Bogman

by R. I. Olufsen

  He got back into the car and headed north again. The countryside changed from lake and forest to tundra. The sky was grey. A wide plain spread out before him. It looked empty, until he noticed reindeer grazing beside a lake, and one or two low wooden cabins. He passed a signpost for Asele and Umea. Less than a hundred kilometres to go.

  Just before Vilhelmina, he stopped the car beside a lake and got out to stretch his legs. The landscape looked flat, dull, unexceptional. He was about to get back into the car when the sun came out. The air was suddenly crystal clear, luminous. The black lake turned from oily black to glittering turquoise. The grass sparkled. Yellow lichen on the grey rocks gleamed like gold. The forest looked almost fluorescent.

  Tobias thought about Agnes protecting trees in West Jutland. Was it warmer there than it was here? The air had a definite chill in it. He could see snow on the mountains in the distance. He shivered and got back into the car. Only another fifty kilometres now.

  The desk sergeant in Vilhelmina was expecting him.

  “Chief Inspector Lange? Grete Lindberg. I’m the duty sergeant today.” They shook hands. “I’ve read the file you sent us. It’s an interesting case.” She sounded envious.

  “Let’s go.” She picked up a set of keys. “It’s not far as the crow flies but the road is bad for the last ten kilometres.” She ushered Tobias out of the police station and locked the door behind them.

  “There are only four of us,” she said. “My colleague on duty is helping to get a cow out of a ditch. The others are on the late shift. But not much happens up here. Whatever turns up can usually wait until morning. To tell the truth, I’m glad of something interesting to do.”

  Berit Hansdatter’s house was a single-storey wooden house painted dark red, in a lakeside clearing. Further along the lake, were four similar houses, two painted in the same red, two painted sky blue. A shared landing stage jutted into the lake. Five rowing boats rested on the water. Tire tracks were clearly visible in the damp ground around Berit Handsdatter’s house, but there was no sign of a vehicle.

  Tobias parked where the forest ended and the clearing began. He and the sergeant got out of the car and walked towards the house. Poppies and marguerites fluttered in the window boxes on either side of the front door. A white card with a telephone number and message in Swedish - “If I’m not here, call my mobile!“ - in bold black handwriting, was sellotaped to a window.

  Tobias was tapping the number into his phone when an elderly red Saab came bumping down the track and parked at the side of the house. A wide-shouldered, tousled-haired woman, a good head taller than Tobias and Grete, got out. She raised the carrier bag in her hand in a kind of greeting. “Come in.”

  They followed her into the house where she shook their hands and introduced herself - “I’m Berit” - without waiting to hear their names, not seeming to notice the police badge on Grete Lindberg’s jacket.

  “I assume you’ve come to collect the rings? They’re on the blue cloth. Take a look at them. I’ll just take these things into the kitchen and make coffee. When’s the wedding?”

  She disappeared into the kitchen before either Tobias or Grete could speak.

  Tobias looked at Grete and raised an eyebrow.

  “We’re not here about wedding rings,” Grete called out. “We’re here about something else.”

  Berit appeared in the kitchen doorway. “So it’s something else? Did you make an appointment? Did I send you a design? I’ll be in with coffee in a moment. Sit down.” She disappeared again.

  Grete and Tobias took seats at a long pine table by the window. Berit returned, carrying a tray with a coffee pot, mugs, milk jug, sugar bowl and a plate of spiced biscuits.

  “I don’t have a website. People steal your ideas. I send out designs on request.” She put the tray on the table and poured coffee into the cups. “Milk? Sugar? I made the biscuits this morning.” She settled herself at the table. “Now, what can I do for you?”

  “We’re police officers,” said Grete without preamble. “I’m Sergeant Lindberg from Vilhelmina and this is Chief Inspector Tobias Lange from Aarhus. He is investigating a murder committed in Denmark.” She looked at Tobias to continue.

  “The victim was a male aged about twenty. We have not yet identified him,” said Tobias. “We hope you can help us.”

  Berit rocked forward in surprise. “Me?”

  “We think you made a bracelet found with the,” he hesitated, “remains.” He took a photograph from his briefcase and handed it to her. “Do you recognise it?”

  Berit studied the photograph. “Of course,” she said. “I made this bracelet about ten years ago. I remember it well. Encircled by your love. In Danish. The words were her idea. She wasn’t sure if it should be a necklace with the letters in silver, then they both decided on a bracelet instead.”

  “She? Both?” Tobias and Grete spoke in unison.

  “They were a beautiful couple,” said Berit. “Very much in love. You could see it in their eyes. It was shining out of them. I met them at a concert in Fatmomakke. They were musicians. She played the guitar and he played the fiddle. They picked up tunes as though they had heard them in the womb. She was full of life. I saw a lot of them at that time. They played many concerts. It was during the protests against nuclear waste dumping. They were involved in demonstrations about Sami grazing rights as well.”

  She paused for breath.

  Tobias said quickly, “What were they called?”

  “Emily and Lennart,” said Berit. “I liked them very much.”

  “What were their surnames?”

  “I don’t remember,” said Berit. “I don’t know if anyone knew their surnames. We all knew them as Emily and Lennart or the Danish pair. You never saw one without the other. They were so attached to each other. They drove an old ambulance. It was painted sky blue with clouds and a rainbow. It was highly visible on the roads around here. You must have noticed it, Sergeant.”

  “I’ve only been here two years,” said Grete. “In fact none of us in Vilhelmina were here at that time.”

  “You made the bracelet,” said Tobias. “Who asked you to make it? Who paid for it? How did they pay? Cash or card, or cheque?”

  “Oh, I don’t take credit cards,” said Berit. “I don’t have the machine for that. People give me a cheque, or cash.”

  “So you keep a record of payments and receipts,” said Tobias. “For tax purposes. With names and addresses.” He held his breath.

  “I tell the taxman my income and I keep receipts,” said Berit. “But only for seven years. I don’t have any receipts going back further. Or if I have, I don’t know where they are.” She paused. “I think I only asked Lennart to pay for the silver in the ring and not the workmanship. He didn’t have much money.”

  “Just a minute,” said Tobias. “You made a ring as well as a bracelet?”

  “I made a ring for Lennart. For him to give to Emily. He couldn’t afford a bracelet like the one she gave him. So he asked me to make a ring for her instead, engraved with Together Forever in Danish. You could read it both ways. Together Forever. Forever Together. Wasn’t that a wonderful idea as well?”

  “It looks like an expensive bracelet,” said Tobias.

  “It was,” said Berit. “Solid silver, hand engraved. But Emily had the money. She insisted on paying me what I’d normally charge. She said she could afford it. I think her people were well-off. She had some kind of allowance.”

  A rich drop-out, thought Tobias. Plenty of money and no inclination to work.

  “Emily was a waitress in a fishing hotel for a few months and Lennart had a summer job in a bar,” said Berit. “They played music in the bar as well.”

  “The bracelet is dated 1997,” said Tobias.

  “So long ago?" Berit shook her head in wonder. “It seems like yesterday.”

  You might remember a bit more if it was yesterday, thought Tobias. No records. He kept the irritation out of his voice. “Do you remember when and for how lon
g they were here?”

  “I can’t be sure about that,” said Berit. “They were definitely here for at least one summer because I remember going to visit them at the campsite and thinking they were lucky it was a warm summer and it didn’t rain. So that must have been 1996 because that was a good summer. And they must have been here in 1997 because the last thing I do is engrave the date.”

  “You were friendly with them,” said Grete. “Did you never send a letter or postcard or email to them? Did you never ask them for an address?”

  “I don’t remember them leaving,” said Berit. “They were probably gone before I had time to get an address. I didn’t have email then. Maybe someone else has an address for them.”

  “Who might that be?”

  Berit made a helpless gesture. “I don’t know,” she said. “But they were well known around here.”

  They heard the sound of a car drawing up outside, the murmur of voices, the slamming of a car door, a shout of “Bye now, thanks.”

  “That’ll be Jossi back from Dorotea,” said Berit. “He was getting a lift from our neighbour.”

  The front door opened. A thin, bony-faced man came in. “Johan wouldn’t stay for coffee. He says hello to you, Berit.” He stopped abruptly, on seeing Tobias.

  “These are police officers, Jossi,” said Berit. “They’re asking about a Danish couple that used to come here. Emily and Lennart.”

  “Those two were not criminals,” said Jossi immediately. “Two more honest souls you will not find between here and heaven. They were warriors for the environment. But neither of them would hurt a fly. They had only gentle bones in their bodies.”

  He darted forward and shook hands with Tobias and Grete.

  “I’m afraid I bring bad news,” said Tobias. “Your wife has identified a bracelet we found with the remains of a body in Jutland. We think the remains might be those of your friend Lennart.”

  Jossi looked shocked.

  “We think he was murdered,” said Tobias.

  Jossi pulled out a chair from the table and sat down.

  “We lost touch with them,” he said. “I’m sorry about that.” He shook his head. “Why would anyone want to kill Lennart?”

  “That’s what we’re trying to find out,” said Tobias. “First, we need to be sure it was Lennart. Do you know any person who had an address for him or for Emily? Who knows their surnames?”

  “Maybe the Lake Hotel,” said Berit. “Emily worked there for a while.”

  “I know it,” said Grete.

  Tobias took a card from his briefcase. “Here is my number. Contact me if you remember anything more. Thank you for the tea and delicious biscuits.” He added casually, as though he had just thought of it, “Did either Emily or Lennart do drugs?”

  Berit and Jossi exchanged a quick glance.

  Jossi said, “If you mean did they smoke the occasional spliff, yes, they did. And dropped a tab or two of Ecstasy, probably. If you mean were they seriously into drugs? Definitely not. They weren’t even big drinkers. They were more the herbal tea type.”

  Berit said, “When you find Emily’s address, let us know. We’d like to be in touch with her again.”

  Tobias looked back as he turned the car in the clearing Berit and Jossi were standing contentedly, hand in hand, in the doorway, gazing at the lake. He remembered holding hands with Karren at the northernmost point of Denmark. He saw again in his minds eye the ripple where the North Sea meets the Skaggerak. He recalled his sense of wonder when he looked at Karren, thinking “we’re going to have a baby,” and the rush of tenderness that led him to clutch her hand more tightly, led him to say, “let’s get married.” Where did all that tenderness go? He had reached the main road. Two cyclists, riding abreast, their jackets floating in the wind, dropped into single file to allow the car to overtake them and raised their hands in salute. They looked flushed and happy. Should he telephone Sofie when he got back?

  He realised Grete was speaking to him. “We don’t have a big drug problem up here,” she said. “Alcohol, yes. There’s not much to do except get drunk. I’m hoping for a transfer to Ostersund.”

  Tobias thought there probably wasn’t much to do in Ostersund either.

  A sign for the Lake Hotel loomed up. Tobias drove along the shores of the lake to a three-storey building overlooking a marina. Waders and fishing rods were stacked on the long wooden veranda. They were greeted by a young dark-haired girl with a foreign accent, Spanish? Portuguese? Tobias wasn’t sure. They showed their ID. The receptionist picked up the telephone.

  “There are two police officers here who wish to speak to you, Hanne.”

  A moment later, a harassed looking woman wearing a white chef’s bonnet and apron appeared in the lobby. She ushered Tobias and Grete into a small office behind the desk.

  “You have come at a bad time,” she said. “Why did you not warn me you were coming? We could have fixed a better time. What do you want?” She was cross and abrupt.

  Tobias and Grete mollified her with explanations and apologies.

  “I’m sorry I was abrupt with you,” she said. “I remember Emily. Emily Rasmussen. A hard worker. She was here for a couple of summers. It was before we built the extension so it must have been before 2001. I don’t know if I had an address in Denmark for her. She lived on a campsite. There might be an address in our records but I haven’t the time to go through them.” She pulled open the bottom drawer of a filing cabinet. “The ledgers from 1990, the year we opened, to the year we did the extension are all in here. You can go through them yourselves.”

  She left like a whirlwind.

  Grete took the ledger for 2000 and sat down at the desk. Tobias balanced the ledger for 2001 ledger on the top of the filing cabinet. They worked in silence.

  “No Emily in this one.” Grete swivelled round and replaced the ledger in the drawer.

  “Or in this one,” said Tobias.

  They had no luck with 2000 and 1999 either.

  Grete was running her eye down a page in April 1997 when she heard Tobias exclaim, “Got her. June sixteen, 1998. Emily. 15 hours. No address. There must be an address somewhere. Maybe with the first entry.” Tobias flicked back through the pages. “Emily. Emily R. Emily R.” He closed the book.

  “Maybe there’s one here.” Grete leafed through the ledger for 1997. “Nothing in April.” Pause. “Nothing in May.” She gave a cry of triumph. “Here she is. June twenty-second. It must be the first day she started working here. Emily Rasmussen. And there’s an address in Denmark.” She gave the ledger to Tobias.

  They grinned at each other. Tobias glanced at the address for Emily Rasmussen.

  “Skanderborg. Our lake country. But not as much water as around here.” He fished out his phone and composed a text.

  “Bogman Lennart. No surname. Girlfriend Emily Rasmussen. Skandeborg address. Will go there.” He sent the text to Eddy and pushed the phone back into his pocket.

  19.

  Eddy was sitting outside a canal-side café in Aarhus enjoying the last of the evening sun and drinking beer with a Pilates teacher he’d met three months earlier while investigating a series of robberies at an expensive private gym. The stolen items – money, watches, jewellery – were found in the flat of a part-time receptionist who’d been copying the locker keys. The Pilates teacher, who, along with the rest of the staff had been under suspicion, showed her gratitude, and continued to show it in an enticingly physical way. She was young, blonde, slim and sexually adventurous but, as Eddy soon discovered, otherwise boring and humourless. He was wondering how much longer they were going to sit staring at the canal before one of them suggested going back to his or her flat – and somehow the idea didn’t thrill him as it should - when the text from Tobias flashed up on his phone. Eddy read it with a sense of release. He had an excuse to leave.

  “Urgent request from my boss,” he said, trying to sound disappointed. “I have to go back to work.” He drained his beer, gave the Pilates teacher a quick h
ug and sprinted away.

  Katrine was at the reception desk in headquarters talking to a man in blue overalls and an orange visibility jacket when a ptinkle sound from the phone in her right pocket told her she had a text message. She ignored it because she was holding in her right hand, at arms length, a clear plastic bag containing what appeared to be two dirt-encrusted bones. One was approximately 20 centimetres long and 5 centimetres in diameter, the other was shorter, thinner and appeared to be jointed. The man in the blue overalls and visibility jacket had just handed the bag to her. His name was Carl Andersen and he was a supervisor at the city’s waste disposal depot.

  “I didn’t know what else to do with them,” he said. “One of the team saw them when he was emptying one of the underground containers. Orvik, he’s a sensible sort, very reliable. He called me over. They weren’t in a bag. It’s mostly household waste in plastic bags in that sector but they weren’t in a bag. They were just mixed in with a lot of other rubbish.”

  “What sector?”

  “Gellerupparken. It looked like someone had just chucked them into one of the bins. We thought at first they might be rubber bones. Some kind of joke. But it isn’t anyone’s birthday. Nobody was leaving the team or getting married. When I picked one of them up. Even with thick rubber gloves on, I could tell it was a real bone. It could be an animal bone I said to Orvik, but I’ve never seen a dog with a femur that length. Unless it’s a bone from a deer. They could be human bones we’d best take them to the police, I said. I put them in a bag for him to take them down here. But he was in the middle of his shift and there was another truck coming in with a load so I brought them here myself. What do you think?”