Jazmine could sense that Michelle was appalled. But what the hell did she know about how it felt if you looked the child in the eyes? Jazmine had tried that once, and there was no way she would do it again.
“Okay, I get your point,” said Denise. “But then you should do what I do. Find a few sugar daddies. You can choose the guys yourself; there’s enough of them. They might be a bit on the older side, but they can be very generous. If you only sleep with each one once a month, you can easily earn five thousand out of them if you make an effort. One or two of those a week and you’ve got it made. Where do you think I get my money from? And it isn’t just when you’re twenty-eight, let me tell you. You’ve got years in you yet.”
Michelle began to fiddle with her lace collar. She seemed uncomfortable at the way the conversation was developing. “That’s prostitution, Denise,” she said. “And what you’re doing, Jazmine! That’s even worse.”
“Okay. But then I don’t know what you call the situation you had with Patrick,” said Denise. “What we saw at the hospital didn’t exactly look like love. But okay, Michelle, if you can come up with a better way to earn that kind of money, let me know. I’m up for anything.”
“Anything?” asked Jazmine.
“Just name it. As long as I don’t get fucked over. No pun intended.”
Jazmine laughed and put out her cigarette. Time to put her to the test. “Even murder?”
Michelle almost dropped the cup she was holding, but Denise just sat there grinning. “Murder! What do you mean?”
She thought for a moment. “Kill someone. Someone who has a lot of money lying around at home.”
“Ha-ha, you’re very creative, Jazmine. And who should we begin with? One of the fashion queens? Or an art dealer?” asked Denise.
Maybe she was saying it for a laugh; Jazmine couldn’t figure it out.
“I don’t know if people like that have cash lying around, but we could just start with Anne-Line.”
“Christ! Of course,” blurted out Michelle excitedly. “I’ve heard she once won a couple of million, so she must have some cash lying around. But do we need to kill her? You’re just kidding, right?”
“Are you telling me that Anne-Line has money? You wouldn’t think it to look at her.” Denise’s dimples showed in both cheeks. “Actually a rather creative suggestion, Jazmine. If we kill her, it will be two birds with one stone: most importantly the money but also that we get rid of her. Quite an interesting thought. Ha-ha, but not very realistic.”
“Maybe we could settle for blackmailing her. That would be better in case her money is in the bank,” said Michelle. “If you and Jazmine tell her that you’re going to testify that you saw her when she tried to run me over, don’t you think she’ll cough up?”
Jazmine and Denise looked at each other: They were impressed.
19
Monday, May 23rd, 2016
Carl stood for a moment looking at the notice board in the situation room. It looked like Assad, Gordon, and Laursen had been busy, because it was full of information.
Some of the information they had pinned to the board he hadn’t seen before. Photos of Rigmor Zimmermann’s body where it was found on the ground with the back of her head bashed in. A photo of a proud married couple and some employees in front of a shoe shop in R?dovre. Some journals from Hvidovre Hospital concerning several of Rigmor Zimmermann’s hospital admissions: surgical removal of the uterus, stitches to a minor lesion on her head, and the relocation of a dislocated shoulder.
Then there was a map of the woman’s movements from Borgergade to where the body was found, a few photos of the bushes in the King’s Garden that Assad had taken with his smartphone, a fact list that increasingly conflicted with the investigation that had been carried out on the second floor, and Rigmor Zimmermann’s postmortem report. Finally, there was Fritzl Zimmermann’s death certificate and other more or less insignificant things that Carl didn’t think belonged there.
All things considered, they were beginning to flesh out the Zimmermann case. But the problem was that they had no suspect in sight and the case was de facto not theirs and wouldn’t become theirs either. If they continued with this, he alone would bear the responsibility.
Most of all he wanted to include Marcus Jacobsen in their discoveries. But didn’t he risk the retired head of homicide telling him to follow the chain of command? That he wouldn’t understand Carl’s attempt to get involved in his colleagues’ work up there on the second floor?
“Are you going to report anything to Bj?rn about our discoveries, Carl?” asked Tomas Laursen pertinently.
Assad and Carl looked at each other. Carl nodded to Assad, indicating that he could answer. That took the heat off him for the time being.
“Surely they have enough work on their hands up there with another case at the moment,” answered Assad.
It was good that Assad yielded on behalf of Department Q, but what was he talking about? What case?
“Haven’t you read the newspaper today?” Assad said, preempting Carl’s question. “Bring it here, Gordon.”
A pair of bony hands placed the newspaper on the desk. The lanky specter was beginning to look like a stick insect. Didn’t he eat anything?
Carl scanned the front page. CONNECTION BETWEEN HIT-AND-RUN VICTIMS? read the headline, and beneath it were photos of the two women involved in the incidents over the past few days.
Carl read the captions. Michelle Hansen, job seeker, 27 years old. Severely injured following a hit-and-run on May 20th. Senta Berger, job seeker, 28 years old. Killed in a hit-and-run on May 22nd.
“The paper has made a connection between the two victims,” said Gordon eagerly. “Not surprising when you look closer.”
Carl looked at the faces skeptically. Yes, they were born in the same year and were both good-looking, but so what? There were lots of hit-and-runs in Denmark today, where the drivers were too cowardly to take responsibility. Usually because they were under the influence of drugs or alcohol. To hell with that shit.
“Just look at the earrings, Carl. They’re almost identical. And the blouse is the same, bought at H&M, only in two different colors,” continued Gordon.
“Yeah, and they’re both made up like spitting images,” added Assad. His imagery was perhaps a little mixed up, but he was right. Even their makeup was similar; Carl could see that.
“The rouge on the cheeks, the lipstick and eyebrows, and the well-cut hair with highlights,” continued Assad. “If I’d been with them at the same time, I wouldn’t have been able to tell the difference after five minutes.”
Laursen nodded. “There are certainly similarities, buuuut . . .”
Once again, Laursen and Carl were on the same wavelength. Coincidences like this were common enough.