A Conspiracy of Faith

by Jussi Adler-Olsen

  This time, there was no applause. The message that expertise was multifaceted had sunk in.

  “Thank you, Assad.” Carl gave a slight smile. “As I was saying, religious communities are many and varied. And a large number of them worship either a leader or a community in such a way that they automatically turn in on themselves after a while and become closed units. Given the right conditions, the pickings are rich indeed for a psychopath such as Poul Holt’s killer.”

  The chief stepped forward. “You’ve now been filled in on this murder case. A case outside the jurisdiction of our own district, though close enough. We’ll leave things at that for the time being and allow Carl and his assistants to proceed.” He turned toward Carl. “Any further assistance you might need, you come to me.”

  Jacobsen turned to Pasgård, whose indifferent eyelids were already drooping over his frigid eyes. “And to you, Pasgård, I’d like to say that I find your enthusiasm exemplary. I’m glad you consider the department to be sufficiently well equipped to take on the case, but we on the third floor must keep a focus on those we are already investigating. Quite a job in itself, wouldn’t you say?”

  The idiot was forced to nod. Anything else would have made him look even more stupid.

  “However, since you so strongly believe the case would be better off with us rather than Department Q, perhaps we should accord it some attention. I’d say we could release one man. And that, Pasgård, would be you, since you’re so eager.”

  Carl felt his jaw drop, the air compress in his lungs. Were they really going to have to work with this moron?

  A single look was sufficient for Marcus Jacobsen to catch on to the dilemma. “I understand a fish scale was found on the paper on which the message was written. So Pasgård, if you would make sure we know what kind of fish we’re dealing with, as well as where the species might be found within a one-hour radius of Ballerup?”

  He ignored Carl’s startled expression. “And one more thing, Pasgård. Bear in mind the location may be in the vicinity of wind turbines or something that makes a similar kind of noise, and that whatever the source of that noise might be, it had to have been there in 1996. Understand?”

  Carl heaved a sigh of relief. These were the kinds of jobs he gladly farmed out to the likes of Pasgård.

  “Yeah, but I haven’t got time,” Pasgård protested. “Jørgen and I have got doorbells to ring out in Sundby.”

  Jacobsen glanced across at the hulk skulking at the opposite end of the room. Jørgen nodded. It was true.

  “Well, Jørgen will just have to get by on his own for a couple of days,” said Jacobsen. “Right, Jørgen?”

  The big guy gave a shrug. He wasn’t happy. The family waiting desperately for their son’s attackers to be brought to justice probably wouldn’t have been, either.

  Jacobsen turned to Pasgård. “Two days, that ought to be enough, wouldn’t you say?”

  The homicide chief had made his point.

  If you’re going to piss on someone, make sure the wind’s behind you.

  25

  The worst thing that could ever happen had happened, and Rachel was devastated.

  Satan had materialized in their midst and punished them for their wantonness. How could she have allowed a total stranger to take her two darling children, and on this holy day? Yesterday, they should have been quietly absorbed in Bible study in preparation for the bliss of the Sabbath. They should have folded their hands together in the hour of rest and allowed the spirit of the Mother of God to descend upon them and bring them peace.

  And now? God had thrust His arm out at them like a thunderbolt. They had succumbed to all the temptations resisted by the sacred Virgin Mary. Flattery, the disguises of the Devil, empty words.

  Their punishment had come promptly. Magdalena and Samuel had fallen into the power of the sinner. A night and a day had passed, and they could do nothing.

  And Rachel felt the shame. Exactly as she had done when she had been raped and no one came to her aid. Only then she had been able to do something. Now she was powerless.

  “You must raise the money, Joshua,” she implored her husband. “You must!”

  He looked ill. The whites of his eyes merged with the pallor of his face. “But we haven’t got it, Rachel. I made the voluntary tax payment the day before yesterday, you know that. One million at a good rate of interest, like we always do.” He buried his face in his hands. “Like we always do, in the name of Jesus. Just like we always do!”

  “Joshua, you heard what he said on the phone. If we don’t raise the money, he’ll kill them!”

  “We must go to the congregation.”

  “NO!” Her scream was so loud their youngest daughter began to cry in the next room. “He took our children and now you will get them back, do you understand? If you tell anyone, we’ll never see them again, ever. I’m certain.”

  He turned his head toward her. “How do you know, Rachel? Perhaps he’s bluffing. Perhaps we should go to the police.”

  “What do you know about the police? The police may be in the pay of the Devil. And how can you be sure he won’t find out? How can you be sure?”

  “Our friends, then. People in the congregation would keep it secret. If we stand together in this, we can raise the money.”

  “What if he’s there outside when you go to them? What if he has helpers among us? He was so close to us, and yet we failed to see his true self. How can you be certain there are no others like him? How, Joshua?”

  She looked across at their youngest daughter, now standing in the doorway, clutching at the frame with tears running down her cheeks.

  He had to find a way.

  “Joshua, you must do something,” she said again, getting up from the table. She kneeled in front of her little girl and held her head in her hands.

  “You mustn’t despair, Sarah. The Mother of Jesus will watch over Magdalena and Samuel. But you must pray so that they may be helped. And if this has happened because of something we did that we weren’t supposed to, then we shall receive forgiveness when we pray. That’s what you must do, my love.”

  She saw the girl react at the mention of forgiveness. How her eyes yearned for it. There was something she wanted to say, but her mouth would not open.

  “What’s wrong, Sarah? Is there something you want to tell Mummy?”

  Sarah’s mouth twisted, and her lips began to quiver. Something was the matter.

  “Does it have to do with the man?”

  The girl nodded, and now her tears began to flow.

  Rachel held her breath instinctively. “What is it? Tell me!”

  The girl was frightened by the sudden harshness of her mother’s voice but began to speak regardless. “I did something you said I shouldn’t.”

  “What was it, Sarah? Tell Mummy.”

  “I looked in the photo album during the hour of rest while you were all in the kitchen with your Bibles. I’m so sorry, Mummy. I know it was wrong of me.”

  “Oh, Sarah.” Rachel’s face dropped. “Is that all?”

  Her daughter shook her head. “I saw the picture of the man who took Magdalena and Samuel. Is that why it happened? Is it because he’s the Devil, and I looked at him?”

  Rachel inhaled deeply. This was something she didn’t know. “Are you saying there’s a photograph of him?”

  Sarah sniffled. “Yes, outside the congregation hall when we all had our picture taken at Johanna’s and Dina’s initiation ceremony.”

  Was he really on that photograph?

  “Where is that picture, Sarah? I want you to show it to me, now!”

  Obediently, the girl showed her the album and picked out the photograph.

  Rachel’s heart sank. It’s useless, she said to herself. No help at all.

  She considered the photo with disgust, removed it from its pocket, stroked her daughter’s hair, comforting her, telling her she was forgiven. And then she turned back into the kitchen and slapped the photograph down on the table in front of
the slumped figure of her husband.

  “Here’s our tormentor, Joshua.” Her finger pointed to a barely visible head in the back row. He had managed to stand half concealed behind the man in front and was looking away from the camera. If she hadn’t known it was him, it could have been anyone.

  “You’re going to the tax authorities first thing in the morning to tell them that that payment you made was a mistake. Tell them we need the money back right away, otherwise we’ll go bankrupt. Do you understand me, Joshua? First thing in the morning.”

  Monday came and she gazed out of the window at the dawn as it broke over Dollerup Church. Long, dazzling rays of sunlight poked through the morning mist. The proffered hand of God in all His splendor. How could He enjoin her to bear such a cross? And how could she allow herself to even ask such a question? The Lord worked in mysterious ways. She knew that.

  She tightened her lips to stave off tears, folded her hands, and closed her eyes.

  All night she had prayed, the way she did so often within the comfort of the congregation, but this time peace was not forthcoming. This was the testing time, Job’s hour of destiny, and the pain seemed endless.

  By the time the sun lay nestled in the abundance of clouds and Joshua had driven off to the local authority to try to retrieve the business’s voluntary tax payment, her strength was almost gone.

  “Josef, you must stay home from school and look after your sisters,” she had told her eldest. She needed Miriam and Sarah out of the way in order to get herself together.

  When Joshua returned, he would, God willing, have the money with him. They had agreed he would pay the check into the Vestjysk Bank and instruct them to distribute the funds to their various accounts with Nordea, Danske Bank, Jyske Bank, Sparekassen Kronjylland, and Almindelig Brand Bank. All told, that would allow for cash payments of some one hundred and sixty-five thousand kroner from each bank, which ought not to provoke comment. Any new banknotes would have to be made grubby and creased and then mixed in with used notes from the other withdrawals so that the fiend who had taken their children would not suspect them of passing him marked notes.

  She booked seats on the evening’s InterCity connection arriving in Odense at 7:29 P.M., then onward with the express to Copenhagen. And then she waited for her husband. She was expecting him some time between twelve and one o’clock, but he came back at half past ten.

  “The money, Joshua. Did you get the money?” she asked, though she knew, just by looking at him, that he had failed.

  “It wasn’t that straightforward, Rachel. I knew it wouldn’t be,” he replied, his voice feeble. “The people at the local authority were helpful, but the account belongs to the tax authorities, so it would take some time. This is so terrible.”

  “You insisted, Joshua, didn’t you? Tell me you insisted? We haven’t got all day. The banks close at four.” Now she was desperate. “What did you say to them? Tell me!”

  “I said I had to get the money back. That the payment was a mistake. We were having problems with our IT system, I said, and had lost control of our payments. Money had been going into the wrong accounts and invoices were getting lost in the system. I told them we’d had suppliers on the phone this morning and that if we didn’t pay what was outstanding we’d be losing them. I explained to them that the financial crisis has got suppliers feeling the squeeze and that they’d soon be reclaiming their harvesters and selling them off to others at a discount. I told them we’d be losing our leasing advantage, that it was going to end up costing us a packet, and that it was a critical time for us, too.”

  “Oh, Lord. Did you have to make it so complicated, Joshua? Why?”

  “It was just all I could come up with.” He sat down heavily on a chair and slapped the empty briefcase down on the table. “I’m under pressure too, Rachel. I can’t think straight. I didn’t sleep at all last night.”

  “Dear God, what are we to do?”

  “We must go to the congregation. What else can we do?”

  She tightened her lips and thought again of Magdalena and Samuel. Poor, innocent children. What on earth had they done to deserve such punishment?

  They had made sure their pastor would be at home and were putting on their coats to go and see him when the doorbell rang.

  Rachel wasn’t going to answer, but her husband opened the door without thinking.

  They didn’t know the woman standing on the step with a folder in her hand, and neither did they wish to speak to her.

  “Isabel Jønsson. I’m from the local authority,” she announced, stepping into the hallway.

  Rachel felt hope stirring. The woman had brought the necessary papers for them to sign. She had sorted everything out. Perhaps her husband hadn’t been so stupid, after all.

  “Come in. We can sit here in the kitchen,” she said, relieved.

  “I see you’re on your way out. It needn’t be now. I can come back tomorrow if that would be more convenient?”

  Rachel sensed the clouds begin to gather as they sat down at the kitchen table. So the woman couldn’t be here to help them get their money back at all. If she was, she would know how imperative it was. Why not just get to the point? She had said it needn’t be now. What kind of a thing was that to say?

  “I work in IT, as part of the business consultancy team. My colleagues informed me you were having some rather serious problems with your systems, so I’ve come to help.” She smiled and handed them her card: Isabel Jønsson, IT Consultant, Viborg Municipality. This was the last thing they needed right now.

  “I’m sorry,” Rachel said after a moment, realizing that her husband was reluctant to take charge. “It’s awfully nice of you, but I’m afraid it’s a bad time for us. We’re very busy.”

  She thought that would be enough and that the woman would make her apologies and leave, but instead she remained seated, staring at the table as though she were fastened to the chair. As though she would use whatever means necessary to enforce the right of the public authorities to poke their noses in.

  Rachel stood up and flashed her husband a harsh look. “We need to be getting on, Joshua. We’re in a hurry, remember?” She turned to the woman. “So, if you’ll excuse us…”

  But the woman didn’t move. And that was when Rachel saw that what she was staring at was the photo Sarah had found in the album. The photo that had been lying on the table to remind them that in any flock there could be a Judas.

  “Do you know this man?” the woman asked.

  They looked at her in bewilderment. “What man?” Rachel asked in turn.

  “This one here,” the woman replied, placing her finger underneath the man’s head.

  Rachel sensed danger. The same way she had on that dreadful afternoon in the village near Baobli when the soldiers had asked her the way.

  The tone of voice. The situation.

  It was all wrong.

  “You must go now,” Rachel told her. “We’re busy.”

  But the woman wasn’t going anywhere. “Do you know him?” she repeated.

  So now another devil had been sent to them. Another devil in an angel’s guise.

  Rachel stood in front of her, clenching her fists at her sides. “I know who you are and I want you to leave, now. Do you think I don’t realize he sent you, that monster? Get out. You know how little time we’ve got.”

  And then she felt everything keeping her together inside fall to pieces. Suddenly she was unable to hold back the tears as rage and impotence took over and dragged her down. “GET OUT!” she screamed, her eyes closed and her hands clutching at her breast.

  The woman rose, putting her hands on Rachel’s shoulders and shaking her gently until she looked up. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, but believe me, if anyone has reason to hate this man, it’s me.”

  Rachel opened her eyes wide and saw that it was true. Behind the woman’s calm gaze, hostility smoldered, its embers glowing deep inside her.

  “What has he done?” the woman asked. “Tell
me what he did to you, and I’ll tell you all I know about him.”

  The woman knew him, and her encounter with him had been anything but happy. That much was plain. The question was whether she could help them. Rachel doubted it. Only money could help, and soon it would be too late.

  “Tell us. But hurry, or we’ll go.”

  “His name’s Mads Fog. Mads Christian Fog.”

  Rachel shook her head. “He told us his name was Lars. Lars Sørensen.”

  The woman nodded deliberately. “OK, it’s possible both names are assumed. When I met him, he was calling himself Mikkel Laust. But I’ve seen documents, and I found an address, a house in the name of Mads Christian Fog. I think that’s his real name.”

  Rachel gasped for air. Had the Mother of God heard her prayers? She looked again into the woman’s eyes. Could they trust her?

  “What address? Where?” Joshua’s face had taken on a bluish-white tinge. This was obviously too much for him.

  “A place in Nordsjælland, near Skibby. Ferslev, it’s called. I’ve got the exact address at home.”

  “How do you know this?” Rachel’s voice trembled. She wanted to believe it, but could she?

  “He was staying with me until Saturday. I kicked him out on Saturday morning.”

  Rachel covered her mouth with her hand in order not to hyperventilate. This was all so terrible. He had come to them directly from this woman’s home.

  She looked up at the clock with a dreadful sense of fear, forcing herself to listen to the woman’s account of how the man had exploited her, enthralled her with his charm, only to change in an instant.

  Rachel recognized the man Isabel described, and when she had finished, Rachel looked across at her husband. For a moment, he seemed far away, as though trying to put everything into some perspective. Then finally he nodded. They should tell her, his eyes said. This woman was on their side.

  So Rachel took Isabel’s hand in hers. “What I’m about to tell you, you must not tell a single person in the entire world, do you understand? Not yet, at least. We’re telling you because we think you can help us.”