The House That Jack Built

by Jakob Melander

  “Can —” He cleared his throat; he had to force the words out. “Can you remember what time it was?”

  “Twenty past three?” She looked at Maria. “Maybe 3:30 a.m.?” Her voice was almost gone now, her eyelids kept dropping. Lars caught his breath. No more than five minutes after he had escaped Lars on Jagtvej.

  “Okay,” Christine said. “I think we should let Caroline get some sleep. I’ll let you know when you can speak to her again.” She nodded at Lars.

  It was time for him to leave, but would he be able to get up?

  Caroline forced her eyes open, grabbed him by the sleeve, and held tightly.

  “He hummed — during. Like this.” Slightly off-key and in a staccato shuffle, she tried reproducing the tune. But the bloody lips, the gap between her front teeth, made everything come out as spit and air. She started crying. On the other side of the bed, Maria tightened her grip on her friend’s hand.

  “Okay.” Christine moved away from the wall, placed a hand on Lars’s shoulder. “She needs some rest now.”

  Lars got up. Everything tensed.

  “Can Maria stay with me for a bit?” Caroline forced the tears back. “Just until I’ve fallen asleep?” Her voice lingered.

  “I’ll be out in a minute.” Maria waved. Lars followed Christine out, closed the door behind them. He had found the strength from somewhere after all.

  “You know her?” Christine looked at him with her probing grey eyes.

  “Caroline is my daughter’s friend.”

  She held out her hand, bit her lip. Then she let her hand drop. “I just have to complete her chart, so if you have any more questions then come by my office.”

  Lars nodded. He just had to make a call.

  By the elevator, he rang the duty officer and asked him to get in contact with Frelsén and Bint and tell them to go out to Nørrebro Park. Then he called Toke to brief him.

  “I should have caught him.” Lars massaged his temples with the thumb and middle finger of his free hand. A chair creaked as Toke sat down. It sounded like he was preparing himself for a long conversation.

  “You’re not going to catch him by blaming yourself,” Toke said.

  He cleared his throat. Toke was right. “You’ll have to go out to Nørrebro Park. Kim A, Frank, and Lisa have filed a complaint against me with Ulrik.”

  Toke cursed. “I heard.”

  “But Lisa? I didn’t think she was that tight with Kim A?”

  “They worked together on a couple of cases while you were gone.”

  There wasn’t much more to say. They hung up. Lars looked at the door to Caroline’s room. Stine Bang and Louise Jørgensen. How many more victims were going to end up here?

  The door to Christine Fogh’s office was stuck. Lars gave it a hard push and it flew open with a crash. She looked up from behind her desk, startled.

  “Sorry.” Lars mumbled, looked around for a chair.

  “Yes, the door sticks a little. One moment and I’ll be right with you.” Christine concentrated on the screen, punching in the final details of what had to be Caroline’s chart.

  “Well,” she said, pressed Enter, and looked up at him.

  Lars took out his small notebook and a pen, flipped to a blank page. “How . . .”

  She pushed her chair back, straightened her back. “Raped anally, several blows to the head and face. Caroline has a concussion, a broken nose, and several gashes on her scalp. Also several loose teeth, and one upper front tooth is broken.”

  “Any bodily fluids? Bite marks?”

  “I took a very small sample of semen from the rectum. It appears to be mixed with soap and water, but we might get lucky. I’ve sent it over to Forensics.”

  “So it appears to be the same person who raped Stine Bang and Louise Jørgensen?”

  “Her injuries resemble those of the other two victims.” Christine jotted something down on a notebook by her computer. “But there are differences too. The wounds on her scalp, for example. Fewer blows, but harder.”

  Lars looked away, closed his notebook. “He was excited. He’d just tried attacking someone else.”

  “I saw the newspaper,” was all she said.

  Maria was waiting for him in the corridor. “Thanks, Dad. I didn’t know what to do.”

  Lars wrapped his arms around her. Maria snuggled up to him.

  “They say she’ll sleep until late tomorrow morning,” she said.

  “Come on.” He held her tight, wallowing in the self-loathing and melancholy of a severe speed comedown. “Let’s go find a cab.”

  Upstairs in the apartment, Lars put out bread and cold cuts, but neither he nor Maria was hungry. They both picked at some bread and liver pâté in silence; it was all they could manage.

  Maria ended up breaking the silence.

  “I saw on the Internet that you had an operation last night? Did you try to catch him?”

  Lars nodded. “He attacked a police probationer. I chased him into Assistens Cemetery, but he got away from me.” It was now or never if he was going to tell her. He took a deep breath but couldn’t begin. Maria placed her hand on his. They looked at each other.

  Then he looked away, tried changing the subject. “You went on a date the other day. How did it go?”

  She smiled. She looked beautiful like that. “It was fine.”

  “What’s his name? Where did you go?”

  She had that secretive look that he couldn’t quite decipher. Then she shook her head. “It’s not good for you to know everything, Dad.”

  He was suddenly back in the hallway the previous night, standing in front of her door, the bed squeaking inside.

  “You’re right about that.” He drank some water, hoping it would hide his flushed cheeks.

  Maria didn’t notice. “I don’t think we should talk about it. Not with Caroline lying in the hospital.”

  “I’m sure Caroline would want you to be happy.” He could hear how stupid that sounded.

  “Yeah, but still.” She changed the subject. “You didn’t make it home last night?”

  He nearly choked on his water. So they hadn’t heard him, despite his having had a shower.

  “I worked straight through. I only got home this afternoon and went straight to bed. Then you woke me up.”

  She stared down at her plate, pulling her sweater tightly around her.

  He woke up in the middle of the night. Maria had come in his room. She hadn’t done that since she was a little girl. She brought her comforter with her, curled up underneath it, and nestled next to him, half asleep. He put an arm around her and pulled her close. Then he fell back to sleep.

  Chapter 35

  A steady stream of cars cruised down Gasværksvej from Vesterbrogade toward Istedgade. Single men were cruising for flesh under the dusty orange and purple glow of the streetlights. The evening air tasted of gasoline and rubber. A greasy layer of hydrocarbon settled in the throat.

  Sanne held the photo of Abeiuwa in her outstretched hand.

  “Have you seen her before?” The young girl, wearing a denim jacket, black skirt, and ankle boots, blew a bubble, then carried on chewing her gum.

  “Maybe.”

  “She was assaulted last night.” Allan stared down the street. He was sweating. “A customer attempted to surgically remove one of her eyes. We’re actually trying to help you and the other girls.”

  The girl tried to make an effort. “Let me see. It might . . . No, I don’t know.” She handed the picture back. Her jaw churned again. “I have to work.” She stepped away, looked out at the incessant flow of cars. A blue Fiat Punto signalled to pull in.

  Sanne moved next to the girl; Allan did the same on the other side. The Punto switched off the signal, then slipped back into the flow of traffic.

  The girl turned to Sanne. “I’ll get beaten i
f I don’t make enough money. You know that, don’t you?”

  “Take a proper look at the picture. You were saying something before?”

  “One of the black girls stole my corner up on the square a few weeks ago.” Something flashed in her eyes. “I’ve still got bruises.” She started rolling up the sleeve on her denim jacket, but Sanne stopped her.

  “That’s not necessary. Is this her?”

  “I don’t know her name or who her pimp . . .”

  Sanne’s cell danced in her pocket to the chorus of “Upside Down.”

  “Hey, I think we’ve got something here.” Søren sounded excited. “We’re with someone out by Copenhagen City Museum. She says she knows her.”

  “What’s up?” Allan stood next to Sanne, trying to catch his breath. Søren stood on the sidewalk just off Absalonsgade, while Kasper sat on a bench next to a long-limbed girl wearing tight satin shorts and stiletto heels. Both had their backs to a small fenced garden that was decorated with a miniature version of Copenhagen as the city must have looked several hundred years ago. Sanne was able to recognize some of the churches, the harbour.

  “Justine says she knows the girl in the picture.” Søren hadn’t learned to pronounce Abeiuwa’s name. “Tell my colleagues what you told us.”

  Justine looked up. “She is — all right?”

  “She’s scared.” Sanne tried to smile. “But under the circumstances, she’s doing well. Would you like to visit her?”

  It was clear that Justine wanted to, but she shook her head, hardened herself. They were kept on a tight leash, the girls on the street. Sanne sat down on the bench next to her.

  “We were standing here together yesterday.” Justine fiddled with the strap of her top, which twisted over her bare shoulder. “I’d just given her a smoke and some gum. Then she went back to her corner.” She pointed toward Vesterbro Torv, at the corner of Gasværksvej. “A customer picked her up a little later.”

  “Do you remember what time it came, the car?”

  “I looked up at the clock on Føtex. It was around midnight.”

  Sanne turned her head. Behind them, on the other side of Vesterbrogade, a concrete wall rose up above the surrounding rooftops, carrying the department store’s blue and white logo. A clock shone at the very top.

  “And the car?”

  “It was a dark colour, black or dark blue. Red maybe. Purple.”

  “Did you see the licence plate?”

  Justine started shaking her head but stopped. “I think . . . it ended in fifty-six or fifty-nine. There might have been a C or a G? I’m sorry, I can’t remember.” She got up. Her legs shook beneath her. “I have to . . . work.”

  Sanne caught her eye. “We can help you get off the street. If you want.”

  Justine turned and walked away. In the middle of the sidewalk, she stopped and rummaged through her purse. When she straightened up again, she had lit a smoke.

  Kasper shook his head. “They always say no.”

  “If she takes off, they’ll bring her fourteen-year-old sister over here instead.” Sanne leaned back. Her limbs were heavy. “What’s she supposed to do?”

  Justine walked to the curb, planted one leg in front of the other. Her stiletto heels clicked on the cobblestones. The first car signalled to pull in.

  Chapter 36

  It creaks and trembles inside. The continental plates are shifting. Soon there is a glimpse of the Urgrund. The roar rises through flesh and sinews, tears tissue and bone fragments apart until the nerve endings flap in the bloodwind and a roaring chaos reigns. Primordial soup. He staggers down the stairs. He’s lived here for so long that the two — the soul’s house of flesh and bones, the body’s of stone and wood — have gradually become one. His blood flows through the pipes; the stairs and rafters are his skeleton, the breaker panel and the ingenious network of power cords his neural network.

  Upstairs, in the bed beneath the roof, Mother screamed about all the forbidden things her father did to her, about Father who is both Father and Grandfather. The long months alone in the cellar before he was born. And after. Why couldn’t she just die?

  She was weak and now she is gone. He is strong. Only he and Sonja and Hilda remain. But deep down, there is turmoil, rebellion. It is not just the crack inside him. Down there it tears and toils, trying to break free and rise. He tumbles through the kitchen, downstairs to the cellar, and tears open the secret door. Thank God. They’re still there, sitting on the chair and the sofa in front of the television. Waiting for him.

  Ihr wolltet mir mit eurem Leuchten sagen:

  Wir möchten nah dir immer bleiben gerne!

  She got away. He tried to catch her — or did he? The body and the house, it is not easy to differentiate. He cannot get out. The door is shut. Their little home is shaken. Sonja and Hilda had also been looking forward to it — to their little family being complete again. And now she has run away. The primordial soup is sloshing about. He vomits in a corner. Only greenish slime and fatty bile come out, splattering over his shoes and onto the floor. He leans against one of the ammunition boxes. What is that sound? Are they laughing at him? Are they sitting there mocking him? The bloodwind rages. He reaches the portable phonograph, places the needle in the groove. The built-in speakers crackle. He breathes deeply. The serene prelude begins. Then Agnes Baltsa’s mezzo-soprano springs up from the accompaniment, towering above the dark horns.

  Nun seh’ ich wohl, warum so dunkle Flammen

  Ihr Sprütet mir in manchem Augenblicke.

  O Augen!

  Gleichsam, um in einem Blicke

  Zu drängen eure ganze Macht zusammen.

  Doch ahnt’ ich nicht, weil Nebel Mich umschwammen.

  Then he walks over to the table and starts to hit.

  Primordial soup.

  Bloodwind.

  O Augen!

  Saturday

  June 21

  Chapter 37

  Sanne straightened up in the chair as Allan came storming through the door. She tried to shake off the daydream. She hoped her cheeks weren’t too red. Loose sheets of paper from the report on Abeiuwa’s interview were spread across her desk. Allan was sweating profusely in the stagnant air. Large patches were spreading under the sleeves of his white polo shirt.

  “I’ve just read the transcripts from the last twenty-four hours of wiretaps.” Allan went quiet. She had gotten to know him quite well in the short time they had worked together and knew he had to be urged on.

  “Yes?”

  “Yes, well” — Allan was far too excited to notice her feigned enthusiasm — “something’s going down. The Bukoshi brothers have spoken to someone in Germany several times now. They’ve got a new delivery coming on Monday.”

  The daydream evaporated at once. “A new delivery? Are they talking about girls?”

  “That’s what they do, right?” A broad smile spread across Allan’s face. He sat down on the corner of her desk. The legs creaked. “This is starting to look like a major human trafficking case. If we can bring them in for that, we’d have time to unravel everything. Mira’s murder, Abeiuwa . . .” He put his hand on the scattered sheets on the desk.

  Sanne bit her lip. She still wasn’t convinced that the brothers had anything to do with Mira and Abeiuwa. But human trafficking — that she could believe.

  “Where are they meeting?”

  “Well, they didn’t mention that. But if we put the brothers under twenty-four-hour surveillance, then it’s only a question of time.”

  Ulrik waved Sanne and Allan into his office. He was on the phone. A worried look was spread across his face.

  “No, I will —”

  He was interrupted by a metallic female voice. Sanne figured the connection was bad; either that or the woman was very worked up. It was impossible to make out what she was saying. Ulrik shut his eyes, rested his e
lbow on the desk.

  “But Maria is fine, and Lars —”

  The piercing voice broke through once more. Ulrik listened, nodded.

  “I’ll see if I can find him,” he said. “But promise me you’ll stay calm. The last thing she needs right now is for you to overreact, okay?”

  The voice on the other end quieted, allowing Ulrik to end the conversation.

  “Take a seat,” he said as he hung up, pointing at the two chairs in front of his desk. “My stepdaughter’s friend has been assaulted.”

  It wasn’t as stuffy as her office, but Ulrik was wearing a shirt and tie. That couldn’t be comfortable. And what was that about his stepdaughter? Was that Maria?

  Allan cleared his throat. “The wiretap on the Bukoshi brothers’ club has revealed that they’re receiving a new shipment the day after tomorrow. Sanne and I think they’re bringing in new girls.”

  Ulrik got up from his chair and began pacing back and forth in front of the window, a thin, trembling body filled with pent-up and nervous energy. Behind him, the empty gondolas of the Ferris wheel in Tivoli Gardens continued to spin.

  “And do we know where they’re going to pick up the shipment?” Ulrik said.

  “It could be anywhere,” Sanne said. “A rest stop by the freeway, a warehouse in the city. Or they could drive them up here in ordinary cars and drop them off on Abel Cathrines Gade in broad daylight.”

  “Unfortunately, yes.” Ulrik nodded. “So what do you want to do?”

  The Ferris wheel stopped turning.

  “We can assume the driver is coming from Germany — via Rødby or Gedser — and that they’re going to meet somewhere between the ferry and Copenhagen. None of these guys are interested in too much attention, right?”

  A minute later, Ulrik’s computer was out of sleep mode and a map of Zealand filled the screen.

  “It has to be somewhere within this triangle.” She drew an imaginary triangle, with its points covering the towns of Fakse, Næstved, and Vordingborg.

  They looked at each other.