Only One Life

by Sara Blaedel

  Camilla had arrived in Holbæk late Saturday night. She had decided to drop the whole thing after her run-in with Terkel, but in the end her stubbornness compelled her to head back out there anyway and see if she could get any further on the story. Even if it robbed her of her Sunday, it would be a victory after their spat if she came home with something none of the other journalists had. She had called Louise from the road. Even before Camilla left Copenhagen, she was looking forward to meeting Louise at Bryghuset and chatting for a while over a beer, but Louise’s cell phone just kept going to voicemail. Camilla gave up around midnight.

  Then early that morning, the sirens from the first responders’ vehicles sliced through the walls of her room at the Station Hotel with their high-pitched howl. She had strolled out toward the parking lot to check, but they’d cordoned off the area around the body, and with all the police tape she couldn’t get close enough to see anything, so she called the desk officer at the station to find out what had happened. And when he wouldn’t tell her anything, she called Storm directly.

  She hadn’t gotten any more than the name out of him, but that had also been enough to start with, and she had promised to keep it to herself until the girls’ parents had been notified. Camilla had known whom he was talking about right away. In the days following Samra’s death, she had interviewed Dicta along with a couple of other girls from Samra’s class. When she finished talking to Storm, she went back to the hotel to dig out her notes from her conversation with the girl, and after that she went down to the restaurant and got the cook to make her a little breakfast. She picked up a copy of Ekstra Bladet that the cook had sitting next to the stove along with a pot of coffee. She tried to get hold of Louise again, but her cell was still going straight to voicemail, so Camilla went back out to the restaurant with her breakfast to wait until there was some news from the police.

  She saw the picture in the paper, read the brief text, and then jumped up, dropping everything. It all happened so quickly, her coffee sloshed onto the tablecloth and the bread basket tumbled to the floor.

  With the paper tucked under her arm, she ran out onto the street and over to the parking lot. Storm and Skipper were standing there talking, but she ran right past them and continued to where Velin stood to ask him about Louise. Just then she spotted her friend coming over from the other end of the parking lot, where the body was. Her face was blank and her eyes trained on the ground. Camilla ran over to her, holding out the paper.

  “You have to see this,” she called from a distance.

  Louise looked up and was about to protest, but Camilla ignored her friend’s rebuff and pulled her over to a walkway between the walls of two buildings, so they were away from the others. Camilla unfolded Ekstra Bladet, turned to page nine, and pointed to a large color photo of an almost-naked Dicta Møller.

  “This is today’s paper,” Camilla said, waiting for a reaction.

  Dicta’s long blonde hair was falling down over her breasts. Her body was turned slightly with her head tilted a tad, and one hip pushed forward in a diminutive white crocheted bikini, which was tied together by a thin string, not leaving much to the imagination if you were the kind of person who was attracted to young girls.

  Louise slowly reached for the newspaper. “Well, she doesn’t look like that anymore,” she said in a subdued tone after having studied the picture.

  “How does she look?” Camilla quickly seized the opening her friend had given her.

  Louise stood there for a moment, appearing to consider whether she could tell Camilla anything.

  “One whole side of her head is caved in after multiple powerful blows,” Louise finally said. “I would imagine that most of her cranium is crushed, and her face is one big bloody pulp.”

  Camilla put her arm around Louise and they stood like that for a bit. She knew Louise had had a fair amount of contact with the girl and that she must be working hard now to contain her emotions so they didn’t overwhelm her. Camilla gave her shoulder a squeeze, and Louise folded up the paper and gave her a little smile.

  “Thanks for showing me that,” she said, preparing to go join Storm and Skipper.

  “I know the photographer who took this picture,” Camilla called after Louise. “He’s a disagreeable chap. Sad that she fell into his clutches.”

  Louise stopped and came back over. “Disagreeable in what way?” she asked.

  “Not in a way that I think would lead him to crush a girl’s skull, but certainly a girl’s heart. I always sort of got the sense he was ambitious, and there’ve been a few stories going around about him that haven’t cast him in a good light.” Camilla explained that there had been rumors of violence. “Although not against the girls, as far as I know,” she hurried to add, before saying that, on the other hand, there had been rumblings about how he couldn’t keep his hands off the young girls who came to his studio. “But that’s not to say—well, I don’t know how much is gossip and how much is truth. He’s never been convicted of anything as far as I know, and of course he’s quite active professionally. So it could well be that he just has a bad reputation,” Camilla added, so she couldn’t be accused of having contributed to spreading the rumors.

  “Interesting,” Louise said. Then she said that she had just been asked to drive out and inform Dicta’s parents.

  Camilla stood and watched her as she walked away with the newspaper under her arm.

  24

  LOUISE STOPPED TWENTY METERS FROM THE MØLLER FAMILY’S driveway. She had driven two wheels up onto the sidewalk and was sitting in the cruiser with her phone pressed to her ear. Before she’d left, she had told Storm about Ekstra Bladet and shown him the picture. Now he was calling her on her cell to have her tell Dicta’s parents about it.

  “Oh, no,” she exclaimed. “I don’t know if I can make myself do that.”

  “It’s going to be hard to keep it hidden,” Storm quickly retorted.

  She conceded that he was right. Obviously they would end up seeing it.

  “Maybe you can ask them a little about how much they knew about her free time, while you’re discussing it with them,” he suggested.

  “We’ll see,” Louise replied curtly, still not having the faintest desire to bring it up.

  She shut off her phone and drove the last little bit to the driveway. It was only a few minutes before eight in the morning, but there were no cars in the garage and the house looked empty. Louise was suddenly afraid that they could have left early to go to a dog show, because it might be hard to find them then.

  The police usually sent two people to inform a family so that one officer wasn’t alone if the parents had a violent response to the shock, but in this case Louise had opted to talk to them by herself because they already knew her. However, she had arranged with Storm that he would keep one officer ready to assist her should that be necessary.

  The dogs out back started howling as Louise walked up to the front door and held her finger on the bell for a long, sustained ring. The dog inside came galloping and acting very fearsome. She pushed the button again and heard the chime of the bell spreading through the house. She did not hear the gate in the wall to the yard opening, so she jumped when Dicta’s mother was suddenly standing in front of her with a cheerful morning greeting and a large bowl in her hand.

  “I was just out with the dogs. I usually run them early in the morning, and then we do our training later,” she said, holding out the bowl as if that explained why she had it.

  Louise nodded and said that she’d come to speak to the woman and her husband.

  Anne Møller gave her a questioning look, but there was no trace of worry to be seen in her apparently candid face.

  “There’s coffee made. Henrik just popped out to the bakery.” She opened the door and held the dog. “But Dicta isn’t here,” she added, still leaning over Charlie with a grip on his collar. “She’s spending the night at Liv’s.”

  Anne set coffee cups out on the table and it wasn’t until they were sitting
across from each other that a shadow came over her face.

  “You didn’t come over to talk about Dicta, did you?” she asked, to encourage Louise to begin.

  The coffee in the cup was steaming and the milk had turned it a creamy, golden color.

  “I would really like to speak to both you and your husband. How about if we just wait for him?”

  Now that that was said, the worry was more palpable. Louise sat up when she heard the car door shut. A second later, Henrik Møller was standing in the doorway, looking at her in astonishment.

  “You’re here so early,” he said, walking over to shake her hand.

  Dicta’s mother stayed seated in her chair, following her husband with her eyes, but clearly hadn’t yet had the thought that something awful had happened. That wasn’t the source of the worry that was evident in her eyes. Just apprehension.

  Henrik Møller had tossed a bag of breakfast rolls and the newspaper onto the kitchen table and walked over and took a seat next to his wife, as if he were expecting that this would all be wrapped up quickly so they could return to their quiet Sunday-morning routine.

  Louise took a deep breath and jumped in.

  “Early this morning, Dicta was found in a parking lot behind Nygade,” she said slowly. “I am very sorry to be the bearer of such terrible news. Your daughter is dead, and there is no doubt that she was murdered.”

  Both parents were still looking at her with expectant expressions, as if any signals to or from their brains had ceased the second Louise spoke those words. It took a few more seconds before the expressions on their faces changed.

  “Dead. Murdered?” Anne Møller stammered, not seeming to understand how this had anything to do with her.

  “How can she be dead?” Henrik Møller asked, his voice extremely calm. “What happened?”

  Louise started to explain. “She sustained a number of powerful blows to the head.” Louise paused to allow the parents a chance to respond further.

  Dicta’s mother was sitting completely still, nodding automatically.

  Louise doubted she could even hear what was being said, so she turned to look at the father.

  “Extremely powerful blows,” Louise emphasized, hoping he wouldn’t ask her to go into more detail.

  “My darling little Dicta,” Anne Møller croaked hoarsely. Then came the reaction as she collapsed into tears.

  “Did she die quickly?” Henrik Møller asked, reaching out to hold his wife’s hand.

  They always wanted to know the same thing. All parents wanted to be reassured that their children had died without pain and without fear.

  “Is that what the big emergency response in town was for this morning?” he continued. His voice was no longer as controlled and his eyes were shiny. “They were talking about it at the bakery.”

  Louise nodded and told them about the woman who had gone down early that morning to drop off some clothes in the Salvation Army bin.

  “We don’t know exactly what time the attack happened,” Louise acknowledged, explaining that it could have been any time between midnight and when she was found a little before six. “We have one witness who works at the Gyro Hut, who says that Dicta definitely wasn’t there when he got into his car last night. We got hold of him early this morning and he’s the only one we’ve talked to so far who was at the location so late. The owner of the gyro place lives upstairs from his business and contacted his employees when my colleagues were looking for witnesses.”

  “What was she doing out so late? She was supposed to be staying at Liv’s,” her mother said disconsolately to no one in particular.

  Her husband lit a cigarette and inhaled deeply.

  “So, Dicta was planning to spend the night at Liv’s last night,” Louise repeated. “What else did she do yesterday?”

  “She was out most of the afternoon,” Anne replied mechanically. “She left as soon as we were done with lunch. I went out to look at a new dog, and after that I took my car over to the shop. They’re going to do a tune-up on it Monday morning. When Dicta came home, we ate dinner and then she went over to Liv’s.”

  Anne’s voice was monotone, like a report being read, and there was no way to tell from her intonation that she was actually talking about her daughter.

  “I drove out to the golf course after lunch, along with Anne. Dicta walked,” Henrik Møller explained, “and I didn’t get home until evening.”

  With a heartrending scream, Anne leapt up from her chair so fiercely that it tipped over backward.

  “No, no, no,” she shrieked with so much passion that it seared its way into Louise’s skin.

  Henrik was at his wife’s side in an instant, pulling her to him. He started rocking her soothingly back and forth, like a child he wanted to comfort. He seemed composed and all his attention was directed at her. He tenderly stroked her hair, and Louise left them alone until Dicta’s mother had calmed down a bit.

  Henrik moved his chair right over next to his wife’s so he could sit and hold her while they kept talking.

  Quiet settled over the room and Anne looked at Louise, her face streaked with tears, her head resting limply against her husband’s shoulder, as if every last bit of muscular control had left her. Only small, almost imperceptible tremors ran through her.

  Louise felt the knot in her stomach and turned her attention to Henrik.

  “Did you talk about anything before she went over to Liv’s?” Louise continued, aware of how awkward it was to ignore the mother’s agonizing pain.

  “I think she was talking about the two of them going to the movies,” Anne whispered with her eyes closed.

  There were good reasons for and against telling them about the Ekstra Bladet photo, Louise thought. She almost couldn’t bear to do it because she was pretty sure they weren’t aware of their daughter’s Copenhagen adventure. On the other hand, it would almost be worse if they didn’t know about it and happened to hear from somewhere else that a photo of their daughter posing practically naked had appeared in the paper the same day she was found murdered.

  Maybe they already know, Louise thought, allowing a third option.

  Without any more time for reflection or to come up with any more excuses, she just asked flat out if they knew Dicta was that day’s page-nine girl, and if they knew anything about the Copenhagen photographer who had taken the picture of her.

  The silence in the kitchen was deafening. Finally Henrik spoke.

  “Let’s see it,” he said and didn’t sound as if it surprised him.

  “You knew pictures had been taken?” Louise asked, surprised at having misjudged him.

  “Well, there’s knowing and then there’s knowing.… She didn’t tell me, but I definitely figured she was up to something we weren’t involved in,” he said.

  “What sort of nonsense is this?” Dicta’s mother exclaimed, suddenly back with them again. “She wasn’t involved in anything we didn’t know about. She wasn’t like that.”

  Her voice began to choke up, but Henrik’s vehement response stopped her crying. “If you didn’t know anything about this photo in Ekstra Bladet, then she must have been keeping something hidden from us.”

  Louise cringed. Suddenly she found herself in the middle of a much-too-private conversation.

  Henrik’s wife didn’t react, didn’t even look at him, but sank deep into her own thoughts until she quietly spoke again, asking, “Why that specific newspaper? Why that kind of picture?”

  “You knew that she wanted to be a model, right?” Louise asked.

  “Don’t all young girls?” Henrik responded. “I don’t think she dreamed about it more than many other girls her age.”

  “But unlike many others, she managed to get in touch with a photographer here in town,” Louise continued. “And she had been used as a model for a couple of local stores.”

  The girl’s mother nodded and said that she was well aware of her daughter’s dream, and that they had also talked about how that was all right as long as the
y were proper pictures and it didn’t get in the way of her schoolwork.

  “I met Michael Mogensen and saw the pictures he’s taken of her. She’s a beautiful girl,” Dicta’s father said, sounding somewhat proud.

  “Do you think this was the same person who killed Samra?” he continued, staring out the kitchen window and scratching Charlie behind the ear.

  Louise shrugged and responded that she could easily understand where he was coming from, but the way things looked currently, that didn’t seem to make sense.

  “There’s nothing similar about the two deaths, so it’s hard to directly compare them. Samra’s death seemed carefully planned, while your daughter’s murder looks like an impulsive act. In terms of profiling the culprit, each of those things pulls the investigation in a different direction,” she explained. “But of course that’s something we’ll look into.”

  “Can I see her?” Anne suddenly asked. “I would like to see my daughter as soon as possible.”

  “I’m not sure that’s a good idea,” Louise said softly. “It might be better for you to remember Dicta the way she looked the last time you were with her.”

  “Will there be an autopsy?” Henrik interjected, and Anne squeezed her eyes shut tight.

  Louise nodded.

  “I’m assuming that it will take place as soon as later today,” she said.

  It was as if picturing Dicta’s autopsy happening triggered something in Henrik. He bent his head, supporting his forehead in one hand, and visibly crumpled over the table.

  25

  LOUISE HAD JUST RETURNED FROM DlCTA’S PARENTS’ HOUSE AND was sitting in her office with a cup of coffee when Mik came in and shut the door behind him. On his way over to his desk, he leaned over and kissed her on the forehead.