“Never mind,” said Denise, brushing the question aside. “Tell us everything you know. What the entrance is like, and how you get to the office. When they open and close, and what it’s like on a Wednesday, for example. Are there many guests, and what are they like? Tell us everything we can find on the Internet and everything we can’t. And afterward you can fill us in with whatever else you know, Jazmine.”
“Why do you need to know all that? Are you planning for us to rob the place?” She smiled. It was all just a joke, wasn’t it?
But Denise and Jazmine sat silently just a little too long for comfort.
21
Tuesday, May 24th, 2016
Carl and Hardy were worn out from Morten’s constant hysterics. How did you tell a guy who was forty kilos overweight and usually a happy-go-lucky sort that there comes a time when significant weight loss is the order of the day if you want to hold on to a body-building, muscle-bulging, testosterone-fueled, encyclopedically knowledgeable, and outstandingly charming lover? As everyone knows, all roads lead to Rome, but there are at least as many potholes in the unhappy and broken heart of an oversensitive man. No matter what Hardy and Carl thought of to distract Morten from his hurt pride, it was like sticking voodoo pins in his all-consuming jealousy and apparently incurable misery.
So it was understandable when, following yet another night of Morten’s heartrending sobbing every ten minutes, Hardy finally broke.
“I’m going out for a while,” he said at the crack of dawn. “Tell Morten that I’m going to have my wheelchair battery recharged and I won’t be back before dinner.”
Carl nodded. Wise man.
Carl was also feeling tired as he began his day, taking the spiral stairs at HQ up to the second floor to see if he could gather any new information on the Zimmermann case.
When a new case with an investigative aspect ended up in homicide, you could sense it in the same irrational way as you could smell and feel the promise of snow in the air before it fell. Good colleagues lifted their heads slightly higher and straightened their backs, and their eyes became a little more alert. Although they had very little evidence to go on, the homicide unit almost collectively sensed that there might be a latent lunatic on the loose intent on killing people in hit-and-run attacks. Every hallway was buzzing with determination and a desire to make a difference, because if their hunch was right, a focused and skilled effort could save lives.
“What the hell do you know that’s causing such a stir?” asked Carl when Bente Hansen passed him in the hallway. She had recently been appointed superintendent and was one of the few colleagues Carl respected.
“That’s a good question, but you don’t look away when Terje Ploug has a hunch. He’s set up two interdepartmental teams to look for similarities between the two hit-and-runs, and they’ve already hit on a few things.”
“Like what?”
“A red Peugeot was used in both incidents, model 106 we think—the slightly boxy one—and it might well be the same one that was used in both attacks. That the last attack was a deliberate act by the driver. That there were no skid marks in either case. That the residents in the area where the first incident happened think they saw a car that fits the description parked for some time on the street at some distance from the curb. That the victims looked and dressed alike, were the same age, and were both on benefits.”
“Okay, but there are undeniably quite a few of that sort in Denmark today, and the shops sell the clothes they sell. Can you show me one household that doesn’t have some piece of clothing from H&M in its wardrobe?”
She nodded. “Anyway, now they’re keeping an eye out for a red car like that. All patrol cars have to report if they spot an older model of a red Peugeot, especially if there are marks indicating that it might have been involved in a hit-and-run.”
“So now there are ten people in homicide waiting for that?”
Bente Hansen elbowed him in the stomach. “Always caustic and ironic, Carl M?rck. It’s a good thing that there are some people in this country who don’t change as the wind blows.”
Was that a compliment?
He smiled at her and set a course for the front desk, behind which Mrs. S?rensen’s grumpy face was just visible. Why was she sitting down, and why there?
“Who can I talk to about the Zimmermann case apart from Pasg?rd?” he asked innocently.
She demonstratively pushed a couple of pieces of paper to one side. “This isn’t exactly an information service for state employees who don’t want to follow the chain of command, is it, now, Carl M?rck?”
“Is Gert on Pasg?rd’s team?”
She raised her head a little, her bangs sticking to her forehead, and the beginning of a frown on her face revealing her lower teeth. Annoyance wasn’t enough to describe the state Carl assumed she was in.
“What the hell do you want, Carl? Do you want me to spell it out, put it up in lights, carve it in marble, or weld it in huge letters? Follow the chain of command, okay?”
This outburst made Carl realize what was really going on. Mrs. S?rensen was having hot flashes again, sitting with her feet in a basin of ice-cold water behind the desk. She was a dragon on the loose, the witch of Bloksbjerg, and a pack of stampeding wild animals that were after blood, all at the same time. Pure poison.
Carl backed away. From now on and until this menopausal hell was over, he would quietly find the easiest shortcut past the fury.
“Hi, Janus!” he shouted when HQ’s head of communications came trudging out from the Walk of Fame dressed to impress. Apparently it was time for him and the head of homicide to coordinate their opinions on how to deal with the media theories about the victims of the hit-and-run driver.
“Can you give me a quick breakdown of the developments in the Zimmermann case, Janus? There are some alarm bells ringing with us downstairs, so maybe—”
“Talk to Pasg?rd; he’s in charge of that case.” He waved over to Mrs. S?rensen, who responded with a tired expression, which was perhaps meant to demonstrate some form of respect.
Carl was again standing cap in hand when Lis came prancing out of Lars Bj?rn’s office, gracefully holding the door for Janus Staal.
“Do you know anything about the developments in the Zimmermann case, Lis?” he asked.
She giggled. “And who might have told you that I’ve just taken the minutes? Pasg?rd is in with Bj?rn just now.” She looked over at Mrs. S?rensen, who was waving her hands dismissively.
“Lis, listen. We have a case that might be connected to that case, and you know how Pasg?rd and I feel about each other.”