Bj?rn nodded to him. “An accident of the more spectacular sort, I’d say,” he grunted.
Carl looked at the entangled vehicles. The Golf had hit the Ka from the left, leaving the engine block exposed, before they had both spun around together. The windshield of the Ka was shattered, the airbags activated, and the woman lying dead on the hood of the Golf had apparently been flung out through the windshield of the Ka.
“Looks like she died on the spot,” said Carl.
Bj?rn smiled. “Yes, you might say that. But not this spot. I can assure you that the bullet came first.”
“I don’t understand.”
“She was shot, Carl, and it happened some time before this accident, because the rigor mortis is complete. The accident happened about two hours ago and the doctor believes she’s been dead for at least seven.”
Shot? Carl walked around the body and the crime scene technician who was taking her fingerprints. He could tell from the way her arm was sticking up in the air that it couldn’t possibly be the traffic accident that had killed her. He bent down to get a closer look at the girl’s open eyes. She really was very dead.
“Hi, Carl,” said Assad. If he had looked any sleepier, he might well have been dead. He pointed over his shoulder as a form of warning, and Carl looked in the direction he was indicating. If it wasn’t Olaf Borg-Pedersen and his crew from Station 3 waving at him.
“Yes, Carl,” said Bj?rn. “That’s why I called you. You need to entertain that little group. And this time I think you should make an effort. Are you with me?”
Bj?rn smiled a little too broadly for an inveterate stickin-the-mud like him. “And you can keep their interest by telling them that the most exciting thing about this case is that the car is registered to an owner by the name of Anne-Line Svendsen. And if you can’t remember who she is, then Pasg?rd, who is standing over there with a smirk on his face, can tell you that she was the caseworker for Michelle and Denise and formerly also for the other two hit-and-run victims. Talk to them and tell Borg-Pedersen that if they keep this to themselves for now, we’ll give them more information as it comes to light.” He gave Carl an unexpected pat on the shoulder. “When we get back to HQ, we’ll go down to your so-called situation room. The way you’ve linked these cases has really got me thinking. But first the TV crew, Carl.”
Carl frowned. Was he really the man to talk to those idiots from the TV? Why not just refer them to Pasg?rd if he was the man of the hour? Carl certainly didn’t know anything.
“One more thing, Lars. What have you told the press about the identity of the deceased?”
“That she’s the woman we’ve been looking for: Denise Zimmermann.”
Carl pictured Denise’s mother, Birgit Zimmermann, hearing the news that her daughter was dead. Would she still be prepared to sign her confession?
Carl briefly greeted his colleagues and pulled Assad to one side.
“What else can you tell me about all this?”
He pointed into the Ka. “That there is a gun with a homemade silencer on the floor by the passenger seat. They’re not quite sure about the silencer, but it seems to be some sort of oil filter. They also believe the deceased’s fingerprints are on it, but we’ll have that confirmed in a minute.”
“Where’s the driver?”
He shrugged. “Some people in that building there saw a woman kick her way out of the driver’s side and disappear in that direction.” He pointed toward the corner.
“Was it the caseworker?”
“We don’t know for certain, but that’s what we’re assuming at the moment. We sent someone to her home half an hour ago, but she wasn’t there. We’re keeping the search internal for now.”
“And the driver of the Golf?”
“He’s been admitted to Gentofte Hospital. He’s suffering from shock.”
“Okay. What’ve you told the others about Birgit Zimmermann and James Frank?”
He seemed taken aback by the question.
“Nothing, Carl. Absolutely nothing. Is there any rush?”
—
They managed a couple of hours’ sleep in their chairs at HQ before Lars Bj?rn summoned them to his office upstairs. He was also clearly suffering from lack of sleep, but who cared about bags under the eyes and the fact that it was quarter to one in the morning by this stage, when a case was about to be solved and others were pending?
“Have a cup of coffee,” he said in a surprisingly friendly tone, pointing at a thermos that probably had more coffee on the outside than the inside.
They both politely declined.
“Out with it, then. I can see it on your faces,” Bj?rn said expectantly.
Carl smiled wryly. “Then I don’t want to get a dressing-down for interfering.”
“That depends on how far you’ve gotten.”
Carl and Assad looked at each other. So they wouldn’t be getting a dressing-down this time.
They took their time explaining, and Bj?rn remained silent throughout. Only his body language revealed his excitement. Who had ever seen him with glaring eyes and his mouth wide-open, on the verge of drooling? He completely forgot about his coffee.
“It’s absolutely crazy,” he said dryly when they were finished.
He leaned back heavily in his leather office chair. “That’s good police work, you two. Have you told Marcus?” he asked.
“No, we wanted to tell you first, Lars,” said Carl.
Bj?rn looked almost touched.
“But you haven’t yet arrested Birgit Zimmermann and this James Frank?”
“No. We thought you’d like the honor.”
He looked as excited as a child at Christmas.
“Okay. In return, you can have the honor of arresting Anne-Line Svendsen. One favor deserves another. Or two for one in this case, ha-ha.”
“Do we know where she is?”
“No. That’s what’s so great about it. It leaves you something to get your teeth into.” Was he really laughing unashamedly?
There was a knock at the door, and without waiting for an answer, Pasg?rd was in the doorway.
“Oh, you’re here?” he said, sounding annoyed when he saw Assad and Carl. “Okay. But maybe it’s a good thing. Now you can see how a real detective wraps up a case.”
Carl could hardly contain his excitement.
“Here you are, gentlemen! This is the full confession of the murders of Stephanie Gundersen and Rigmor Zimmermann. Signed and everything. I transcribed it myself this evening.”
He slammed an extremely thin report on the desk. Three pages at most.
Lars Bj?rn looked at the measly-looking report and nodded in acknowledgment at his inspector. “Brilliant, Pasg?rd. I’m impressed. So who was the perpetrator, and how did you find him?”
Pasg?rd shook his head in false modesty. “Well, you could say that he found me. But I was quick to put two and two together.”
“Well done. And the man’s name?”
“Mogens Iversen. Currently living in N?stved but with close ties to Copenhagen.”
He was completely bulletproof.