The Killing 2 (46 page)

‘Monberg killed himself,’ Buch snapped. ‘The hospital porter saw him jump. Did the priest have a dog tag?’

‘Yes.’ Karina sat on the edge of Buch’s desk. Jeans and a shirt. She looked tired. A little dishevelled for once. ‘It seems Lund interrupted the murder.’

Buch blinked.

‘The woman we met at the wedding?’

‘Her. The priest was with Ægir. He knew the first victim, Dragsholm. She’d visited him. Maybe all the victims knew what really went on in Afghanistan.’

Plough shook his head.

‘We know what happened. Nothing. The army investigated. An official inquiry. It said Raben’s claims were nonsense. Just a way of shifting the blame.’

He threw a report in front of Buch.

‘Read it for yourself. Nothing points towards the killing of civilians.’

‘Things get covered up sometimes, don’t they?’ Buch asked. ‘If there was an atrocity they’d have good reason.’

Plough tugged at his open shirt, as if struggling to come to a decision.

‘There must be someone inside the Defence Ministry who bears a grudge against Rossing.’ He looked at Karina. ‘Can you think of anyone he’s fired recently?’

Buch grinned with surprise.

‘That’s the spirit,’ he said.

‘But it isn’t.’ Plough looked offended. ‘It’s petty and dishonourable.’

‘We need to get close to the police and find out what they uncovered about this officer,’ Buch added.

Karina frowned.

‘Not easy. They’ve taken Lund off the case. It’s being run by PET.’

‘And what do they say?’

‘They’re still chasing what we told them about Monberg. König doesn’t think it’s relevant to the investigation. They feel . . .’

She was reluctant to say it.

‘They still think we can solve this by locking up every last Muslim we can find?’ Buch asked.

‘Pretty much.’

‘And these clowns are running the show? While Lund’s fired?’

‘König’s a very experienced officer,’ Plough said carefully. ‘He’s very . . .’

‘Very what?’

‘Very well connected.’

‘I think we need to make some calls,’ Thomas Buch said, waving at the phones. ‘Let’s get busy.’

Thirty minutes later Erik König was back in an interview room in the Politigården. It felt, Brix thought, a little formal, and he was happy with that.

‘Don’t you think it’s odd no one ever found Møller’s dog tag?’ he asked.

König laughed.

‘Not really. The man was blown to bits. How many pieces do you expect them to pick up?’

‘You’ve had us chasing Islamists for days, Erik. Up and down the country. But there’s nothing, not a thing, that indicates fundamentalists are behind these killings.’

‘Only the video and the material we found at Kodmani’s.’

‘Faith Fellow planted that on him. And we don’t have a clue who he is.’

‘Speculation—’

‘Why aren’t we investigating the army and Ægir?’ Brix asked. ‘Do they have some kind of immunity?’

‘Stop this. I won’t answer to you, Lennart. We’re PET. We never have.’

‘I want Raben brought in here for questioning. If you know where he is fetch him now.’

The PET man took off his rimless glasses, polished them carefully with his handkerchief, placed them back on his face.

‘That’s not possible. He’s got away from us.’

‘You’ve lost him?’ Brix roared. ‘If you were one of my men—’

‘I’m not. We’re looking. We’ll find him. When we do . . .’ König sat back in the hard interview room chair. ‘. . . I’ll let you know.’

Brix threw up his hands in despair.

‘Lennart.’ König leaned on the table, looked him in the face. ‘Do you honestly think that if I knew there was something to hide in that barracks I’d be sitting here,
lying to you?’

Brix didn’t answer. Hedeby came in.

‘I just had a call from the Ministry of Justice,’ she said. ‘Monberg told Buch he knew the first victim, Anne Dragsholm. She’d found the officer Raben talked about. The
one responsible for the massacre. They want a full investigation. By us.’

She sat down next to König, very close, looked into his grey, emotionless eyes.

‘Us,’ she repeated. ‘And if anyone stands in our way they want to know.’

‘Do they indeed?’ the PET man said and got up, put on his coat and left.

Ruth Hedeby watched him and didn’t say a thing. That took guts, Brix thought.

‘Thanks,’ he said.

‘Don’t thank me. Thank the Ministry. They’re even more pissed off with PET than they are with us.’

‘There’s the question of staffing—’

‘I don’t want Lund back. We’re on thin ice as it is. The answer’s no.’

Her phone rang again. She looked at the number.

‘Dammit. Don’t these Ministry people ever sleep?’

Brix watched her take the call, followed the expression on her face.

‘Minister Buch . . .’ she said quietly. ‘It’s not normal for a politician to become involved in personnel issues here.’

The response was so loud and furious Ruth Hedeby held the phone away from her ear.

When it was over she said, ‘I’ll see what I can do.’

Brix sat and waited. When she stayed quiet he said, ‘So you told them Lund wasn’t coming back?’

‘No,’ she said haughtily. ‘But they found out anyway.’ She glared at him. ‘I wonder how.’

He glanced at his watch and said, ‘Search me. I’m going home. We can put everything together in the morning.’

‘Lennart!’

He stopped at the door.

‘For God’s sake keep an eye on her this time. If you can. She scares the living daylights out of me.’

‘I’ll tell her.’

‘No.’ Hedeby got up and pulled her coat around her. ‘No need.’

Lund didn’t object when Strange drove her to his flat. The last thing she wanted was to bump into a bunch of happy, drunk guests from her mother’s wedding.

The place was barely furnished, the way Danish bachelors liked. Two bedrooms, the second with a couple of single beds for his kids when they visited.

They sat next to each other on the low sofa, opposite one of the giant TVs she hated so much. He had a menu for pizza from a place round the corner.

‘Number thirty-eight,’ she said.

He was on the phone to them already.

‘Number thirty-eight,’ Strange said in his calm, genial voice.

‘With extra cheese,’ she added.

He sighed.

‘With extra cheese. Same for me. No cheese.’

The hospital had given her something for the wound. She was pouring some fluid onto a piece of cotton.

‘How’s your head?’ he asked.

‘I took some pills.’

She dabbed the cotton onto her forehead and missed.

‘Let me,’ Strange said and tried to take it from her.

‘I’m not an invalid.’

‘You can’t see what you’re doing. Is it so hard to be helped?’

She let him take it. Sat there like a child as he brushed back her hair, looked carefully at her face.

‘It’s not so bad. You won’t even get a scar.’

‘Wonderful.’

‘You’re a tough old bird.’

‘You’re too kind.’

He dabbed at the wound with the cotton. She gasped.

‘I know. It stings.’

‘Why am I here? I could have stayed in the Politigården.’

‘You could have put yourself up in a hostel too.’ He looked round the room. ‘It’s not so bad is it? No dirty underwear on the floor. No porno mags lying around. And I
wasn’t expecting you. Give me a break.’

There was a photo on the low table by the sofa. Black and white and old. A tall, upright man in uniform.

‘Your father was a soldier?’

His face turned grim and she couldn’t guess why.

‘Uniforms run in the family. Army usually, not always. That’s my grandfather. He was a policeman. That’s the old uniform. Didn’t I tell you?’

‘No.’

‘Well he was. In the Politigården during the war.’ Strange stopped and looked at her. ‘He was working with the Resistance. The Germans found out. Someone, some
stikke
, informed on him. My father said he died with all the other heroes at Mindelunden. Tied to one of those stakes I guess. I don’t know why I keep that picture really. Such a
long time ago. There’s enough shit happening now without worrying about yesterday.’

She pulled back from him, picked up another photo of a man in uniform, army this time, more recent but still old.

‘Is this your father? He looks just like you.’

‘Soldiers you see. There’s something in our blood. We’re born to serve.’

He laughed, looked vulnerable at that moment.

‘I’m not like you. I’m best when I’m part of the pack and someone’s telling me what to do. I guess I inherited that—’

‘What happened to him? Your father?’

Strange stared at her.

‘Who said anything happened to him?’

‘It’s an old photo. If he was still around you’d have a recent one.’

‘Good God. You’re a piece of work. Do you ever stop?’

‘Not really. If you don’t want to tell me—’

‘He quit the army. My mum nagged him to leave. He bought a franchise for some stupid insurance agency with his pay-off. Was never going to happen. Remember what I said? We’re born to
serve. Not lead.’

Something on his face made her wish she’d kept quiet.

‘We didn’t know he was going bust. I’m not even sure it would have made a difference. I was only nineteen. That summer I was in the Politigården. When I thought the
police uniform was for me.’

‘How long will the pizzas be?’

He frowned at her.

‘You asked. You’ve got to listen now. Only polite.’

‘Strange—’

‘I came home one day. He was hanging in the garage. I remember seeing the shoes first.’

‘I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said anything.’

Strange scratched his stubbly cheek.

‘You can’t stop yourself. Besides, why not? You weren’t to know. I hated him for that. For years. Then, when I was looking to come out of the army, my wife started giving me
the same line. You’re bright enough. Start your own company. Get a job in management. Be your own man.’

He brought the cotton wool to her face and dabbed again.

‘That was enough to get me to re-enlist. I know who I am. I like being told what to do. By you. By Brix. Suits me. You’re brighter and you know it.’

‘I never said that.’

He laughed.

‘You think you need to? You’ve got a face like an open book.’

‘I’ve got a face like a football.’

‘Still nice to look at.’

It had been so long since she’d had a conversation like this.

‘I don’t understand,’ Lund said.

‘What?’

He went back to working on her bruises and cuts.

‘Why he didn’t pull the trigger?’

He took away the cotton wool.

‘Sarah. You don’t know what happened. Don’t worry about it.’

‘I know. I heard. The gun . . .’

‘There were people around.’

‘He had time. He made a decision. I could feel it.’

‘OK.’ He put down the bottle and the swab. ‘Listen to me. This won’t happen again. You will not run away from me—’

‘You were in Helsingør!’

‘You could have waited.’

‘Well I didn’t.’

‘Next time I’ll make you. That’s a promise.’

It was her turn to laugh.

‘A promise? What am I to you? Just a crazy woman you fetched back from Gedser because Brix told you to . . .’

He put his hand on her arm. Then his fingers ran to her cheek, brushed back her hair, gently stroked for one brief moment her lips.

She didn’t know what to do. Her head still hurt. She ached all over.

He moved towards her. She recoiled but just a little. So he persisted, tried again, got the meekest of pecks on her cheek, as much as she’d allow.

‘This is a hell of a time to hit on me,’ Lund whispered.

‘When’s a good one?’

He was so close, so full of a quiet and caring interest in her. Lund leaned towards him, tried to remember the last time she kissed a man.

The doorbell rang.

‘Dammit,’ Strange muttered. ‘That was quick.’

He got up and a part of her was relieved. When he returned he looked grumpy.

‘It’s for you.’

Ruth Hedeby was outside in a heavy wool coat looking as if she’d rather be somewhere else.

‘I’m sorry for the intrusion, Lund. I won’t take much of your time.’ She had an envelope in her hands. Opened it. There was Lund’s police ID inside. ‘Lennart
. . . Brix can fill you in on the details. We were a bit rash, it seems.’

Hedeby handed her the ID, a sheaf of new reports from PET and the Politigården’s own team.

‘There are developments in the case and a change of attitude in the Ministry of Justice.’

She glanced at Strange.

‘We’ll see you both tomorrow,’ Hedeby said then walked to the lift.

‘Wait,’ Lund said.

Hedeby stopped.

‘I want your guarantee I can stay on the case until it’s closed.’

‘My guarantee?’

‘Yes. It’s my case. I work with Strange. We handle it together. OK?’

‘If the two of you can get along—’

‘I want no restrictions. I don’t want PET or anyone else telling me what to do. All the officers involved in Ægir are to be questioned. And maybe . . .’

‘Maybe what?’

‘Maybe something else I haven’t thought of yet.’

Hedeby walked back, faced Lund.

‘Let me make the position clear. This is not my decision. The Ministry want you back on the case. I don’t know why. I don’t want to know. But if you say that’s how it is
then so be it. The shit won’t land outside my door.’

‘Good. And stop the tail on Raben. I want him in for questioning.’

‘PET have lost track of him. We’ve no idea where he is.’

Lund shook her head.

‘No idea . . .’

‘I’m sorry. König screwed up. On lots of other things too. The Ministry notice these things. Let’s make sure they don’t turn the heat on us, shall we?’

The lift came. Hedeby stepped in and left.

‘Where am I supposed to sleep?’ Lund asked.

‘In one of the kids’ beds. Don’t you want your pizza first?’

‘Save it till tomorrow.’

She waved the sheaf of documents at him, then wandered into the little bedroom, closed the door behind her and started to read.