Anneli turned a little to the side to enable her to release the seat belt and put the body back in place. When she finally succeeded, she was in the middle of the intersection at Kildeg?rdsvej, driving through a red light at seventy kilometers an hour.
It was too late when she heard the screeching brakes of the other car and saw the black shadow that rammed into the side of her hood with an unearthly metallic crash. Pieces of glass shattered everywhere, and she could smell the ultimate disaster as the entangled bodywork of the two cars swirled around like a dancing couple. Anneli experienced a momentary blackout as the airbag pushed against her body and the seat belt squeezed her ribs together, pressing the air out of her lungs. She could hear a sizzling sound from the car that had driven into hers, only then realizing the immense trouble she was suddenly in.
Anneli looked instinctively to the side and realized to her horror that the airbag in the passenger side had punctured and that Denise’s body was no longer sitting in the seat next to her.
In a panic, she struggled free, undid her seat belt, and forced the door open. The air was thick with the stench of gasoline, burned rubber, and oil.
She stepped directly out onto the sidewalk because both cars had been spun around and were now almost pressed up against the wall of a house.
Anneli looked around in confusion.
I’m on Bernstorffsvej, she remembered. Right now it was deserted, but there was life in the block of apartments above them, and windows were being opened.
She heard several worried voices from above, but Anneli instinctively edged her way along the wall, passing the mangled black Golf that had hit her. The driver, a very young man, was still caught behind the white airbag. His eyes were closed, but he was moving slightly, thank God.
There was nothing Anneli could do. She just had to get out of there.
When she turned the corner onto Hellerupvej with the canvas bag over her shoulder, she looked back and could just make out the outline of Denise’s body sprawled across the hood of the black car like a dog that had been run over.
51
Monday, May 30th, and Tuesday, May 31st, 2016
Carl was tired, but he also felt good about himself. The long day had really paid off. Three cases had been solved. So despite his worry and concern for Rose, he still had a rare feeling that his job was okay. Assad probably felt the same, but it came across slightly differently. Right now, he was snoring like a walrus in his broom cupboard of an office.
“What do you say, Gordon? Three cases in one day! That’s good teamwork.” He put down Assad’s notes in front of Gordon when the guy sat down on the other side of Carl’s desk, looking as white as a ghost.
“Yes, it’s fantastic, Carl.”
He didn’t look particularly elated with the result, but then again it was probably about time to go home and get some sleep so they could get back in the saddle tomorrow morning. As long as they hadn’t found Rose, they couldn’t rest on their laurels.
“Tell me what you’ve been working on this evening. Do you have any leads for us?”
He looked a bit embarrassed. “Yes, maybe. I got a guy from IT to hack into Rose’s private e-mail account.”
“Uh, okay.” Carl wasn’t sure he wanted to hear the details. The complaints board certainly wouldn’t look favorably on this if it came to light.
“Don’t worry, Carl. He won’t talk. I slipped him a thousand kroner.” That almost made it worse.
“No more details, Gordon, please! And what did you find in her e-mails?”
“I wish you hadn’t asked me to do it, Carl. I can’t bear it, just so you know.”
That didn’t sound good. “Now you’re making me nervous, Gordon. What have you discovered?”
“That I don’t know the Rose who . . .”
“Who what, Gordon?”
“Do you know how many e-mail addresses she has for different men? How many e-mails she’s exchanged with them? And how many of them she’s arranged to visit so they could have sex? She doesn’t beat around the bush, Carl.” He shook his head. “Just in the time I’ve known her, she’s . . .” He clearly almost couldn’t bring himself to say it. “She’s had sex with at least a hundred and fifty men, as far as I can calculate.”
Carl didn’t know what to think. Perhaps he was slightly impressed with the level of activity, but he was puzzled as to how she had found the time. He looked at Gordon, who was biting his cheek to avoid being overcome with emotion.
“I’m sorry to have to ask you, but is it your impression that she could’ve developed a close bond with any of these people?”
He cringed. “A few, yes. If you mean ‘did she fuck them more than once?’”
“I’m not sure what I mean. Someone she went back to for some reason or other.”
“Yes, there are a few. Four to be precise. And I’ve called them all.”
“Go on, Gordon.”
“They were shocked when I called, I can tell you. I think I interrupted a cozy family evening in front of the TV for a couple of them. They rushed out into the kitchen or somewhere when I questioned them, but they didn’t dare hang up when I introduced myself as a police investigator.” He flashed a smile at his boldness before his melancholia returned. “She wasn’t with any of them, and three of them said, ‘Thank God for that!’ They said she was a maniac when it came to sex. That she treated them like slaves and was so domineering and rough that it took them several days to get over it.”
“And the fourth?”
“He couldn’t remember her. ‘Hell no,’ he said. He’d had so many damn bitches that it would take a bloody big computer to keep track of them.”
Carl sighed. The kind of disillusionment he was witnessing just now was heartrending. Here was a man who loved Rose dearly and suddenly felt that he was being pushed off a precipice. He had to pause before each sentence and purse his lips to keep it together. It was clear that he hadn’t been the right man for the job, but it was too late now.
“I’m sorry, Gordon. We know how you feel about Rose, so this must be hard. But now you know about the chaos that has raged in her head for years, and I’m sure she’s only put herself through this in order to be able to forget.”
Gordon looked bitter. “I think it’s an odd way to do it. Goddamn it! She could’ve just talked to us, couldn’t she?” he yelled.
Carl swallowed hard. “Perhaps, Gordon. Maybe she could have talked to you, but not to Assad or me.”
The tall guy looked totally dejected and could no longer hold back his tears. “Why do you say that, Carl?”
“Because people like Assad and me are too dangerous, Gordon. We dig about when we suspect that something is wrong, and Rose knows that better than anyone. But with you it’s different because you and Rose aren’t just colleagues. You have a different relationship. She can confide in you, and if she had, you would’ve listened to her and tried to console her. And maybe it really would’ve helped her. I think you’re right about that.”