She nodded. “Let me tell you something, Carl. The investigation is going in different directions, and Pasg?rd is well aware that there was an attack some years back that might resemble the one on Rigmor Zimmermann. And in that connection, they’ve been in contact with Marcus Jacobsen, who told them that you and he had discussed the circumstances of both murders. And Pasg?rd is fuming about it. So if I were you, I’d make myself scarce and mind my own business before he comes out, any second.”
Okay. He would have to take up the gauntlet on this one. Bloody annoying that they’d dragged Marcus into the case. It was a good thing he hadn’t kept Marcus informed about what they had discovered in the King’s Garden. He would have to keep his cards close from now on if he was going to avoid them stealing everything from him.
Pasg?rd looked like he was ready to breathe fire when he opened the door. A split second later, when he saw Carl standing there with his arms crossed, he revealed his infamous lack of charm.
“You! Keep your hands off my cases, you fool. You’d better believe that I’ll make your life hell, and you can count on a huge bollocking from Bj?rn.”
“But surely not as huge as your ego, Passy?” said Carl.
Not only did he screw up his eyes, but his entire face—mouth, nose, and eyes—seemed to be clenched. Carl didn’t catch what Pasg?rd shouted at him at full force in the next moment, but it was enough for Bj?rn to open his door.
“I’ll handle this, Pasg?rd,” Bj?rn said calmly, waving Carl into his office.
The head of communications, who was already sitting at the desk, nodded at Carl as he sat down to receive a bigger than normal official reprimand.
“Janus has informed me that there are some issues with our joint project, Carl,” Bj?rn began.
Carl looked confused. “Joint project”? What was this about now?
“Carl, you need to understand that Olaf Borg-Pedersen reports to me. Public relations and the commissioner himself have chosen you to assist them in this project with Station 3, which we all hope will differentiate itself from the usual angle where everyone sympathizes with the criminals.”
Carl sighed again.
“You might well sigh, Carl, but starting tomorrow you’ll show a little more willingness with the TV crew, okay?”
What the hell was he supposed to answer? Now things would seriously be messed up.
“Hold on a minute. That TV crew wanted to shadow me during a questioning, and that’s where we draw the line.”
The head of communications nodded. “Of course we do, but instead of just saying no, you need to offer them a constructive alternative, right, M?rck?”
“I’m not with you.”
“Say to them: ‘No, you can’t come with me for this, but tomorrow we can do such and such.’ It gives them a little something, you know?”
Carl sighed again.
“We know that you’ve been sticking your nose in Pasg?rd’s work, Carl,” said Bj?rn. “Why else would you have been seen standing with Tomas Laursen in the King’s Garden at the Zimmermann crime scene? But tell me, what did you find, Carl?”
Carl was looking out the window. The view was the best thing about this office.
“Out with it, Carl!”
“Okay, okay.” He sighed again. “We found an explanation for the urine the technicians found on the victim, and we also think that the victim was being followed by the perpetrator.”
“See what I told you, Janus?” said Bj?rn.
They nodded to each other and smiled. What the hell were they up to? Did they maybe actually want the case solved?
—
“We need to head up to Mona in ten minutes, Carl,” said Assad when Carl was back in his office. “Did you have any luck upstairs?”
“Yeah, we’ve been unofficially chosen to stick our noses in the Zimmermann case because we’re the only ones who can put Station 3 in its place. Turns out Station 3 requested to follow that case and Pasg?rd is the last person they want in front of a camera. Everyone would hate the police by the time he was finished.”
Assad’s jaw dropped.
“They also think you’ve gained a status as our ethnic wonderboy over the years and believe it’s time we showed off our diverseness.”
“You mean ‘diversity,’ don’t you, Carl?”
Now it was Carl’s jaw that fell victim to gravity. Diversity? Was that the way you said it?
“Well then, we should just do what they say, Carl. My charm will see us through.” Assad laughed for a moment before scrutinizing Carl’s face. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
“Hell no, Assad. I don’t want those idiots following us around for the next two weeks.”
“That’s not what I meant. I was thinking about how we’re meeting with Mona now.”
“We’re what?”
“I thought you didn’t hear what I said. Mona is waiting for us. And Rose’s sister Yrsa is with her up in the office. The other two sisters were at work.”
22
Tuesday, May 24th, 2016
The newspaper stand outside the kiosk on Vesterbro Torv was conspicuous. Not only did the morning and afternoon papers mention the hit-and-run incidents, but the tabloid DK had really gone to town in reporting the top story of the day concerning the female victims. They didn’t leave anything to the imagination about what their focus was. It was pure drama.
They had all used the same photos of Michelle Hansen and Senta Berger, but in a very misleading way. Readers were presented with the news of uncannily similar attacks on two young, healthy women that had resulted in an outpouring of emotion and outrage.
Job seekers was written under their names again. Anneli snorted. Nothing could be further from the truth. The reality was that they were a couple of scrounging slime bags whom no one should give a second thought. And it infuriated Anneli that she had helped them achieve the unmerited fame that they had always thought they were entitled to.
Why couldn’t they just call a spade a spade? Write that the girls were leeches, scroungers, and bloodsuckers of the worst sort? Parasites that should just be trampled underfoot and forgotten about. Why didn’t journalists do some research on the people they were writing about and what they stood for before churning out this rubbish about how charming and popular they were?
They weren’t bloody popular. Certainly not with her, so who were they popular with?
Since returning from her radiation therapy, she had just been sitting behind her desk, thinking the same thing over and over. What if Jazmine or Michelle had seen the newsstands or the front pages of the bloody newspapers and decided to talk to the police? She tried to imagine the situation where a couple of investigators suddenly turned up to have a word with her. But hadn’t her confrontation with Jazmine yesterday proved that she could cope with the pressure? She thought it had. If the police came down on her, she would just say that she didn’t know anything about it and that she would be as shocked as anyone if it turned out that the attacks really were planned. And then she would remember to say that this was particularly difficult for her because she knew both the girls. That although it had been a few years since she had last seen Senta Berger, she was a nice girl who hadn’t deserved to die like this.
Anneli laughed at the thought, covering her mouth so they wouldn’t hear her in the hallway. Someone might ask what was so funny—there wasn’t exactly much to laugh about in this department.
—