Invisible Murder (Nina Borg #2) (34 page)

There were eight people and two phone numbers, which he had Mikael Nielsen check right away. One turned out to be a pay-as-you-go phone that was turned off. The other had apparently been canceled a week ago. Neither was going to get them any further right now, and the descriptions couldn’t be used for more than a preliminary sorting of the seventy Roma who had been rounded up and were now being held downtown. The border police had also picked up a few on the Øresund Bridge heading for Sweden, so there were plenty to choose from. In the best-case scenario, it would take a few hours, but more likely days, to establish who had been at the garage. And even if the police managed to bring in most of them, it was far from certain that that would get them any closer to the source.

The initial report from Gitte was also very discouraging. The Roma they had picked up at the repair shop all denied seeing anything, no matter which language they were asked in. The police had been forced to use physical force in order to send the children to Bispebjerg Hospital to be examined, and according to Gitte, the adults who had accompanied them had been panicky and terrified to let the children out of their sight.

“They clammed up as if their lives depended on it,” as Gitte put it. Søren sank a little farther back in the desk chair, wondering whether the Roma were afraid because they had something to do with the source of the radioactivity or if they were just scared to death whenever they had any kind of official interaction. The latter was at least as likely as the former. There were places in Eastern Europe where Roma women who gave birth in the hospital risked leaving with their fallopian tubes tied. And wasn’t there something about Sweden forcibly taking Roma children into care well into the 1970s as standard practice? He had read something about that a few years earlier when the police were trying to get a handle on the integration problems in Elsinore. And then there was Peter himself, who had flatly refused to give them the name of this friend of his who had put him in touch with the Roma in Valby. Søren was increasingly convinced that the “friend” was Peter himself. He only had a vague idea why Peter would make such a bumbling attempt to distance himself from the first contact with the garage in Valby, but it would certainly have to be looked into more closely, and Søren had arranged a search warrant for the man’s home address.

He didn’t look like your classic terrorist, but then again you never could tell. Looking up Peter Erhardsen in the POLSAG register revealed that he had been arrested a couple years earlier at a demonstration at the Sandholm refugee camp, where the fence had been cut and several hundred activists had stormed in. Probably to improve conditions for the asylum seekers, which did not necessarily mean that Peter Erhardsen was anything more dire than a soft-hearted humanist. He was, however, definitely an activist, and Søren hadn’t felt entirely comfortable with the near-religious zeal he thought he glimpsed beneath Peter’s pale-faced nervousness.

The timer on his phone beeped. A quick shave with borrowed amenities and fifteen minutes for coffee and contemplation was what he had allotted himself. Now it was over. It was time to meet Peter’s partner-in-activism, the nurse, Nina Borg.

HE MAN FROM
PET looked surprisingly ordinary. Nina didn’t know exactly what she had been expecting, but certainly someone more mysterious and secretive. A black suit maybe, a crew cut, and black sunglasses. Instead the man who turned up in her hospital room looked amiable enough. He was probably about fifty, wiry, and in good shape under his black T-shirt, with dark, slightly graying hair and a pair of narrow glasses that slid down his curved nose at regular intervals. She hadn’t caught his name, but she also didn’t care. He was here to learn something from her. Not the other way around. And now he was seated in a chair by the little table in the corner of the hospital room. Someone had brought coffee, a plastic mug, and a bowl of pale yellow Coffee-mate, and he had already started on his first cup before he sat down across from her.

“Is this okay?” He pulled out a shiny little digital recorder, pressed record, and set it on the table without waiting for her response. Then he cleared his throat and aimed a pair of surprisingly Paul Newman-blue eyes at her.

“Valby.… You told the Emergency Management Agency that you thought the source was in the inspection pit. What gave you that idea? Did you see something?”

Nina’s mouth felt strangely dry, but she was no longer sure if the radiation was to blame. She had spent most of the morning sitting in bed, staring mutely at the hospital phone even though deep down she knew Morten wasn’t going to call. She could still taste her tears at the corners of her mouth. She forced herself to look the PET man in the eyes.

“Before we talk about this, I just want to ask how the children are doing.”

He looked puzzled. Then he pulled a folder out of his bag and flipped a little through the papers in it.

“Yesterday, Sunday, May seventeenth, the Emergency Management Agency evacuated a defunct auto repair shop at 35 Gasbetonvej, in Valby. The evacuees totaled twenty men, five women, and seven children between the ages of three and eighteen. All seven children were taken to the Infectious Diseases Ward at Bispebjerg Hospital. Four of the children presented mild to moderate symptoms of radiation sickness, but were evaluated and found not to require any treatment. One child was slightly dehydrated because of several days of nausea and vomiting. The boy is being given fluids now. They’re all expected to make a full recovery.”

Nina felt a flood of relief rush through her. Since she had been diagnosed with radiation sickness, she hadn’t been able to find out anything about the children. The nurses knew nothing, and the doctors from the National Institute for Radiation Hygiene had acted like it was top-secret information of the most confidential nature. Even Magnus hadn’t been able to drag anything out of his colleagues at Bispebjerg.

The PET man regarded her calmly.

“In other words there’s nothing to indicate that the children were seriously harmed. So, if we could turn our attention back to the question. Did you see the source of the radiation?”

“No. It was pitch black down there. And, besides, I wouldn’t have any idea what something like that looked like.”

“I’m assuming you guessed it was in the inspection pit because you and the children were down there?”

Nina nodded, squirming in the chair. It was hot in the room, and her thighs were sticking damply to the plastic seat. She felt uncomfortable in the floppy hospital gown, granny underwear, and bare legs. Her own clothes had been thrown away, and there was no one at home to bring her new clothes. They sealed off the apartment, Morten had said. The image of his back framed in the doorway flitted through her mind. She pushed it aside with a deep breath and forced her attention back to the conversation. The inspection pit.

“Yes. When I was out there Friday night, the children and I were ordered into the inspection pit. And I think the children had been down there many times.”

“Ordered, you say. By who?”

“The people at the garage.”

“And why? Do you know?”

Nina shrugged. “Someone came. The Roma called them ‘boss men.’ ”

“More than one, then.”

“Yes. I heard them arguing up above, but I couldn’t hear much of what they were saying. It sounded like it was about money, maybe rent. I’m assuming there weren’t supposed to be children or people like me at the repair shop. Peter … uh, Peter Erhardsen that is … he experienced something similar.”

“And you didn’t see these ‘boss men?’ ”

“No.”

Despite the recorder, he still made a note in his papers. He pulled out a plastic folder from his briefcase and pushed it over in front of her. It contained a single, letter-sized printout of what looked like a passport picture.

“Do you know him?”

There was very little personality in the stiff, over-exposed face. But yes, she was absolutely sure she had seen him before. Was he one of the men from the repair shop? She tried to remember the faces from the cold, flickering glare of the fluorescent light, but they all merged into one. Turned into frozen masks with hostile eyes.

Then it clicked. The gash over his eye. She had seen his face half covered in blood, in the yellow glow of the light in her car. She didn’t know his name, what he had done, or where he was now. Just that the left side of his rib cage must still be fairly sore.

“He … he was out there,” she said. “Who is he?”

“We were hoping you knew that.”

“No. He’d been in a fight, and I patched up a gash on his eyebrow for him. That was all. He was polite. Spoke very good English.” And then it hit her. He had been in her car. She had brought him home to Fejøgade and let him out there. And then a few hours later.…

“Oh, God.”

The PET man didn’t ask right away. He just waited, with relentless serenity.

“My daughter,” Nina said then. “My daughter was attacked. They broke into our apartment. Was he one of them?”

The man’s hawk face gave nothing away. Damnit! Couldn’t he just be human?

“When did the attack take place?” he asked.

“For God’s sake, you should know that better than me. My husband reported it. The police were there, they questioned her.… Was it him?” Her voice rose, becoming shrill and edgy. She could hear it, but she couldn’t stop herself. And that damned iron-faced robo-cop just sat there watching her, clearly making mental notes.

“We don’t always get every bit of information right away,” he said. “So when did this attack take place? And where?”

“Saturday night. In our apartment on Fejøgade. I just told you!”

“Thank you” was all he said, and then continued as if nothing had happened. “Tell me a little more about why you went to Valby.”

Nina tried to breathe calmly. If she didn’t relax, she was going to throw up again.

“I went to see a friend who was sick,” she said. “He said there were some sick children living under poor conditions, so I went to have a look at them.”

“Was this friend of yours Peter Erhardsen?”

“Yes.”

“Is this something you and Peter had done before? Tending to the sick and needy?”

Nina swore to herself. The Man in the Iron Mask was intent on digging around in the past, and she didn’t know how best to worm her way out of it. Luckily the Hungarian Roma were EU citizens and thus not as illegal as many of the Network’s “clients” were. Helping them with a little over-the-counter medication was hardly a hanging offense. It was another matter for Peter, who regularly hid illegal refugees at his house. If the police really looked into that, it could very easily turn into a criminal case. And all his damn lists and three-ring binders and budgets.… How many poor slobs would they find based on that treasure trove? Fuck. What if they had already ransacked his house in Vanløse …?

“We just think people ought to be treated properly,” Nina said vaguely. “Sorry. I’m not feeling so good.” She had no trouble at all pretending she was ill. She had been out of bed for half an hour now and was sweating hot and cold from exhaustion. When had she last eaten anything that didn’t come in a drip bag? She remembered the twist bread and the grilled sausage she’d chewed her way through outside the scout cabin Saturday evening. Back when she was still married and a mother, albeit
not a perfect one, with an apartment in Østerbro. Today it was Monday, and Morten had left her. The nausea came all on its own now, and small black spots started to dance in front of her eyes.

The PET man sat motionless in front of her. The glasses on his curved nose caught and reflected the light from the window.

“I have neither the time nor the patience for your little games,” he said. “If you’re going to throw up, then throw up. But cut the crap. Someone brought radioactive material to Denmark, and at the moment we have every reason to believe it was done with malicious intent. People—a lot of people—may get hurt if we don’t stop this. Which is why we are prepared to go further than the police normally go when faced with a hostile witness. I can have you remanded for up to six months. And I will, if I have to.”

Nina stared at him in disbelief. No kid gloves here apparently—it was an iron hand in an iron glove.

“What I and Peter Erhardsen may or may not have done in the past has absolutely nothing to do with the repair shop in Valby,” she said. “I’ve already told you everything you need to know.”

For the first time his irritation was visible. His movements were still calm and completely controlled, but his eyes grew a shade darker as he spoke.

“In cases like these, the witness doesn’t decide what I need to know. I do,” he said coolly. “I ask a question, and you answer it to the best of your ability. Those are the rules. If you have a problem with that, as I said, I can lock you up.”

Nina noted a sour taste spreading through her mouth. She was wearing a gown so short and thin that it barely covered her high-waisted mesh underwear, stamped COPENHAGEN HOSPITAL AUTHORITY in bold, dark-green letters. She had been vomiting for two days, her apartment was sealed, and she had no idea where she would go if she ever got well enough to leave this sterile, gray room with its ugly ’80s-colored curtains. And now he was sitting there smelling of aftershave and everyday reality and threatening to put her in jail. As if she were a criminal.