I also need to remember to call work and tell them that my car has been stolen and I won’t be in until after my radiation therapy at one, she thought. Would the police be waiting for her in her office? It seemed rather likely.
She smiled at the thought. The policeman who was on the case, and who had questioned her in her office, was certainly not worth worrying about.
If she answered in the right way, he would lap it up. Not least the moving story about a woman with cancer who had cycled all around Copenhagen to find her beloved little car.
53
Tuesday, May 31st, 2016
Carl and Assad were standing outside the main door to where Anne-Line Svendsen lived on Webersgade at twenty minutes past six, pressing the buzzer in the hope that someone would come down and let them in.
It was ten minutes since they had been informed by HQ that Anne-Line Svendsen had reported her car as stolen, and that she was unable to provide any precise information about when it had happened, but that it was probably around eight or nine the previous evening. That was as precise as she could be.
The question remained whether the car really had been stolen.
—
After Bj?rn, Assad, and Carl had stopped laughing at Pasg?rd’s blunder with the false confession, Pasg?rd tried to save face by telling them that he had had his eye on Anne-Line Svendsen for some time and had actually already questioned her. And although it was true that several things linked her to the four dead girls, there definitely didn’t seem to be anything fishy about her. That was the expression Pasg?rd used, which was rather far removed from police lingo.
Pasg?rd had recommended that they would do better to take a closer look at the girl who was reportedly connected to Denise Zimmermann and Michelle Hansen. Her name was Jazmine J?rgensen, and according to information obtained during their questioning, Patrick Pettersson had seen her with Michelle Hansen and Denise Zimmermann both at the hospital and in Michelle’s selfie.
They also couldn’t rule out the possibility that Jazmine was one of the two girls who committed the robbery at Victoria nightclub, as Pasg?rd said. As he very reasonably argued, there was still a hundred and forty-five thousand kroner missing. No doubt someone would kill for that amount of money, but where was it? All in all, wasn’t it logical that Jazmine J?rgensen should be their main suspect?
The problem, however, was that no one had any idea where she was. They had called the address where she was registered as living and spoken to a woman who said she was Jazmine’s mother. She told them that she was tired of people asking where Jazmine was when she had no idea. Did they think she was running an information service?
But, as Pasg?rd admitted, it wasn’t as if they had made extensive inquiries to find her. They would intensify their search first thing in the morning when everyone had had a chance to get some sleep. Now that the search for Denise Zimmermann was no longer relevant, it was only appropriate that they redirected their efforts to finding Jazmine J?rgensen.
—
“The woman isn’t at home, Carl,” concluded Assad when they had been staring at Anne-Line Svendsen’s buzzer for long enough. “She’s certainly up with the lark. Do you think she’s gone to work?”
Carl shook his head and looked at his watch again. Why would she go to work so early? And at a municipal office? No, it was more likely that she was home and wouldn’t let them in. But if they had to obtain a search warrant, they would have to wait a few hours until the employees at the court registry came in to work.
He mulled over the possibilities. What could her reason be for not wanting to let them in? She had proven to be cooperative before, and as she had now reported her Ka stolen, she was in theory less of a suspect. After all, it hadn’t been possible to see who left the Ka after last night’s accident. Only that it was a woman.
“Maybe she didn’t even come home last night, Carl. She is a grown woman, after all,” said Assad. “When was it the police tried to get ahold of her yesterday?”
“I think they said it was before midnight.”
“They didn’t put a surveillance team on her house afterward?”
“Nope.”
“Well, I’ll say it again. I don’t think she came home.”
Carl stepped back down onto the sidewalk. It was difficult to keep a clear head after only a few hours’ sleep.
“We might as well turn our attention to Jazmine J?rgensen while we wait for the public offices to open. What do you think?”
Assad shrugged. He probably imagined himself taking a nap in the passenger seat in about two minutes. But he could forget that—even if it meant that Carl had to listen to those jabbering hosts on Radio P3 at full blast.
“What’ve we got on that Jazmine?” asked Assad, sounding surprisingly awake as Carl was about to turn on the car radio.
“What we’ve got? Er, more or less nothing. But Anne-Line Svendsen’s manager gave Pasg?rd a list of her clients the day he went to her office. It’s just been gathering dust in his office. However, Lars Bj?rn made sure that Pasg?rd scanned it and sent it out to everyone working on the cases, together with Michelle Hansen’s selfie, which the IT department retrieved. Much to Pasg?rd’s annoyance, he emphasized that it should also be forwarded to us. So check your cell phone.”
After a few seconds Assad was nodding to himself and scrolling down the document.
“There are actually two Jazmines on the list, but here she is,” he said. “The only information is her social security number, a cell phone number, and her address. There’s also a note saying that the cell phone number is for her mom, who she also lives with.”
“What are we waiting for? What’s the address?”
“Borgmester Christiansens Gade in Sydhavnen. But can’t we just call her?”
Carl gave him an admonishing look. It was clear that Assad just wanted to get it over with so he could get back to HQ and take a nap until the search warrant was granted.
“No, Assad! Because if Jazmine is there, and if she has good reason to avoid the police, you can be sure that her mom’s answer will still be that she has no idea where Jazmine is. And if Jazmine suspects that we might turn up anyway, she’ll make herself scarce. So don’t you think it would be a better idea to simply go there and ring the doorbell?”
“Well, couldn’t she just take the back stairs, in that case?”
Carl sighed. “So we park as close to the main door as we possibly can and keep an eye on it while we call her. She isn’t likely to take the back stairs if she thinks we’re calling from somewhere else, is she?”
Assad let out a mighty yawn. “Come on, Carl, I’m too tired for all that. Let’s just do whatever you think.”
That was something Carl had never heard him say before.
—
It was only twenty-five meters to the main door in the large block of apartments. A distance they should be able to muster up the energy to run if Jazmine suddenly appeared.
What was it she looked like again? thought Carl. He must be more tired than he thought.