“I’ll shoot,” Denise tried to warn her, but it didn’t stop Birna. And instinctively, Denise pulled the trigger, as if that would help.
The bang, which echoed between the concrete walls and resulted in a cloud of residue and a hole the size of a coin in the Icelandic girl’s chest, was drowned in the noise from the club even before the punk had collapsed.
Denise stood with her hand pointing up from the recoil. She didn’t understand. Had there been a cartridge in the magazine, and why hadn’t she checked? She could have looked at the drawing to see how it all worked.
Jazmine and Denise stood gobsmacked, looking at the motionless body and the blood seeping out onto the dry asphalt.
“What the hell is going on? You said it wasn’t loaded, Denise!” sobbed Michelle in horror, staggering toward them.
“We need to get out of here!” shouted Jazmine.
Denise tried to shake off the shock. This was bad, really bad. The hole in the wall, the blood on her shoes, the smoking pistol in her hand, and the girl who was still breathing while the blood was flowing out from under her armpit.
“The bullet went straight through her,” she stammered.
“Come on! Can’t you see she’s still breathing? We have to drag her out onto the sidewalk or she’ll just bleed to death,” pleaded Michelle.
Denise put the pistol back in the bag mechanically and bent down to grab one of Birna’s feet while Jazmine grabbed the other. Then they dragged her up to the end of the alleyway so that the streetlight just hit her legs.
They didn’t look back over their shoulders as they disappeared up toward Sydhavnsgade.
The last thing Michelle said before they got into the taxi was that the whole thing was terrible, and that the queasy feeling in her stomach made her feel like she was going to be sick. That everything was spinning in her head and that she even thought she had caught a glimpse of Anne-Line.
26
Wednesday, May 25th, 2016
It’s more the rule than the exception, thought Carl.
The sheet underneath him had come off the mattress. The pillow was on the floor. Everything that had been on his nightstand had been knocked off. He had been sleeping badly for a long time now, and last night was Mona’s fault.
She just wouldn’t disappear from his head. Not least the meeting with her at HQ, and the visible changes in her appearance had hit a nerve with him. The soft, loose skin around her neck and mouth. The way her hips had become broader. The visible veins on the backs of her hands. All this had aroused him and kept him awake. This was about the tenth time she had caused him to break down, and despite his repeated attempts, he just couldn’t get her out of his mind. He had had short-lived affairs with women he had met in bars and cafés, at conferences and training courses. Even monthlong attempts at more serious relationships. But all of these experiences had been meaningless as soon as he thought about Mona.
He thought over and over about what she thought of him. He would have to find out once and for all.
—
“I found more of Jesper’s stuff in the basement. Can I put it up in the attic?” asked Morten while he was feeding Hardy at the breakfast table.
Carl nodded, but inside he was shaking his head. Despite his pleas, his stepson still had a pile of shit down there. The guy had turned twenty-five a couple of months ago. He had graduated high school and was now nearing the end of his business degree. So what the hell was wrong with wanting to know how old your kids should be before you could expect them to really move out?
“Have you found anything to link the Zimmermann case and the murder of Stephanie Gundersen, Carl?” said Hardy, slurping.
“We’re working on it,” he answered, “but Rose’s case and condition are taking up a lot of our energy just now. It seems we’ve become quite attached. You often only realize things like that when disaster has struck.”
“That’s true. I just thought it was important for you to solve those cases before Pasg?rd.”
Carl allowed himself to smile. “As long as Pasg?rd is wasting energy looking for a man who pissed on the body, we can take it easy.”
“If you ask me, you need to start making some headway, Carl. Marcus Jacobsen called yesterday to ask how far you’ve come. He’s betting on both teams, you should understand. Solving the Stephanie case is all that matters to him just now.”
“That’s the thing, Hardy. Isn’t it just a little bit too critical for him? I can’t get that thought out of my mind.”
Hardy thought for a moment, whispering to himself. He always did this when he was unsure about something. The quiet argument for and against. “You know what? I think you should call Rigmor Zimmermann’s daughter,” said Hardy. “You mentioned that Rigmor had withdrawn ten thousand kroner before she was murdered. I think Birgit Zimmermann can shed a bit more light on what the victim wanted with so much money. Catch her off guard this morning. As I understand from Marcus, she doesn’t hold back from visiting the bars every night these days.”
“Where does Marcus know that from?”
Hardy smiled. “Even an old circus horse needs a shot in the ring once in a while!”
Was he talking about himself now? Anything else would be weird.
Carl gave him a pat on the shoulder. Not that the paralyzed man could feel it, but all the same.
“Ow! That hurt,” said Hardy unexpectedly.
Carl froze and Hardy looked shocked.
It couldn’t be. Apart from a couple of fingers, Hardy had been paralyzed from the neck down for almost seven years. How—
“Just kidding, Carl,” Hardy said, laughing.
Carl gulped twice.
“Yeah, sorry, mate. I couldn’t resist.”
Carl sighed. “Don’t do that again, Hardy. You actually gave me a shock.”
“Life is only as much fun as you make it,” he said dryly, while Carl looked over at Morten, who was struggling up the stairs from the basement carrying Jesper’s junk. It was true enough. There wasn’t much to laugh about in the house at the moment.
Carl took a deep breath. For a split second he had been so happy, because wouldn’t it be amazing if Hardy . . .
He took out his phone. It was probably optimistic to believe that he could catch Birgit Zimmermann with a clear head this early in the day, but at least he did what Hardy had recommended.
There was an answer at the other end surprisingly quickly, albeit the only giveaway at first was the sound of bottles clinking in the background.
“Yeees, hello,” came a drawling voice at the other end.
Carl introduced himself.
“Yeees, hello,” she said again. “Anyone there?”
“I think the idiot is holding the receiver upside down,” he said dejectedly to Hardy.
“Hey, who are you calling an idiot? Who are you?” came the grumpy reply.
Carl calmly hung up.
“Ha-ha, that was a stupid remark to make, wasn’t it?” Hardy said, laughing. It was nice to see him laugh. “Let me try,” he continued. “You dial the number, put it on speakerphone, and hold it for me.”