The Killing - 01 - The Killing (51 page)

‘How long did you know her?’ Meyer asked.

Hartmann couldn’t take his eyes off the pictures. Slowly he flicked through them, mouth open, face frozen.

‘I didn’t know her. I never met the girl.’

Meyer snorted.

‘The car. The flat. The fact you never mentioned any of this.’

‘There was nothing to mention! I took the car. I went to the flat. I had a couple of beers. Then I decided to walk home.’

They said nothing.

‘On Monday morning I came to pick up the car but it was gone. I assumed someone from the campaign office had gone in and found the keys. I left them on the table. Someone must have taken them.’

Meyer sighed.

‘Why did you take the surveillance tape? So we couldn’t see it was you in the car?’

‘What? I didn’t take any tape.’

‘Your number was deleted from Nanna’s mobile,’ Lund added.

‘That’s not possible. I didn’t even know the girl.’

‘What did you do with the rest of the weekend?’ Meyer asked.

Hartmann swore and got up.

Lund strode to the door, blocked it, looked at him. He was agitated and angry.

‘Are you going to tell us or not, Hartmann?’

‘Why the hell should I? My private life’s my own business. None of yours.’

‘This isn’t about your private life . . .’ Meyer began.

The door got pushed open. In walked Lennart Brix.

Brix.

Buchard’s new number two. Fresh from one of the regional forces. A tall and striking man with an angular unsmiling face. He’d arrived two weeks before, kept himself scarce. Now he looked as if he owned the department.

‘I’m the deputy chief here,’ Brix said. ‘Good evening.’

He walked straight over, shook Hartmann’s hand. Stood next to him, turned to Lund and Meyer and Svendsen.

‘I understand there’s a problem,’ Brix said.

Five minutes later. Lund lit her second cigarette of the month as she watched Hartmann leave with Skovgaard and Bremer by his side. Jan Meyer stood next to her chewing gum.

Brix saw the three of them out then came back to the office.

Black shirt. Black suit. Shiny black Italian shoes. He looked like a politician himself.

‘Hartmann told me he took the car in good faith. He clearly left the flat before the girl arrived. He’s willing to talk about the flat. You can question his employees as much as you need. You don’t even have evidence she was raped there, Lund. She might have just had an argument with someone.’

‘We don’t want to talk to his employees,’ Lund said.

Brix leaned against the door, watching her. A fixed, determined man.

‘If you’d asked nicely you’d have discovered he had an alibi. You’re looking for someone who had Nanna Birk Larsen all weekend. Hartmann left the flat around ten thirty and went to Rie Skovgaard’s.’

‘He said he went home.’

‘His relationship with Skovgaard is a private matter. He wishes to keep it that way.’

‘If these damned people told us the truth . . .’ Meyer began.

‘The next morning they went to a conference centre where they had meetings all day.’

‘Can we check that?’ Meyer asked.

‘You don’t need to.’ He pointed at the pair of them. ‘The next time you pull in someone like Hartmann I suggest you do your homework first.’

They watched him go. Lund passed the half-smoked cigarette to Meyer.

‘Let’s check the alibi. See if anyone else from City Hall uses the flat. Everyone in Hartmann’s office comes in for questioning.’

She looked at Meyer.

‘Are you OK with that?’

‘Oh yes,’ he said.

Svendsen came back in with a message. Pernille Birk Larsen was coming in. She wanted to see Lund urgently.

‘We don’t have time. If it’s about her husband being in custody . . .’

‘It can’t be that. He got let out.’ Svendsen shook his head, laughed. ‘She didn’t even come to meet him, Lund. You should feel flattered.’

Theis Birk Larsen walked home to Vesterbro. Twenty minutes in the rain through deserted streets.

Pernille wasn’t there. Nor were the boys. In the kitchen, by the pot plants and the photographs, he phoned her, got nothing more than voicemail, waited five minutes, phoned again.

Just after eleven a door slammed downstairs. He ran down into the garage. Lights on. Vagn in his red overalls and black woollen hat, looking at the diary in the office.

Skærbæk looked surprised to see him.

‘Have you seen Pernille, Vagn?’

‘When did you get out?’

‘Just now.’

‘That’s good. What happened with the teacher—’

‘Have you seen her?’

Skærbæk looked baffled.

‘Lotte came round to babysit. She wasn’t here long and then they left.’

Birk Larsen stood by the office, hands in pockets, trying to make sense of this.

‘Why?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘Where to?’

‘Christ, Theis! I don’t know.’

Birk Larsen glared at him.

‘You did talk to her?’

‘I thought she went to pick you up.’ Skærbæk hesitated. ‘Didn’t she?’

Birk Larsen went back upstairs. Called again. Got nowhere.

Pernille Birk Larsen brought her sister Lotte to headquarters. Dragged her there by the looks of it.

Lund listened then asked, ‘Tell me about this club, Lotte. The Heartbreak.’

‘It’s for members. Private. Invitation only.’

Meyer sat silent, scribbling notes.

‘What did Nanna do?’

‘She waited on tables. I always kept an eye on her.’

‘Nanna liked the place?’

‘Sure. It was exciting. Different.’

‘Different?’ Meyer asked.

‘Different from taking calls for a removals company.’

Pernille sat in the corridor beyond the glass. She’d refused to leave.

‘How did you know she was seeing someone?’

‘She missed some shifts and kept asking for time off. It seemed . . .’

She was a pretty woman, but with a sad and pasty face that spoke of late nights and maybe something else.

‘It seemed innocent.’

‘Then something happened?’

‘One night she didn’t turn up. I called Theis and told him about it. We drove around looking for her. I got a call from a hotel near the station. She gave them my number.’

Lund watched her, wondering.

‘Why did she get a room?’

‘She’d had too much to drink. She was upset. I think the guy had dumped her. He wasn’t there. It was just Nanna.’

‘Did she do drugs?’ Meyer asked.

‘I don’t think so.’

‘Did she talk about the man?’

‘I think he was married or something. She was really secretive. She wouldn’t tell me his name. Nanna . . .’

A long pause.

‘It was kind of a time when a kid falls in love with someone different every week.’

‘But she didn’t,’ Lund said. ‘This went on for months.’

‘That time. She always called him Faust.’

‘Faust?’ Lund checked, writing this down.

‘It’s not his real name.’

‘It wouldn’t be. Why did she call him that?’

‘I don’t know.’

Meyer chipped in.

‘This was spring and summer. She didn’t talk about him after that?’

‘No.’ Her eyes strayed to the figure in the corridor. ‘Pernille thought this might be important.’

‘She was right,’ Meyer said and left it at that.

‘Did she tell you where she and Faust used to meet?’ Lund asked.

‘Hotels, I think.’

‘Do you know which ones?’

Lotte Holst was trying to remember something.

‘It was hotels in the beginning. Later on I think they went to a flat.’

‘A flat?’

‘Yeah. I remember she said it was really cool. Old furniture. Very expensive.’

Lund waited. When there was nothing else she said, ‘Whereabouts?’

‘I don’t know.’ One more memory. ‘All she said was it was near the old navy houses. The yellow ones they take you to on a school trip.’

‘Nyboder?’ Lund asked, staring at Meyer.

‘I think so.’

‘How about Store Kongensgade?’

Lotte blinked.

‘Yes. That was it.’ She looked at them both. ‘How did you know?’

Lund got back to her mother’s flat just after ten. Meyer called as she was walking up the stairs.

‘There’s no one called Faust on the Heartbreak Club’s membership list. Hartmann’s people have been on to say we can only talk to him through a lawyer from now on.’

‘Is anyone from his office a member?’

‘Not that I can see.’

The flat was dark and silent. And empty.

‘It’s an alias, Meyer. Remember Faust? The good man who was tempted by the Devil? Go to the club and ask around.’

‘Can’t you hear the music? Where the hell do you think I am?’

There was something in the background. Tinny disco and a million voices.

Lund kicked off her boots and turned on the kitchen light then opened the fridge.

Nothing.

There was a saucepan of stew on the hob.

‘I can’t see a politician prancing round this place,’ Meyer said. ‘People would know. But maybe he doesn’t come here.’

She put the phone on speaker, placed it on a kitchen top and lit a low flame beneath the pan.

‘What do you mean?’

‘The club has a dating chat room on its website. People meet up online. Maybe that’s it.’

The stew didn’t look as if it would improve with cooking. Lund got it to tepid then picked up a spoon and took a taste from the pan.

‘I’ll have a specialist take a look,’ Meyer said.

There was a Carlsberg in the fridge. She cracked the crown top and took a swig from the neck.

‘OK,’ she said, starting on her second spoonful. ‘Let me know if something turns up.’

‘Oh, lucky you,’ Meyer moaned. ‘Getting something to eat. I haven’t had a bite since lunch.’

Lund looked at the pan.

‘Yes. Lucky me.’

She went to the sofa with the stew, realized she was still in her coat, shrugged it off, threw it on the floor.

Then she turned on her laptop, sat there going from the pan to the beer to the computer.

Meyer was right. The Heartbreak had a dating section. Open to anyone, not just members of the nightclub.

She clicked for a new profile. Filled in the form as Janne Meyer. Female. Heterosexual. Password: bananas.

Her mother came back as she was waiting for the confirmation email.

‘Where’s Mark?’ Lund asked.

‘We went to see a film with Magnus. I bought them pizza afterwards. He wanted to spend the night at Magnus’s. I said it was all right.’

Vibeke smiled sourly at her.

‘You weren’t around to ask.’

The confirmation message came through. Lund clicked on the acceptance link and found herself in the Heartbreak’s dating forum.

‘It’s fine for him to stay there,’ she said.

Her mother busied round the room doing nothing.

‘How are you?’ she asked.

‘I’ve just eaten. It’s been busy.’

‘Are you getting anywhere?’

‘Yes. I’m still doing things. Sorry.’

There was a search box at the bottom of the page. She typed in ‘Faust’.

‘Mark talked to his father today.’

The site was slow to load. Lund took another swig of beer.

‘About what?’

‘He’s coming to Copenhagen. He’d like to see Mark. Mark didn’t know if you’d be in Sweden or not.’

‘This is dragging on. He can see Mark.’

‘Yes. We noticed that.’

Vibeke came and stood at the door, staring at her with that mix of anger, sympathy and bafflement she’d made her own.

‘The storage company called about the things Bengt sent back from Sweden. They wouldn’t take your boxes into storage without an account. So I said they could leave them here. They’re in the basement.’

Then she went to the bathroom without another word.

Lund was glad. She didn’t know what to say.

Bengt.

That odd farewell on the station seemed an age away.

She looked at the laptop. There was one result called ‘Faust’.

Lund clicked on it.

No photo. Just a silhouette. Next to it a quotation.

It read: ‘Ruling the heart is the most difficult thing.’