into the car. He lowered the side window, took in the freezing air and tried to focus on the markings on the road.
Nice and easy now. There wasn’t far to go. In a kilometre he would be at the Louisiana Museum. After that it was just a matter of turning down towards the water after the church. A hundred metres or so later he was more or less home.
Just like in a bad movie, the blue lights came on and penetrated right into the car. Dammit. He would stumble at the finish line. He tried to see how close the police car was in the rear-view mirror, but was blinded by the strong light. He had no choice but to stop and try to talk his way out of the situation, something he was admittedly good at. But the police car rushed past him and disappeared into the darkness.
‘Yes!’ Aksel drummed his fingers on the steering wheel and burst out in a howl of joy. He had escaped by the skin of his teeth and he promised himself that this was absolutely the last time.
He passed Humlebæk Church, slowed down and turned right on to Gammel Strandvej. He would soon be able to see the house, and his heart rate finally started to reflect the fact that the danger was over. He drove past a silver-coloured Porsche that was parked along the road. Fifty metres later he turned on to the driveway and parked alongside Karen’s car.
For some reason, the floodlights didn’t come on. When he got out of the car he realized that all the garden lighting was turned off, but Karen always kept the lights on when she was home alone.
He continued along the cobblestone walk through the snow towards the house. He had to support himself against the wall so that he didn’t lose his balance when he put the key in the lock. But he couldn’t turn it – the door was already unlocked. This was not at all like Karen. First the garden lighting and now the door.
She had undeniably sounded more worried than normal, and went so far as to try to get him to cancel the show. But it hadn’t really registered at the time. He could never grasp anything in the minutes before the red light came on. At that moment his entire focus was on the impending broadcast.
He stepped into the hall and wondered how many times he’d tried to explain his process
to Karen, emphasizing that it didn’t have anything to do with his love for her. It happened completely in his subconscious. The world could come to an end outside the studio and he wouldn’t even realize it until after the show.
But she never believed him and always insisted that his routine was proof of his narcissism and that, when it came right down to it, there was no place for her in his life. He had tried to convince her otherwise again and again, such as when he’d supported her when she was sick, not least financially. If that wasn’t proof enough, what was? He pulled off his shoes and almost lost his balance.
The question was whether he would ever sober up again. Right now it felt as if his blood alcohol level was still rising. He looked into the living room and determined that Karen was not still up, which meant that she’d managed to calm down and finally go to bed. But then he heard the bedroom door in the hall open and close and figured that Karen was about to go to bed. At least she knew he was home now.
He whistled all the way to the bathroom. Once he got there, he undressed, leaving his clothes in a pile on the floor, and then stepped into the shower and let the hot water stream over him. He set the control to the quiet summer rain setting and reminded himself how much he loved the new shower, which could re-create everything from monsoon rain to dense fog.
When he’d finished rinsing the soap from his body, he dried himself off, pulled in his stomach and studied his body in the mirror both from the front and the side. He was in good shape and had no problem getting down on the floor and firing off thirty-odd push-ups at a rapid pace. He left the bathroom and walked to the bedroom, where he stuck his head into the darkness.
‘Hello? May I come in?’ He awaited a response, but none came.
So that was the game they would play tonight, he speculated and continued into the room, the wordless game, where body language and physical desire were the only vocabulary. She usually had a lamp on until he came in and lay down beside her, but now it was so dark that he had to feel with his hands along the edge of the bed to find his way. He crept down under the covers on his side and lay on his back. He was still intoxicated and could only hope that she wouldn’t notice. In any event, it was her turn to take the initiative, he thought, and tried to sound as if he was about to fall asleep.
Besides the faint murmur of the ventilation system he could hear nothing but his own breathing. Karen was almost completely silent. He had a tendency to snore through the night, and Karen had regularly threatened to have separate bedrooms if he didn’t start using his anti-snoring mouthpiece. He had broken this promise more or less every night, he admitted to himself, automatically pulling back the covers. His pounding erection was now completely exposed and pointed right toward his navel.
But he got no reaction from Karen. She couldn’t be that upset because he hadn’t cancelled the show, jumped into the car and driven home just because she was a little afraid of the dark, could she? No, he was probably the one who was impatient and over-eager. He cupped his hands in front of his mouth and exhaled, but couldn’t tell whether he reeked of alcohol.
After yet another endlessly long minute he turned towards her and let one hand find its way under the blanket. Karen was lying on her back. He continued up with his hand and grazed her nipple, something that always turned her on. But this time there was no reaction at all, not even after he started using his tongue.
He pulled back the covers, leaned down over her and drew the tip of his tongue in careful light circles around and on top of her nipple. He still got no response, and he wondered what he was doing wrong. He always initiated foreplay this way. He decided to focus on the lower regions, even if he knew that Karen could get turned off immediately if he was too forward. But what choice did he have? She was forcing him, more or less.
He brought his hand down from her breast and along her ribs and belly, where he felt something sticky that made him instinctively pull back and sit straight up. What the hell was that, he asked himself, and turned on the bedside lamp.
His first thought was that he had actually already fallen asleep and this was nothing but a malicious dream to reinforce his guilty conscience about having left her alone. But then the shock hit him with such force that he had a hard time breathing and had to leave the room to get air.
9
FABIAN RISK TURNED ON to Bergsgatan. The morning news hadn’t mentioned a word about the disappearance of the Minister for Justice, but instead devoted most of the broadcast to the kidnapping of the playboy Adam Fischer. Apparently no ransom had yet been demanded – puzzling since his father, a diplomat, left a small fortune to the family when he passed away. When the news moved on to a rancorous debate on whether children and pregnant women should be vaccinated for swine flu, Risk turned off the radio.
Hopefully Niva would soon be in touch. On the way home from NDRI she had promised to identify the minister’s secret cell phone number and tried to convince him to grab a drink because her date had finally cancelled. That’s the least you can do, isn’t it, she insisted.
But fear of what he hoped the drink would lead to made him decline the invitation and put the blame on his kids who were home alone. Then we’ll do it next time, she whispered
in his ear, and he heard himself promise to treat.
Fabian lowered the side window, pressed the little plastic key against the reader, and drove down into the police station garage. He had hoped to get there first and have time to investigate any of the existing leads before Malin and the others showed up, but his morning had become a textbook example of how not to start the day.
Sonja had spent the night in the studio. Matilda and Theodor didn’t seem to have slept at all and it was almost impossible to get them out of bed – or his bed, to be precise. When he had finally come home at twelve thirty, they were both lying tightly curled up under the covers.
At first Fabian couldn’t believe his eyes. Matilda and Theodor never played together; the age difference was too great and their only common interest was getting on each other’s nerves. Sonja thought they would get more enjoyment from their sibling relationship when they were older, but Fabian wasn’t so sure. On the contrary, he thought most signs pointed to them having the same kind of non-existent relationship that he and his older brother had.
Everything suddenly made sense once he saw the cover to the classic Nightmare on Elm Street lying on top of the DVD player. When they woke, they were back in their old roles and quarrelled about everything from who had the right to the last package of O’boy chocolate powder to how long it was okay to stay barricaded in the bathroom.
Now it was eight thirty and he could see Malin Rehnberg’s car was already in its spot, even though she’d flown in from Copenhagen that morning.
*
‘ANDERS… BUT, ANDERS, PLEASE listen to me now,’ Malin said into the phone as she rolled her eyes toward Fabian, who was hanging up his coat. ‘If we’re going to have the slightest chance to be finished this century we’re going to have to bring in real contractors. If you haven’t noticed, I’m actually very pregnant… No, now I’m the one talking.’ She stopped talking and chugged back her glass of Coke. ‘You think I have the energy to spend the whole weekend on all fours tiling the bathroom? What? No, I’m not upset. I’m pregnant!’
Malin slammed the receiver down so hard on the cradle that Fabian was impressed that it held at all. ‘Sometimes, but only sometimes, you men have your brain connected, like every other leap year or so.’ She shook her head, filled the glass with more Coke and emptied it in one gulp. A few seconds later she picked up the receiver again and dialled. ‘Hi, it’s me again. Listen, sorry… I didn’t mean to… I just don’t have the energy to renovate any more now. Love you too. Kiss.’ She hung up and turned to face Fabian. ‘I was about to call you to hear about the meeting at SePo yesterday.’
‘Is everything all right?’ said Fabian, sitting down at the desk opposite her.
Malin looked as if she didn’t know where to start. ‘Whatever you and Sonja do, promise me never to buy a house that needs renovating. And I mean never as in never, ever have the thought. Never look at listings. Never set your foot in a neighbourhood of single-family houses, even if your best friends just moved there, okay? Stay in the city. For God’s sake, stay inside the city limits, if you want to survive.’
‘Okay. I promise,’ said Fabian, starting up his computer.
‘On top of that, I have my first hangover since these two came on the scene.’ Malin pointed at her belly and refilled her glass. ‘But forget about that now and tell me about the meeting.’
‘Hangover?’ said Fabian, wondering how he could neatly guide the conversation away from the meeting. ‘Hangover as in I-consumed-alcohol-even-though-I’m-in-late-pregnancy-with-twins hangover?’
Malin met Fabian’s gaze with a tired look. ‘You know how the Danes are.’
‘I don’t think I do. Why don’t you tell me? And did you find a contact person?’
‘Yes, and she was extremely pleasant. I want to underscore that I didn’t have more than one-and-a-half, max two, glasses of wine.’
‘And how big was a glass?’
‘Can we please drop it and talk about your meeting instead? I want to know everything.’
‘Good morning. Did everything go well in Copenhagen?’
They turned towards Herman Edelman, who was in the doorway with a steaming cup of coffee in his hand and the morning newspapers under his arm.
‘Yes, it was actually really interesting,’ said Malin. ‘I intend to tell all about it at the nine o’clock meeting. And speaking of meetings, I’d like to know what—’
‘Exactly,’ said Edelman, turning toward Fabian. ‘Do you have a few minutes?’
‘Absolutely.’ Fabian got up.
‘We’ll do it in my office.’
‘Is there time to get a cup of tea?’ said Malin, also getting up.
‘I’m sure. The meeting isn’t for twenty minutes,’ said Edelman. ‘And then we all look forward to hearing more about wonderful Copenhagen.’
Fabian could feel Malin’s gaze burning on his neck the whole way down the corridor.
*
FABIAN ALWAYS FELT LIKE he was going back thirty years in time as soon as he took a step across the threshold into Edelman’s cluttered office. Throughout all his years as the boss, Edelman had persistently declined every offer of renovation, to the point that they had now talked about the importance of preserving the office in its original condition for future generations.
Fabian suspected that Edelman only really wanted to retain his rumbling refrigerator that was always stocked with Kalle’s caviar, red onions and cold beer. The old TV with the VHS player was perhaps not used as often, but as long as he still had a collection of classic films on the shelf, he evidently didn’t intend to get rid of that either.
He’d even opposed having the nicotine-yellow walls repainted because he was worried that they would discover that he defied the smoking ban.
‘Please sit down.’ Edelman sat in the reading chair by the window and started filling a pipe.
Fabian moved a pillow and a few binders off the worn leather couch and sat down.
‘We only have a few minutes. The last I heard is that SePo has now found the cell phone,’ said Edelman, getting the flame from the lighter to turn down and lick the pipe.
‘In Riddarfjärden outside the Kanslikajen?’ said Fabian.
‘Yes. How did you know that?’
‘We did a positioning last night and it was identified as the phone’s last known location. We also discovered that he has another cell phone, but with a secret number. If everything goes according to plan, we’ll have a position on it today.’
Edelman thought and sipped his coffee. ‘You say “we”? I assume that the other person isn’t me.’
‘It’s a former colleague who no longer has any connections here. I thought it was better than bringing in Novak.’
‘Former colleague.’ Edelman puffed the pipe smoke out in small clouds. ‘You mean Niva. And here I thought I was completely crystal clear that no others should be involved.’
‘She’s not someone you need to worry about. She understands exactly why—’
‘Let me decide what I should be worried about.’
Fabian was about to nod, but stopped himself. If he accepted the reprimand now, he risked losing all his freedom in this investigation. Normally he could essentially guide his investigations however he wanted, but this was anything but a normal case, and Edelman evidently thought he could control him like a puppet.
‘You had a call with Grimås a few hours before he disappeared,’ he said. ‘What did you talk about?’
It was clear that Edelman was not prepared for the question, but he recovered quickly and took another puff. ‘Nothing important. If it had been, I would have mentioned it yesterday of course.’
‘But now I’m the one who’s leading the investigation, so let me decide what’s important.’
Edelman broke into a smile and laughed. ‘That’s rich, Fabian. We talked about the question time he was on his way to. And, if I remember correctly, it was about some legislative amendment proposal.’
‘Did you pick up on anything that
may have to do with his disappearance?’
Edelman shook his head and laughed again. ‘No, but I promise to let you know if I think of something. And speaking of phone calls.’ Edelman stood up, went over to the desk and came back with an old Nokia 63109 and a charger. ‘As of now I want you to use this when you call me. You’ll find the number under the Jewish Theatre.’
Fabian looked at the ancient-looking phone, even though it hadn’t been much more than a year since he’d had one like it.
‘I guess we’re done for now, assuming you don’t want to continue the questioning, that is?’
‘Just one thing. To avoid any misunderstandings,’ said Fabian, ignoring the irony.
‘Yes?’
‘You’ve put me on an assignment that directly contradicts the explicit instructions of the police commissioner.’
‘True. But you know just as well as I do that—’
‘Herman, you don’t need to go on the defensive. I don’t think it’s wrong – on the contrary, I consider it our duty to find out what’s happened. But if I’m going to step on a wasps’ nest, I’m the one they’ll sting, not you.’
‘That’s true. So the best thing you can do is to not make any missteps.’
‘Which is exactly what I’m doing. And I intend to follow up with some of my leads. I just want you to be aware of the situation.’ Fabian was determined not to let go of Edelman’s gaze until he got what he was after.
They sat for a few moments while the silence became more and more insistent. But at last, it came, in the form of a barely perceptible nod.
‘It’s already two minutes past,’ said Edelman, standing up and moving towards the door. ‘No reason to keep the others waiting.’
The Ninth Grave Page 6
