Disgrace (44 page)

‘Me? I began talking about something else. What would you have liked me to say?’

Good girl
, he thought.

‘Hey, Rose,’ he said, gathering himself. It wasn’t so easy to apologize when a guy came from a hick town like Brønderslev
.
‘I was a little sharp with you earlier. Forget it.
The trip to Madrid was actually OK. I mean, the entertainment value was above average, now that I think about it. In any case I saw a tramp without teeth, had all my credit cards stolen and held a strange woman’s hand for at least twelve hundred miles. But next time, give me a little orientation first, OK?’

She smiled.

‘And there’s one more thing I just thought of, Rose. Was it you who spoke to a maid that called from Kassandra Lassen’s house? I didn’t have my police badge, you’ll recall, so she called here to check my identity.’

‘Yes, I did.’

‘She asked you to describe my appearance. Do you mind telling me what you told her?’

A pair of traitorous dimples planted themselves in her cheeks.

‘Weeell, I just said that if it was a guy wearing a brown leather belt and super-worn-out size 101⁄2 black shoes who looked totally unremarkable, then there was a considerable probability that it was you. And if she could also see a bald spot on his crown that looked like a pair of butt cheeks, then there could be no doubt.’

She’s bloody merciless
, he thought, sweeping his hair back a bit.

They found Bent Krum all the way out on pier number 11, sitting in an upholstered easy chair on the quarterdeck of a yacht that no doubt cost more than a man like Krum was worth.

‘That boat there is a V42,’ said a boy in front of the promenade’s Thai restaurant. He was certainly well educated.

Whatever enthusiasm Krum might have displayed upon seeing a guardian of the law enter his white paradise, followed by a deeply sunburned and thin-haired representative of Alternative Denmark, was very hard to detect.

But he didn’t get a snowball’s chance in hell to sling out any professional protests.

‘I’ve spoken with Valdemar Florin,’ Carl said, ‘and he suggested I talk to you. He said you would be the right person to speak for the family. Do you have five minutes?’

Bent Krum shoved his sunglasses above his forehead. He might just as well have left them up there the whole time, seeing as there was no sun. ‘Five minutes is all. My wife is expecting me at home.’

Carl smiled broadly.
Fat chance
, the smile said, and Bent Krum, being the sly, old rat he was, recognized it immediately. Perhaps he’d be more careful about lying in the future.

‘You and Valdemar Florin were present in 1986, when the youths were brought down to the Holbæk Police Station under suspicion of having committed the murders in Rørvig. He suggested to me that a couple of them stood out from the others in the group, but thought this was something you could better elaborate on. Do you know what he was referring to?’

In the sunlight he was a pale man. Not without pigmentation, but anaemic-looking. Bleached and worn down by all the villainy he’d had to defend over the years. Carl had seen it time and again. No one could look paler than a policeman with unsolved crimes in his baggage or a solicitor with all too many solved ones.

‘Stood out, you say? They all did, I guess. Fine, young people, I’d call them. Their activities since then have proved that, wouldn’t you say?’

‘Well,’ Carl said, ‘I’m not that much of an expert. But one shoots himself in the private parts, another makes a living stuffing women with Botox and silicone, a third lets undernourished young girls prance back and forth while people stare at them, a fourth is sitting in prison, a fifth specializes in making rich people richer by preying on the ignorance of small investors, and the sixth has been living on the street for just over eleven years. So, really, I’m not sure how to respond.’

‘I don’t think you should make such statements in public,’ Krum said, already prepared to file a lawsuit.

‘In public?’ Carl said, glancing round at the teak and glossy fibreglass and chrome. ‘Is there anything less public than this?’ He spread his arms and smiled. A compliment, many would say.

‘What about Kimmie Lassen?’ Carl continued. ‘Didn’t she stand out? Isn’t it true that she was a central figure in the gang’s activities? Isn’t it the case that Florin, Dybbøl Jensen and Pram might have a certain interest in seeing her quietly disappear from the face of the earth?’

Vertical wrinkles appeared on Bent Krum’s head. Not especially attractive. ‘I’d like to remind you that she already
has
disappeared. Of her own free will, it should be noted!’

Carl turned to Assad. ‘Did you get that, Assad?’

He raised his pencil in confirmation.

‘Thank you,’ Carl said. ‘That was all.’

They stood up.

‘I beg your pardon?’ Krum said. ‘Got what? What just happened there?’

‘Well, you said the gang had an interest in Kimmie Lassen disappearing.’

‘No, that’s not at all what I said.’

‘Did he not, Assad?’

The little man nodded vigorously. He certainly was loyal.

‘We have all kinds of indications that suggest it was the gang that killed the siblings in Rørvig,’ Carl said. ‘And I’m not just talking about Bjarne Thøgersen. So we’ll probably meet again, Mr Krum. You’ll also be meeting a number of people that maybe you’ve heard of, and maybe not. In any case, they’re all interesting people with good memories. Like Kåre Bruno’s friend, Mannfred Sloth, for example.’

Krum didn’t react.

‘And a teacher at the boarding school by the name of Klavs Jeppesen. Not to mention Kyle Basset, whom I interviewed yesterday in Madrid.’

Now Krum reacted. ‘Just a moment,’ he said, grabbing Carl’s arm.

Carl looked disapprovingly at the hand, and Krum swiftly removed it.

‘Yes, Mr Krum,’ he said. ‘We’re aware that you have a considerable stake in the gang’s well-being. For one thing, you’re the chairman of the board of Caracas, Pram’s private hospital. That alone may be the main reason you can sit here in such gorgeous surroundings.’ He gestured at the pier’s many restaurants and further out across the Sound.

There was no doubt that in a moment Bent Krum would be making a few frantic calls.

But then the gang members would be nicely prepared by the time Carl came to visit. Maybe even tenderized.

Assad and Carl walked into Caracas like a couple of narcissists interested in exploring the place before they got a little fat sucked out here and there. The receptionist stopped them, of course, but Carl pushed determinedly on towards what resembled administrative offices.

‘Where is Ditlev Pram?’ he asked a secretary, when he finally found the sign that read:
DITLEV PRAM
,
CEO
.

She already had the phone in her hand to call security when he flashed his police badge and gave her a smile that even Carl’s down-to-earth mother would have found irresistible. ‘Excuse us for barging in, but we have to speak with Ditlev Pram. If you can get him to come here, he’ll be pleased and so will we.’

She didn’t fall for it.

‘Unfortunately he’s out today,’ she said authoritatively. ‘But can I set up an appointment for you? How about the 22nd of October, at 2.15? Does that work for you?’

So it wasn’t Pram they’d be talking to on this trip. A damned shame.

‘Thanks. We’ll call,’ Carl said, pulling Assad with him.

She was going to warn Pram, no doubt about it. She’d already stepped out on to the terrace with her mobile. Sharp secretary.

‘We were sent down here,’ Carl said, pointing towards the prep and recovery ward as they passed the receptionist again.

Watchful eyes followed them, and they returned each glance with a friendly nod.

After they’d passed the surgical wing, they stood a moment and kept an eye out in case Pram showed up. Then they headed past a number of private rooms, from most of which classical music came streaming out, and reached the utility wing where less well-preserved people were wearing less prestigious uniforms.

They nodded at the cooks and finally wound up in the laundry, where a lot of very Asian-looking women seemed utterly terrified to see them.

If Pram found out that he had been down here, Carl ventured to guess that these women would disappear within the hour.

On the trip back Assad was very quiet. Only when they reached Klampenborg did he turn to Carl. ‘Where would you go if you were Kimmie Lassen?’

Carl shrugged. Who could tell? After all, she was pretty unpredictable. Apparently she had truly mastered the art of improvising her way through life. She could be anywhere.

‘We both agree that she would have a great interest in Aalbæk not looking for her any more. I mean, she and the rest of the group weren’t exactly the best of chumps.’

‘Best of chums, Assad. Chums.’

‘The homicide division says that Aalbæk was at something called Damhuskroen Saturday evening. Did I tell you that?’

‘No, but I’ve heard it.’

‘And he left with a woman, yes?’

‘That, I hadn’t heard.’

‘Which means, Carl, if she killed that Aalbæk, they are probably not so happy, the others in the gang.’

That was probably putting it mildly.

‘So there’s a war between them now.’

Carl nodded wearily. The last twenty-four hours were beginning to settle not only into his head, but also his entire nervous system. Suddenly the accelerator seemed impossibly difficult to press down.

‘Don’t you think she would go back to the house where you found the box so she could get hold of the evidence against the others then?’

Carl nodded slowly. That was definitely one possibility. Another was that he pull over and take a nap.

‘Shouldn’t we then drive over there?’ was Assad’s conclusion.

They found the house dark and locked up. Rang the doorbell a few times. Found the telephone number and called. They heard ringing inside, but no one picked up. It seemed rather pointless. In any event Carl couldn’t muster the energy to do anything more about it. For God’s sake, elderly women were allowed to have a life outside their home’s four walls.

‘Come on, let’s go,’ Carl said. ‘You drive so I can take a nap.’

Rose was gathering her things when Carl and Assad arrived at headquarters. She wanted to go home, so they wouldn’t be seeing her for another two days. She was tired, having worked hard Friday night, Saturday and
part of Sunday. They weren’t getting any more for
that
nickel.

Carl felt exactly the same way.

‘By the way,’ she said. ‘I got hold of the university in Berne, and they found Kirsten-Marie Lassen’s file.’

So apparently Rose had made it through her entire list
, Carl thought.

‘She was a good student, down there in Switzerland. There were no problems, they said. Aside from her losing her boyfriend in a skiing accident, it was a highly successful stay, according to her records.’

‘A skiing accident?’

‘Yeah, it was a little strange, the woman in the office said. The story did get quite a bit of attention. Her boyfriend was a fairly good skier. Not someone who normally skied into an off-piste area with so many crags.’

Carl nodded. Dangerous sport.

He met Mona Ibsen in the police headquarters courtyard. She had an enormous bag slung over her shoulder and gave him a look that said no thanks even before he opened his mouth.

‘I’m seriously considering taking Hardy home to stay with me,’ he said, low-key. ‘But I feel I know too little about how it might affect him psychologically, as well as us at home.’

He looked at her with tired eyes. Evidently that’s what was needed, because when he followed up by asking her out to dinner so they could discuss what consequences such a big decision could have for everyone involved, the answer was positive.

‘Well, I suppose we could,’ she said, giving him one of those smiles that always hit him so hard in the abdomen. ‘I’m hungry now, as it happens.’

Carl was dumbstruck. Didn’t know what to say. He simply looked into her eyes and hoped that his charm would do the trick.

After they’d sat for an hour over their meal, Mona Ibsen gradually began softening up, and his whole being was overcome with such blissful relief and submission that he fell asleep, his head lolling on to his plate with a thump.

Nicely positioned between the tenderloin and the broccoli.

36

On Monday morning the voices were silent.

Kimmie awoke slowly and looked around her old bedroom, confused and empty-headed. For a moment she thought she was thirteen again and had overslept. How many times had she been thrown out of the house with no other nourishment for the day than her father and Kassandra’s scolding and door-slamming? How many times had she sat in class in Ordrup with a rumbling stomach, dreaming herself far away?

Then she remembered what had happened the day before. How wide-open and dead Kassandra’s eyes had been.

That was when she began humming her old song again.

After she’d dressed, she carried her bundle downstairs, shot a quick glance into the living room at Kassandra’s corpse, and sat in the kitchen, whispering menu suggestions to the little one.

She was sitting like that when the telephone rang.

She raised her shoulders slightly and lifted the receiver hesitantly. ‘Yes?’ she said in an affected, hoarse voice. ‘Kassandra Lassen speaking. To whom do I owe the pleasure?’

She recognized the voice on the first word. It was Ulrik’s.

‘Yes, my apologies, but you are speaking with Ulrik
Dybbøl Jensen. Perhaps you remember me?’ he said. ‘We believe that Kimmie is on her way to see you, Mrs Lassen. And if that is the case, we ask that you be careful and be sure to let us know the very moment she steps through the door.’

Kimmie looked out of the kitchen window. If they came from that direction, they wouldn’t see her if she stood behind the door. And the knives in Kassandra’s kitchen were exquisite. Could slice through tough as well as tender meat as though it were air.

‘I believe you should use the utmost caution if you see her, Mrs Lassen. But indulge her. Let her in, and keep her there. Then call us. We’ll come to your rescue.’ He laughed cautiously to make it sound plausible, but Kimmie knew better. No man in the world could help Kassandra Lassen if Kimmie showed up. That had already been proven.