by Inger Wolf
A few days earlier Lisa had been walking along Åboulevard, by the river, and had noticed two white ducks struggling to paddle upstream. Two teenage boys on the other side had been throwing rocks, trying to hit them. That’s how it started, Lisa thought. Small episodes. Mindless disregard for living creatures.
“Then there was what happened in Grenå. A man who went out at night and mutilated animals. Mostly horses, but also some sheep and cows. We did a lot of detective work, and I won’t bore you with the details. But we managed to find him and get him busted. We were doing your job for you, in fact. He got this enormous fine and a suspended sentence. It’s not like sentences for things like that are especially harsh or anything.”
She stared at Lisa to judge her reaction, as if she were wondering if she could trust her. Lisa did her best to look trustworthy.
“Anja was really upset; she thought he got off way too easy. We went out and slashed some tires and scratched up a car. The Grenå police talked to us, but luckily they couldn’t prove anything.”
“Anything else you can think of?” Lisa said.
“Yeah, there was something down south. Down by Hansted. A real irritating case, an over-enthusiastic cat hunter. Anja was really hot about it.”
“Because she didn’t get him busted?”
“Yeah, but there was more. She blew up, said he was a manipulating psychopath, and we all needed to watch our backs. I remember it; she sort of shivered and said something about his eyes, that you could feel him staring at you, friendly and polite and everything, while inside he was thinking ‘stupid bitch.’ But really, almost all of them are assholes, the ones we’re up against. Except for a few who are mentally ill and can’t take care of their animals.”
Lisa nodded.
“Most of these cases are from a long time ago,” Mette said. “I can’t say which ones came when.”
Lisa glanced down at her notes. “Okay, is there anything else I should know?”
“Well. Anja is definitely my friend, but it’s fair to say she’s not easy to work with. It’s like she’s totally unwilling to compromise and she’s not afraid of anyone. That’s why she’s our leader.”
“Is there anyone else from DAMD or one of the other organizations you think we should talk to?”
She thought for a moment. “Anja used to be in another activist group, AST.”
Another acronym! “What does that stand for?”
“Animal Swat Team,” Mette said. “Now there’s some rough people for you. An international organization, just one small branch here in Denmark. They attack all the businesses who have anything to do with animal abuse. They use violence, hacking, sabotage. Animal terrorists, you could say. Anja was a member for several years, but then she left. It had something to do with a group in France that blew up some chemical tanks, and two workers got killed. But I don’t think this has anything to do with them.”
Lisa jotted it down anyway, then she fished around in her bag for a card and handed it to Mette. “Call me if you think of anything else. Anything at all. And the sooner the better, that’s how it is with investigations like this. My phone number is on the card, call any time.”
Mette looked at the card and turned it over, as if it were some sort of trap. “Thanks. Anja was so happy and optimistic yesterday at our meeting. We’ve been having a lot of money problems, funding, but she said those days were over.”
“What did she mean?”
“I don’t know; she didn’t explain. I guess she found some rich sponsor. It happens once in a while; someone sends us some money. Not too often, though.”
Lisa nodded. She tried to think of more to ask about. This wasn’t a lot of fun, delving into things she really didn’t want to know about. It was easier to just wolf down your pork chop without speculating on how it got there on your plate. But she wasn’t getting off that easy.
“Have you ever seen a poultry farm, a great big building full of chickens?” Mette asked. Her words were ominous, a warning shot.
“No, I haven’t.” Lisa looked over at the door, her escape route. Then came the barrage that cut to the bone.
“When you stand there looking at thousands and thousands of yellow balls of puff, and the place stinks of ammonia, you understand the scale of it all. Up to twenty-four chickens per square meter, standing in their own shit, hock burns. Lots of them starve to death or die of thirst. The artificial light causes stress and they peck each other to death, which is why their beaks are cut off without anesthesia by the growers.”
Lisa felt horrible, she wanted to dam up the stream flowing out of the young woman’s mouth. It was as if the words were on a sound loop. She thought of her own parrot, Flossy, who was fed fresh fruit and vegetables, nuts, and a mixture of seeds every single day, who was outside its cage whenever Lisa was in her apartment.
“Now see if you want to have chicken tonight!” Mette said.
Chapter Fourteen
“Thanks for spoiling my dinner too,” Jasper said, as he drove the patrol car up Banegårdspladsen. “Let’s go over this again, now that you’ve shaken off the chicken farm. We’re on our way to talk to Maja Nielsen’s ex-boyfriend, Dennis Nikolajsen. We’re doing so because we want to cover every angle, as fearless leader Daniel Trokic so wisely put it. This Dennis guy has a conviction for assault, and he’s in the Home Guard, we’ve been informed. But because we’re thinking along the lines that Maja committed suicide, it might be irrelevant. But we’re going to talk to him anyway. And our boy Dennis has so far refused to open his door to our colleagues, which is odd enough in itself.”
“And we’re hoping he will now,” Lisa said.
They stopped at a red light at the train station and waited while a stream of busy Danes slipped by, delivering more energy to the city. They heard the buzz through the car windows. Talking, shouting, honking yellow buses, a sea gull screaming, music from a 7-Eleven. Something had changed in the past few years. The City of Smiles seemed to have lost its innocence. Traffic cops reported more accidents leading to road rage; everybody’s patience seemed to be at low tide. As if time had run out for them, and tolerance along with it. Was this the first effects of the MTV generation? More alienation, callousness? You’d think the country was rich enough. But maybe that was the problem.
Jasper floored it when the light turned green. He expertly maneuvered through the small streets and parked in front of an old apartment building.
Dennis Nikolajsen was not at all what Lisa had expected. Though she hadn’t really been expecting anything in particular during the short drive there. The ex-boyfriend was thin and wispy. Bohemian clothing, a bit of a crooked nose, longish hair combed straight back. He wore a long-sleeved shirt, under which the contours of pencil-thin arms appeared. How he could have knocked down another man and been arrested for assault was beyond her.
The apartment smelled musty when he opened the door. He didn’t look surprised to see them. “I’ve been expecting you. Come on in.”
Lisa wasn’t sure she’d ever seen anything like the sight in front of her. The walls were painted in a myriad of colors, and it was hugely interesting as well as beautiful. Apparently, the theme was some sort of divine universe with flames, oceans, strange animal figures, and winged creatures. All framed by intricately ornamented trees.
“These walls are amazing!” she blurted out. “Who painted them?”
“I did. They’re stories from Celtic mythology.”
They sat on a black leather sofa. A filled-up ashtray, two dirty cups, and a stack of M! magazines covered the ceramic tile coffee table. The rest of the apartment was decorated simply. A few pieces of wood furniture.
Nikolajsen sat in the armchair across from them with his hands in his lap. He wasn’t on the verge of tears, but he seemed listless. Like someone who hadn’t slept well in days. His eyes were dull, his hair matted, and he looked pale.
“Yeah, I haven’t been doing a lot since I got the news. I took off work for a few days, mostly I’ve been sitting here s
taring into thin air. It’s like somebody poured concrete over me. I just don’t feel like doing anything.”
Lisa pulled off her jacket. “I understand. How long were you together?”
“Only about six months. She broke up with me a year ago, last Easter. What’s this crap I read in the papers that she committed suicide? Maja would never do that.”
“The autopsy revealed she fell a very long ways, and she was also emotionally unstable leading up to her death. But we’re not certain. Some of what we’ve found out doesn’t make sense at the moment, and because we can’t rule out homicide, we have to question everyone who knew her.”
“Emotionally unstable? She never was when we were together, I’ll tell you that. She could be sort of closed up sometimes, and wishy-washy, but that’s totally different.”
“What reason did she give you for breaking up?” Jasper said.
“She said she didn’t want to be tied down. That we met each other too early.”
“And were you mad about that, about her breaking up with you?”
“You bet I was. But you got to move on, don’t you? It took me a while, then I found a new girlfriend last fall.”
Lisa and Jasper glanced at each other, a silent mutual understanding. Lisa sent up a trial balloon. “So, it wasn’t a problem that Maja started seeing Martin Isaksen?”
Pause.
“I didn’t know about it before she told me, one day when I ran into her about two months ago. I don’t know the guy, so I didn’t really know what to think. As far as Maja’s concerned, she’d changed quite a bit. She looked different; she was wearing high heels, a bunch of jewelry and makeup. Because of him, I suppose.”
Lisa chewed on that for a moment. Odd, how her perception of Maja changed, the more people they questioned. Identity wasn’t fixed, not even after death. Maybe all this was what could happen when a woman met a man. Could there be a problem buried here? It couldn’t be easy seeing someone you’d loved grow, take a new direction.
“She was never that way with you?” she asked.
“No. But it was none of my business by that time.”
Lisa heard bitterness in his words. And jealousy, maybe? “You’re both musicians, right?”
“Yeah, I play guitar. Though not much longer. I don’t have the talent to make a career of it.”
“So, you became an electrician instead?”
Nikolajsen threw up his hands. “Hey, you got to make a living somehow. But that’s how I met her anyway, music. I was in a band; we earned a little money playing weekends, the bars in town. The nightlife. She showed up at a gig one evening, and we started talking. And one thing led to another.”
Jasper stepped in. “Did you two argue, have fights?”
“All couples do, don’t they? But actually, we didn’t argue much.”
“Did you ever hit her?”
“What the hell kind of a question is that? Of course, I didn’t!” He stared at Jasper.
“We’re uncertain about the circumstances surrounding Maja’s death,” Lisa said. “That’s why we have to ask. You have a conviction for assault, a five-week sentence and fine, for punching a doorman three years ago outside a bar, so it’s a fair question, isn’t it?”
“That’s completely different. It wasn’t right; the doorman hit me first, but I couldn’t prove it.”
“But you do have a temper?”
“Not any worse than anyone else who gets punched in the face. Listen, I don’t care one bit for this; I let you in here and try to help, and suddenly you’re coming down on me with these questions. You think I’m a monster?”
Jasper smiled good-naturedly and glanced around the apartment. “We really don’t know.”
“You think I’m a snake; you see scales on me or something?” He wasn’t trying to be funny. At all.
“We’re only doing our job here, that’s all,” Lisa said.
“Then you probably want to know where I was the day before yesterday, right?”
“Yes, thank you.”
Nikolajsen thought for a moment. “Oh, yeah, of course. I was working out until 9 o’clock. Then I had a beer with one of my pals on the way home. At the Flintstones. I think we left there around eleven, and then I came home and hit the rack.”
“So, you can’t account for your whereabouts from eleven to midnight?” Lisa said.
“Well, yeah, I was sleeping.”
“What we mean,” Jasper said, “is that no one else can confirm what you were doing in that time.”
Nikolajsen threw up his hands again. “No, I was sleeping alone. I had to get up and go to work at six the next morning. We’re doing the installations in an office building down at the harbor; we’re behind schedule. I’m working practically twenty-four seven, except for these days I’m taking off.”
“If we can get back to your relationship with Maja for a moment,” Lisa said, “how would you characterize it?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know. We got along okay. I didn’t really understand why she broke it off. You’d have had to ask her that.”
“Which obviously we can’t do,” Jasper said. “That’s why we’re asking you.”
Nikolajsen sighed heavily. The mood in the room was suffocating. “What can I say? We had fun, caught a movie once in a while, things like that. She slept here most of the time. We listened to music a lot. It was quite a while ago, you know.”
“Do you have any idea why anyone would want to hurt her?” Lisa asked.
He shook his head. “I wasn’t in her music school, so I almost never saw her again after we broke up. I have no idea who she hung out with. Are we about finished here?”
“Almost. We also need to know why we couldn’t get ahold of you yesterday. Like you said, you weren’t at work, but you weren’t home either.”
“I was tired; I didn’t answer the door.”
“But you must’ve known we wanted to speak with you.”
“I don’t know anything.”
“Okay,” Jasper said. “Until we find out how she died, you’re not going anywhere, got that? And next time we come by, you open that damn door.”
“What’s next?” Lisa said, as they stood outside.
“Let’s stop by Transit, where she worked. Another shady place. It wouldn’t surprise me one bit if somebody there is involved.”
Chapter Fifteen
Detective Jasper Taurup had been wondering for quite some time if he was on the verge of depression. Nowadays, in this country with the world’s happiest people, a level of stress leading to depression seemed remarkably common. And the police had more than enough problems. Budget cuts, reforms, terrible working conditions with unsympathetic politicians and vocal, dissatisfied citizens in the background. And all of it in a society where nothing could go fast enough or be good enough. In fact, it was surprising the entire country wasn’t depressed.
But when he and Lisa Kornelius stepped into Transit, a drop-in center, he realized many moons had passed since his days on patrol when he rubbed elbows with the dregs. Down in the gutter, where former directors of international firms ended up as winos, where you were reminded of how the first human beings smelled. And it wasn’t like things had improved for the homeless. While the rest of Denmark was drowning in prosperity, the city’s drop-in centers reported overcrowded conditions and a lack of resources. Danish welfare skyrocketed, yet there was no room for the weakest.
Two women in their thirties were eating soup near a window looking out on Jægergårdsgade. They were thin as starving dogs, plus they wore too much makeup and their skirts were much too short for the weather outside. Lifting their spoons from bowl to mouth seemed to be a struggle. They didn’t look up when the two detectives came in. Nobody was talking. Life happened somewhere else, not there. Five men of various ages sat in a corner and mumbled as they played cards. One of them, a man in his mid-thirties, lifted his pale face and stared at them suspiciously. But a second later, he was gazing down at the cards on the table. It was best not to be no
ticed. To blend in with the wallpaper. Jasper remembered the real estate man, Maja Nielsen’s boyfriend, saying that he thought she’d been meeting someone from Transit privately. That was difficult to imagine.
Even though alcohol wasn’t permitted on the premises, the faint odor of booze hung in the air. The furniture was plain and practical, several unremarkable—boring—paintings in pastel colors hung on the walls. A few potted plants stood scattered around on tables, though they looked like they might keel over at any moment. Fitting, in a way, because the same could almost be said about the clientele. But someone had at least tried to make the place a bit cheerful. Tried and failed.
Thor Jackson was what many would call a charming fifty-year-old man. After relating the story of his last name, a long saga starring an American sailor, he dragged them into a smoke-filled office with white furniture and a single window looking out on the courtyard.
“She was one of the best employees we’ve had since Transit started up four years ago,” he said after serving them coffee. “We didn’t know a lot about her, but she was always polite and friendly. It’s horrible what happened to her; it’s just unbelievable. We’ve talked a lot about it here. Everybody is shocked.”
“How many people work here?” Jasper asked.
“Besides the leader, that’s me, there’s Mona, she does the books. Then there are two shifts working in the kitchen, two people who do the cleaning in shifts. We have a full-time social worker, plus a consultant who specializes in addiction, a psychologist, and a clergyman. Some we have an understanding with, others are partly paid by the district.”
“And what did Maja do?” Lisa said.
“She was a jack-of-all-trades. She ran the errands the rest of us didn’t have time for. She was here for two hours at the end of the day, and we would write up a list of things that needed to be done. Like picking up something at the post office, doing some shopping for the kitchen, setting out brochures, picking up newspapers and magazines, watering the plants. And talking to our clients.”
