Mona shook her head. “We’ll probably never know. But seen from the outside, and no matter what, working with you has had an extremely positive influence on her,” she offered. “And then came the case, which Gordon has explained to us, where a certain Christian Habersaat, who shot himself on Bornholm, resembled the girls’ dad so much that Rose almost had a breakdown. In the long run, it could have had a beneficial effect, but then you all made the fatal decision to visit a hypnotist, where her repressed emotions rose to the surface at once, causing her to require psychiatric help for the first time since she has been working here, am I right?”
Carl pursed his lips. This didn’t make for easy listening. “Yes, but I just put it down to hysteria or one of Rose’s usual moods, which would be over quick enough. We’ve been through a lot together over the years, so how were we supposed to know that it was so serious?”
“She writes, ‘I’m drowning.’ That event probably hit her harder than you knew, Carl. You can’t be blamed for that.”
“No, but then she didn’t say anything.”
He leaned forward, trying to remember. Did he recall things as they really had been? Had she never said anything?
“With the benefit of hindsight, I have the feeling that Assad was more alert all along.” He turned to face him. “What do you think, Assad?”
Curly hesitated momentarily, stroking his hairy left arm with his right hand. It was obvious that he was trying to answer as delicately as possible.
“I did try to stop you when you assigned the Habersaat report to her, remember? But I didn’t know all this, or I’d have been more insistent.”
Carl nodded. And then there was the message she had written all over the walls of her home: “You do not belong here.” Her father had returned to her life.
The effect of his tyranny had no end.
“What now, Mona?” he asked dejectedly.
She tilted her head to one side, almost exuding tenderness.
“I’ll write a report to Rose’s psychiatrists about what we know, and you do what you do best, Carl. Find the girl who made Rose rebellious. Find out about the nature of the dad’s psychological harassment. Maybe this friend knows what started it all. And finally, you and Assad need to do all you can to find out what really happened at that steel plant.”
24
Wednesday, May 25th, 2016
“You say you haven’t come in to work, so why are you here?” asked her manager with obvious skepticism in her voice.
Anneli looked at her blankly. She was one to talk. When had she last done a day’s work that could make her team nod in acknowledgment? Certainly not in her current position. In fact, things were easier when the woman was away on one of her usual management courses in some exotic location or other with the rest of the municipal crooks. At least then they could get on with the important work. Anneli had had a few managers like her over the years, but she took the cake. Charmless and totally out of touch with the circulars and legislation informing them what they could and couldn’t do. In short, she was the most expendable person in the department and yet the one they couldn’t avoid.
“I’m working a little from home to keep up to date, but I needed to check up on a few things at the office,” said Anneli, thinking about the case files of several potential victims.
“Working from home? Yes, you do appear to have had a good deal of what we might term sporadic absence, for want of a better phrase, Anne-Line.”
The manager squinted so her eyelashes hid her pupils. It was at moments like this that you had to be most on guard. It had been less than five weeks since the woman had attended an excruciatingly expensive efficiency course in Brom?lla, Sweden, to learn what a consistent employee policy could do for her popularity with her boss, and which signals to send to scare her subordinates. Four colleagues had been demoted to crappy jobs since she had taken that course, and it could be Anneli’s turn any second.
“Well, we appear to be at the point where a doctor’s note would be appropriate if you feel you can’t manage a normal working week, Anne-Line.” She forced a smile, which she had obviously also learned. “You can come and talk to me anytime if you have something you need to discuss, but you know that already, I assume?” She was well aware that this offer was risk-free.
“Thank you. But I’ve just been working from home while I get over this bout of flu, and I don’t think I’m behind with anything.”
That swiped the smile off her manager’s face. “No, Anne-Line, but people need to know that you’ll be here when they’ve made appointments with you.”
She nodded. “That’s why I’ve conducted some of my meetings over the telephone,” she lied.
“Have you, now? And I’m sure you’ll be giving me a written record of these meetings, won’t you?” she said, adjusting Anneli’s desk nameplate.
She hadn’t heard the last from her.
—
Anneli looked out of the window, watching sharp rays of sun struggling to shine through the dirty glass and into this futile Sisyphean world. All the bickering and nonsense that took place in the adjacent offices didn’t interest her at all anymore. Her colleagues felt like shadows blocking out the light. That was the thought she had had while undergoing her usual fifteen minutes of radiation treatment. Of course, she did have some good clients who really needed help and who cooperated to the best of their ability to better their situation, even though it was often in vain. There were just very few of them at the moment, and as the days went by most of the cases on her desk seemed more and more irrelevant, because after her diagnosis and the new project, Anneli was no longer interested in stopgaps.
Over the past few days she had reluctantly had to force herself to slow down, because planning and preparing the next murders took time. Just trying to find a suitable car had taken five hours last night, but now that was arranged. The battered black Honda Civic she had found out in T?strup was perfect for her needs.
It was an inconspicuous, low, dark car with tinted windows—almost the ideal murder weapon. In fact, this morning she had been sitting in the Honda for an hour without being noticed in the parking lot on Pr?steg?rdsvej next to Sandalsparken so she could observe the comings and goings in the neighborhood.
In this blessed calm, she concluded that it was of no real consequence if there were witnesses when she hit her victim. What did it matter if they took down the license number if she was going to use the car only once? She knew how to make a quick getaway and where she was going to park the car in ?lstykke, which was a good five kilometers from there.
All in all, she felt well prepared and intoxicated just thinking about it. She would make her move as soon as an opportunity presented itself to do away with the Zimmermann girl or Jazmine, no doubt about that. Naturally, there could be problems. What would she do if both girls turned up together, maybe even arm in arm? Just the sort of thing spoiled brats like them did. In that case, the impact would cause serious damage to the front of the car, and there was also the risk that one or both of the bodies would be thrown up on the hood and smash the windshield. It wasn’t unheard of.