Hardy had had this hunch for almost three weeks, he said. Three weeks in the life of a man with a lot of time on his hands and no one to disturb his mysterious train of thought. He had laboriously thought through and listed the details of the attack on Stephanie Gundersen twelve years ago and that on Rigmor Zimmermann almost three weeks ago, finding the coincidences noticeably significant.
“We could also take the trouble to focus on the differences between the two attacks, but there aren’t many. The most notable is probably that Rigmor Zimmermann’s body had been urinated on but not Gundersen’s. And the urine was from a man, Tomas told me.”
Carl nodded. Of course he had spoken to the canteen manager at HQ, Tomas Laursen, the former and usually well-informed forensic technician.
“Okay, so the theory is that Rigmor Zimmermann was killed by a man? But was that also the case with Stephanie Gundersen? I don’t know much about that case, and Marcus Jacobsen said that it was all kept a bit hush-hush back then.”
“That it was supposedly a man who murdered Stephanie Gundersen? No, not exactly. The blow to her head was severe and delivered with extreme force, but as they never figured out what murder weapon was used, they could never determine how heavy or effective it was. So it’s impossible to conclude anything specific about the fatal blow that would indicate the gender of the killer.”
“Hardy, I can tell by your face that you think it’s the same killer. Am I right?”
He shook his head again. “Who knows? But the coincidences are significant.”
Carl got it now. Hardy wouldn’t let either case go before the question had been answered.
“But there was also another difference between the two murders,” he added.
“Are you thinking about the victims’ ages? There must have been thirty-five years between them.”
“No. I’m thinking about the fatal blows again. In Gundersen’s case, the back of her head was bashed halfway into her brain, whereas the blow that killed Rigmor Zimmermann was more precise and controlled. A blow to the back of the head a little farther down toward the neck bones, almost cutting the spinal cord in two but not damaging the skull quite so severely.”
They both nodded. There could be many reasons for that. A different murderer, differences in the weight and surface of the murder weapons, or simply that the murderer had become more skilled.
“But, Hardy, you know just as well as I do that there isn’t much I can do about the Zimmermann case because it’s still up with homicide. And this is not the time for me to make waves with Bj?rn.”
He explained the current situation with Bj?rn and the cutbacks facing Department Q.
At this, Morten suddenly stopped in his mission of almost scrubbing the enamel off a pot. “Then you need to steal the Zimmermann case from Lars Bj?rn, Carl!” he shouted from the kitchen. “Man up and solve both cases. That’s my advice.”
Rich coming from him.
Carl shook his head and looked at Hardy, who just smiled. He obviously agreed with Morten.
—
After a few peaceful days off without any worry other than Morten’s occasional crying fits, Carl was back in his office discussing with Assad whether to take on the Gundersen case even though it hadn’t reached the depths of the basement yet. Both Hardy and Marcus were eager for him to look into it, but Carl was still a little skeptical.
“What if we start at the other end with the Zimmermann case?” asked Assad.
“Hmm. That particular case is still well and truly up on the second floor,” said Carl. But he could sense that he was growing increasingly curious. It was certainly more interesting than what they were otherwise engaged with.
“We could bring Laursen on board, Carl. He keeps talking about how boring it is in the canteen.”
Carl nodded. Yeah, why not? he thought as Rose arrived in a getup none of them had seen before.
She almost jumped down the stairs to the basement in her bright trainers and skinny jeans, introducing herself as Rose’s sister Vicky Knudsen while smoothing down her cropped hair.
Gordon, who had stuck his head out of his office, stood gawping. “What on earth are you doi—” Assad pulled at his arm, stopping him midsentence.
“Would you come with me for a minute, Gordon, while Carl talks with Vicky? I think you and I need a good cup of coffee,” insisted Assad.
Gordon was about to protest but suddenly raised his lanky leg in pain due to the full force of Assad’s pointy boot against his shin. He got the message.
Carl sighed about the absurdity of the situation but invited Vicky into his office. If he had to get used to another one of her disguises, he would first have to explain to this self-created reincarnation, or Rose, that she couldn’t expect to be able to just barge in from the street and be reckoned with if she wasn’t an employee at HQ.
“I know what you’re going to say,” the transformed woman preempted him. Maybe it wasn’t quite as bad as the time when Rose had imitated her sister Yrsa.
“I’m Rose’s younger sister. The second of four girls.”
Carl nodded. Rose, Vicky, Yrsa, and Lise-Marie. He had heard about them enough, and according to Rose, Vicky was the most carefree and vivacious of them all. This would be fun.
“If you think that I’ve come here to be drowned in meaningless work in your musty catacombs like Yrsa, you’re much mistaken. I’m only here to tell you that you need to treat my sister Rose with more respect. Don’t tease her and don’t assign her depressing or boring work, or work that brings back unpleasant memories for that matter, okay? She’s been feeling like shit over Whitsun because of you lot.”
“I—”
“I’m giving you the opportunity to apologize on behalf of Department Q for all the stress you’ve put Rose under, and then I’ll head over to her with your apology. And I sincerely hope for your sake that Rose, the most efficient employee in this pool of stupor, can find a grain of mercy in her abused soul.”
Then she stood up and looked at Carl energetically with her fists clenched on her hips and a fierce expression. Any lover of B movies would have been impressed.
“Then I apologize profusely!” said Carl without hesitation.
“What just happened there, Carl? Did she leave?” Assad’s eyebrows twitched with concern.
“Yes. I’m worried that Rose is even more disturbed than last time.” He sighed. “I don’t know what that character who was just here was thinking, but my gut feeling is that, in the moment, Rose firmly believed that she was Vicky. I just don’t know what to make of it, Assad. Maybe it was all just an act.”
Assad took a deep breath and placed a big pile of printouts on Carl’s desk. It was so obvious how hard it was on him when there was trouble with Rose. The two of them had worked well together for seven years now, but lately there had been one issue after another, what with Rose being committed and her mood swings. You never knew where you were with her.
“Do you think this is the end of the line for Department Q?” Assad asked with a frown. “Because if Rose doesn’t come back, we might as well do what Bj?rn says. That is, if you aren’t thinking of using those,” he said, pointing to the pile of printouts.
His expression seemed to be daring Carl. Surprisingly enough, he didn’t look like a man who had given up.