The Killing 3 (28 page)

‘Even by your standards this requires some explaining, Lund.’

‘Maybe he didn’t kill her. He wants to get to the bottom of the Hjelby case. We think he stole a van from the harbour and brought her out here.’

‘Why would he spare the girl?’

‘I told him Zeeland weren’t responsible for Louise Hjelby’s death. Murdering Emilie balances out nothing. He wants to know who killed Louise.’

Through the window across the hall he could see Maja Zeuthen pacing up and down.

‘Do you have the least bit of evidence to back this up?’

‘He hid Emilie in the front hold of the boat. We found her woolly hat there.’

Brix took a deep breath.

‘A woolly hat?’

‘He’s not going to stop until he knows what happened. Emilie’s a sideshow for him now. We need more people out here.’

Ruth Hedeby walked in front of him.

‘Get Lund back,’ she ordered. ‘Put a stop to this immediately.’

Madsen and the other men moved away, sensing the coming storm.

‘Brix?’ Lund asked.

‘I’ll make sure there’s support from the surrounding districts. Get Borch to do what he can.’

Hedeby pulled out her phone and said, ‘If you won’t do it, I will.’

‘Ruth.’ Brix came over, put his hand on hers. ‘I don’t have time for this. The girl may still be alive. If you want to stop this investigation just when we might have a
breakthrough feel free.’ He nodded at Steiner. ‘But you’ll be talking to him next. Not me.’

The prosecutor was out again, demanding the meeting resume.

‘I want some cooperation around here,’ he added.

Brix was on him then.

‘Cooperation? Why ask me? No one’s playing that game. All they’re doing is trying to cover their own backs.’

‘I could get you out quietly with a pay-off,’ Steiner said. ‘Or noisily with half the media in Copenhagen watching. Just put your hands up . . .’

‘Fuck you,’ Brix roared. ‘What are you going to tell your masters in the Ministry of Justice? We took the team apart just when it looked like we might find Emilie Zeuthen
alive?’

That shut him up.

Hedeby came between them.

‘We’ll postpone until tomorrow. I’ll take the responsibility for that decision.’

Steiner nodded, snatched at his briefcase.

‘Damned right you will.’

She was still there when Brix went back to the call.

‘Did you hear that, Lund?’

‘A bit.’

‘You’d better be right this time.’

He told Madsen to work on the local districts, get resources out to Jutland. The detective nodded at the waiting room.

Maja Zeuthen was there, wide-eyed, curious.

‘I hate to tell you,’ Madsen whispered. ‘But I think she may have caught a bit of that.’

A small jetty running out into gentle waves. A dead ship listing a few hundred metres offshore. The smell of diesel, rotting seaweed, dank water.

Men and women were starting to arrive from the neighbouring districts, grumbling about the cold night, asking for overtime. Borch had sent them out to check all the local places where a visitor
might stay. There was no sign yet of the red van.

Lund kicked at the ropes on the concrete, tried to picture what this might have been like.

‘They found her here?’

Borch nodded.

‘The Zeeland ship was moored opposite. The harbour was still working then. Can we go now?’

Lund didn’t move. She was looking for new pictures in her head. Useful ones. Images that would replace the memory of Emilie and the boat from the previous night.

‘Someone could have driven Louise down here and thrown her in the water. There doesn’t need to be any connection with the docks at all.’

Borch sniffed the heavy air.

‘Shall we concentrate on why we came? Finding the man . . .’

‘Can’t divide the two,’ she said. ‘If the foster family are right Louise disappeared a day before we thought.’

‘True,’ Juncker agreed. He was reading a map of the area, trying to locate some holiday homes they’d been told about.

‘If Peter Schultz changed the date,’ Lund went on, ‘he must have had a reason. Something happened the day before. He was trying to distance her murder from that.’

‘I’ve put out a call for the van,’ Juncker said. ‘Given details to the cab drivers.’

Borch took the map, placed it on the bonnet of their car, described a circle round the town with a gloved finger.

‘Take a ten-kilometre radius. We’ll start there.’

‘Oh for God’s sake!’ Lund cried. ‘He hasn’t booked himself a room in the local bed and breakfast. We know what he’s like. Look at scrapyards and caravan
sites.’

‘Fine,’ Borch agreed. ‘You can go with him.’

‘No.’ Lund waved the car keys. ‘I want to talk to the foster family first.’ She nodded at the local police. ‘They can give you a car. They seem to prefer you to me
anyway.’

When Brix went to talk to the Zeuthen woman he saw that the young doctor, her boyfriend, had turned up. A man who seemed permanently angry and wanted to take that out on the
first person he could find.

Brix listened to him begin to whinge again then said, ‘The salvage crew are doing what they can.’

The woman was peering at him, hugging herself in the green parka.

‘Why’s it taking so long?’ the boyfriend demanded.

‘The rope that attached the tarpaulin to the block snapped. The current’s very strong. She could have gone a long way.’

He wasn’t happy with any of that.

‘But you started looking straight away? You didn’t piss around like every other time?’

‘We started straight away,’ Brix agreed. ‘If she’s there hopefully we’ll find her soon.’

Maja Zeuthen’s head went up.

‘If? I could hear you arguing in there. I thought . . .’

‘I’m sorry you heard our discussion,’ Brix said and passed over his card, a personal number on it. ‘That’s unfortunate. If you’ll excuse me . . .’

He turned to go.

‘Brix!’ She had a high voice, determined when she wanted. ‘What do you mean “if she’s there”? I thought I heard . . .’

Put on the spot by the idiot lawyer. By Hedeby too. He could take that. But giving this woman hope . . .

‘We’re examining every aspect of last night,’ he said.

‘She could be alive?’

Her eyes were pink from crying, full of pain.

‘Mrs Zeuthen. I don’t—’

‘It’s a simple question.’

Brix looked at her. Couldn’t bring himself to make the agony worse.

‘No. I don’t believe so. I’m sorry.’

Karen Nebel had called off the press conference. At nine she sat down with Hartmann to listen to the evening news. It could have been worse. Speculation that he was going to
take the unprecedented step of standing down was still doing the rounds. So was a fresh rumour. There were new developments that could change the whole case. Hartmann might weather the storm, maybe
even regain the initiative.

He smiled, patted her arm.

‘I imagine that’s down to you.’

‘It’s what you pay me for,’ Nebel told him. ‘I’m using up some credibility here, Troels. We need to deliver.’

‘Any word from Morten?’

‘Not a thing.’

He shrugged.

‘He does this sometimes. We’re like an old couple. You argue. You get back together.’

‘Maybe you don’t need him any more.’

The smile became more stiff. His hand came away.

‘One day, perhaps. Not now. You’ve checked? They’ve started the meeting?’

She looked at her watch.

‘Fifteen minutes in. They’re probably about to get down to business.’

He clapped his hands, got his jacket, checked his shirt and tie. Walked across the courtyard to the Parliament building. A couple of photographers caught off guard realized he was there, began
snapping, flashing.

Troels Hartmann beamed, the election look. Confident. Open. Honest.

Then he found the committee room and marched straight in.

Rosa Lebech, grey suit, TV-neat hair, serious face, was at one end of the table. Anders Ussing at the other. Both surrounded by their staff.

Ussing looked outraged.

‘Haven’t you quit yet?’

‘Something came up,’ Hartmann replied.

Rosa Lebech stared at the table, embarrassed.

‘This is a private meeting,’ Ussing complained. ‘You can’t just barge in here.’

He sat down. Told the advisers to get out. They looked at their leaders. Lebech nodded. Then Ussing. Soon it was just the three of them at the table.

‘Cut a deal yet?’ he asked her.

She didn’t answer.

‘You misled everyone,’ Ussing said. ‘You can’t expect support after the way you handled the Zeuthen case.’

‘The police and PET dealt with that. Not me. I will hold them to account though. Same for everyone involved. Rosa?’

‘We can talk later, Troels.’

‘True.’ He nodded at the door. ‘This isn’t for your ears.’

She swore, snatched up her papers, marched out.

‘I hope this is good,’ Ussing said, laughing.

‘It’s wonderful. There you are trying to pillory me because my Justice Minister doesn’t recollect every second of a seventeen-minute conversation with a deputy prosecutor two
years ago.’

‘More to it than that . . .’

‘While at the same time you said nothing about your own involvement in the affair.’ Hartmann threw a set of photos on the table. ‘Mogens Rank. A few minutes in a corridor.
Nothing said of importance. You . . .’ He pushed forward the picture of Schultz and Ussing meeting in the Parliament building. ‘Almost an hour with him alone in your office. Here you
are going in.’ One picture. ‘Here you are shaking his hand when he leaves. Dated. Timed.’

Ussing said nothing.

‘And you have the temerity to accuse Mogens Rank of twisting the facts?’

‘Who gave you this?’

‘Does it matter?’

‘Is this official? If you think I’ve done something wrong you should set your friends in PET on me.’

‘I intend to. After all . . .’ A smile. ‘You wouldn’t want me to withhold relevant information, would you? You met Schultz while he was dealing with this old
case.’

‘And you think I pressured him somehow? Why would I do that?’

‘What did you talk about?’

‘It was private. Nothing to do with you. Nothing to do with Zeeland either, or that case. If it had been I’d have said so before. Even for you this is low . . .’

He patted Ussing on the shoulder.

‘We’ll let PET decide, shall we?’

Hartmann left him then. Back in his office he told Nebel what had happened.

‘A private meeting?’ she asked, incredulous. ‘Right after Schultz met Mogens Rank?’

‘Maybe that’s all it is. Why would Ussing be involved? Doesn’t matter. He’s worried. So’s Rosa. I need to sleep on this. Maybe I should call Birgit . . .’

Her hand was over the phone before he could get there.

‘The police think Emilie could still be alive,’ Nebel said. ‘They’re in West Jutland. It looks as if the kidnapper took her there, trying to find out about the case from
before.’

Hartmann struggled to take that in.

‘Here’s what you do,’ she went on. ‘I fix a TV statement for half an hour. You look grief-stricken. Express sympathy for the family. You say you’re investigating
how the kidnapping was handled and want answers. You confirm there may be new information that will change the case. Then you say tomorrow you’re going to call in the party leaders and ask
them not to make the Zeuthens’ private tragedy a sparring point in the election.’

She had a media brain. That never went away.

‘Do I need to clear what I say with PET? With Brix?’

Nebel laughed.

‘No, Troels. You need to clear it with me. I want you word perfect before we go on air. It’s a statement, nothing more. You won’t be taking questions.’

She picked up a notepad, began to scribble a few lines.

‘If the girl’s dead we can show we acted with compassion and dignity. If she’s alive we’ll take the credit and leave Anders Ussing in the gutter where he
belongs.’

The foster parents lived in a small, plain bungalow on a hill overlooking the harbour. The man was a ship’s engineer, unemployed. The woman seemed to do nothing and was
away, staying with relatives. He was tall, unsmiling, suspicious. Perhaps Lund’s own age. Louise Hjelby had moved in not long before her thirteenth birthday.

‘What are you looking for?’ he asked after Lund showed her ID and came in.

‘I don’t know really. Some friends. People she spent time with.’

‘She didn’t go out. She only had us. No one else. Louise had a tough upbringing. She was a shy kid. Why am I telling you all this? We’ve been through it before.’

There was a photo on the sideboard. She walked over and picked it up. A girl with a white bike. Long black hair. Unsmiling but not unhappy.

‘Is that her?’

‘Who else would it be?’

He wanted her out of there which meant Lund was more determined than ever to stay.

‘How did she get placed with you?’

He took the photograph and put it back where it belonged. There was no dust anywhere here. No disorder. They were tidy, proper people.

‘Louise lived with her mother in Copenhagen until she died of cancer. They put her in a children’s home for a while. There were some cuts or something and the home closed.’

He sat down at an old-fashioned table, gestured for her to take the seat opposite.

‘They told us she’d been with quite a few different families. It wasn’t that she was difficult. She couldn’t settle. Then three years ago she came to us.’

A long glance round the room.

‘We couldn’t have kids of our own. This place always seemed so empty.’

Lund took out her notebook.

‘Did she mention her father?’

He shook his head.

‘Not really. Her mother told her some fairy story. That he was a big hero who sailed the seven seas just like Pippi Longstocking’s dad.’

‘Did she ever say a name?’

‘Louise was a clever kid. I don’t think she believed in fairy stories. Not any more.’

‘A name?’

‘No. I suppose she hoped one day he’d come for her. But it never happened.’

This was hurting him. She could see that. One more shake of his head and then he turned to her.