A Conspiracy of Faith (37 page)

“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.”

“If it’s something criminal, I can’t guarantee you anything.”

“It is. But we’re not the criminals. He is, the man you kicked out. And what he’s done…” She took a deep breath, noticing for the first time that her voice was shaking. “What he’s done is the worst thing anyone could do to a family. He’s kidnapped two of our children. And if you tell anyone, he’ll kill them. Do you understand?”

Twenty minutes had passed, and never in her life had Isabel been held in the grip of shock for so long. Now she saw everything as it was. The man who had been living with her, and whom for a brief, intense period she had taken to be a possible life partner, was a monster most likely capable of anything at all. She felt it now, as her senses recalled his hands on her body. Just a little too strong, too competent almost. She realized how fatal his entry into her life could have been. And her mouth went dry as she thought back to the moment when she had revealed to him that she had been gathering information on him. What if he had attacked her there and then, before she managed to tell him that she had passed on everything she knew to her brother on the force? What if he had discovered that she was bluffing? That she would never dream of involving her brother in her erotically derived catastrophes?

She hardly dared think about it.

She looked at these people and shared their pain. Oh, how she hated that man. And she vowed that regardless of what it might cost, he would not get away.

“Listen, I can help you. My brother’s a policeman. He’s in the traffic police, but we can get him to put out a description. That way we can
spread the word, cover the whole country in no time at all. I’ve got the number of his van. I can describe everything in detail.”

But the woman in front of her shook her head. She wanted to agree, but couldn’t. “I told you, you’re not to tell anyone. You promised,” she said after a moment. “Now we’ve got four hours before the banks close, and we need to raise a million kroner. We can’t sit here any longer.”

“But listen to me. If we leave now, we can be at his address in less than four hours.”

Again, Rachel shook her head. “What makes you think he took the children there? Surely that would be the stupidest thing he could do? My children might be anywhere at all. He may have taken them over the border. Anything can get through these days. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

Isabel nodded. “You’re right.” She looked at the husband. “Have you got a mobile phone?”

Joshua pulled his phone out of his pocket. “Here,” he said.

“Is it fully charged?”

He nodded.

“Have you got one, too, Rachel?”

“Yes,” was all she said.

“I think we should split into two teams. Joshua should try to raise the ransom, and we’ll drive to Sjælland. We need to do it now!”

The couple looked at each other for a moment. This unlikely pair—Isabel understood them only too well. She had no children of her own, and that was cause for grief enough in itself. How must it feel to realize you were about to lose those you had, that you might fail to save them?

“We need a million kroner,” said Joshua. “We’re good for more, but we can’t just go to the bank and ask them to give us the money, and certainly not in cash. A couple of years ago, maybe, when things were different. But not now. The only place we can go to is our congregation. It’s a risk, but it’s our only chance of getting the money.” He looked at her urgently. His breathing was shaky, his lips a little blue. “Unless you can help us. I think you can, if you want to.”

Here, for the first time, she saw the real person behind the name, so well known for the efficient running of his business. One of the best taxpayers in Viborg Municipality.

“Call your superiors,” he said with sadness in his eyes. “Tell them to call the tax authorities. Tell them we’ve made a mistake with our voluntary payment and that they need to return the amount to our account immediately. Can you do that?”

And suddenly the ball was in her court.

When she had gone to work that morning, three hours ago, she had still been feeling stunned. Out of sorts and in a foul mood. Self-pity had been her only momentum. Now she could hardly recognize those emotions. At this moment, she was prepared to act, to do anything necessary. Even if it cost her her job.

Even if it cost her more.

“Let me go into another room,” she said. “I’ll be as quick as I can, but it may take some time.”

“So, Laursen,” Carl said
to the former forensics officer, wrapping up his briefing. “Now we know who wrote the letter.”

“Dreadful story.” Laursen breathed deeply. “You say you’ve got hold of some of Poul Holt’s possessions, so if there’s any DNA on them, then we can establish beyond a doubt whether the blood used to write the letter was his. If it was, then alongside the brother’s corroborating statement that he was killed, we should have enough to make a case. Assuming we find a suspect. But a murder case without a corpse is always going to be a dodgy business, you know that.”

He stared at the transparent plastic bags Carl produced from his drawer.

“Tryggve Holt told me he still kept some personal items belonging to his brother. The two of them were close, and Tryggve took these with him when he left home. I persuaded him to hand them over to us.”

Laursen wrapped a handkerchief around his large square mitt. “These are probably no good,” he said, putting a pair of sandals and a shirt to one side. “This might be useful, though.”

He examined the cap in detail. An ordinary white baseball cap with a blue peak proclaiming
JESUS RULES!

“Poul wasn’t allowed to wear it because of his parents. But he loved it, apparently. Kept it under his bed during the day and practically slept with it on at night.”

“Anyone worn it other than Poul?”

“Seems not. I asked Tryggve the same question.”

“OK, then we’ve got his DNA here.” Laursen jabbed a thick finger at a couple of hairs adhering to the inside of the cap.

“Most excellent!” said Assad, appearing behind them with a ream of papers in his hand. His face was as bright as a fluorescent tube, which couldn’t be attributable to Laursen’s presence alone. What had he dug up now?

“Thanks, Laursen,” said Carl. “I know you’re up to your ears in fishcakes upstairs, but things do get through the system a lot more smoothly if they come from you.”

Carl shook him by the hand. It was about time he got his arse up to the cafeteria and let Laursen’s mates up there know what kind of a guy they had in their midst.

“Hey,” Laursen exclaimed, his eyes fixed somewhere in the air in front of him. And then he swiped a hand quickly and without warning at something invisible. He stood for a moment with his fist clenched, then made a movement a bit like hurling a tennis ball onto the floor. A split second later, he stamped his foot down and smiled. “I can’t stand those things,” he said by way of explanation, lifting his foot to reveal an enormous fly splayed out flat on the floor.

And then he was gone.

Assad rubbed his hands gleefully as Laursen’s footsteps faded. “We are running just like a well-oiled machine now, Carl. Have a look at this.”

He dropped his pile of papers onto the desk and indicated the sheet on top. “Here is the common I nominate in all the fires, Carl.”

“You what?”

“The common I nominate.”

“Common denominator, Assad. A compound noun. What common denominator?”

“Here. Suddenly it came to me as I was on my way through JPP’s accounts. They borrowed money from a firm of bankers called RJ Invest, and this is very important.”

Carl shook his head. The world had too many initialisms in it for his liking. What the fuck was JPP?

“JPP, was that the firm making fittings that burned down in Emdrup?”