“Cut it out, Jazmine. They don’t know where we are and no one will recognize us when we’ve finished with this, will they? Let’s go to the bathroom now.”
The conversation slowly made sense to Rose despite her inner chaos. Her experience as an investigator blocked out the terrible thoughts, and she was only too eager to let them go.
Jazmine had mentioned a robbery and someone called Birna who had been shot outside a nightclub. Did the girls in there think she knew anything about it?
Rose thought back to the moment when she had first stepped into the apartment and found them. What was the last thing she had said? That she would report them for breaking into Rigmor’s apartment.
So that was why. They were afraid of her. She was the enemy and that was why she was sitting here. They would leave her here when they made their escape. No one would call anyone. That was the most obvious conclusion.
The two girls came into the bathroom together, and Rose closed her eyes, pretending to be asleep. The last thing she wanted just now was for them to think she had overheard their conversation.
Denise immediately sat in the sink and peed while Jazmine took off her clothes and got in the shower.
They had both cropped their hair. It was a complete transformation.
“I hate this, Denise. It’s taken me more than five years to grow my hair this long. I want to fucking cry,” said Jazmine as she squeezed hair dye over her scalp and drew the shower curtain.
“Once we’re in Brazil, you can have all the hair extensions you want for next to nothing. So stop whining,” Denise said, laughing as she jumped down from the sink. She took a couple of sheets of toilet paper from the roll next to Rose, wiped her crotch, and threw the paper in the basket where Rigmor used to keep her laundry. So that was why her laundry had been thrown in the washing machine.
Rose followed Denise’s every move through her half-closed eyes, but Denise didn’t look in her direction. Was she already dead in their eyes, or did Denise actually think she was asleep?
Then Denise turned toward the mirror and looked at her short hair while shaking the bottle of hair dye. Rose opened her eyes a little more. There were three scratches down Denise’s back—not a pretty sight on such a perfect body.
“Are you sure that Anne-Line won’t recognize you, Denise? And what if she doesn’t let you in?” came Jazmine’s voice from behind the shower curtain.
“I’ve fooled smarter people than her, Jazmine. I’ll bring her down before she knows what hit her,” answered Denise, spinning around.
She was staring directly at Rose as if she had sensed her eyes on her.
Rose didn’t have time to shut her eyes.
36
Sunday, May 29th, and Monday, May 30th, 2016
Marcus Jacobsen waved a hand to decline the can of beer Carl placed in front of him on the garden table at his home in R?nneholtparken. “No, thank you. I’ve gone cold turkey, so no cigarettes or alcohol for me. I’m trying to look after myself these days.”
Carl nodded and lit a cigarette. Statistically, miracles were bound to happen once in a while. But this was a Carl’s Special beer. Could it get any better than that?
“Well, Carl, have you looked at my notes?”
Carl clenched his teeth, shaking his head. “I haven’t really had time, but I will do it. I promise. I have them on my desk.”
Marcus looked disappointed, and he had every reason to be. After all, he was the one who had taught Carl all he knew about investigative work, and then Carl hadn’t taken his advice seriously. It really wasn’t okay.
“Okay, Marcus, I might as well confess. I had my doubts about you and the case. You were so obsessed with it back then that I thought it might be wishful thinking on your part to link the two cases. But as I said, I promise to look at them now. That’s actually why I’ve invited you.”
“Hmm! So it wasn’t just for my sake you invited me. What are you after, then?”
Carl sighed more than he had intended to, but maybe the effect would be beneficial. “As you know, we’re a bit worked up at the moment because of Rose, so I thought that you might be able to lend us a hand.”
Marcus smiled. “With a case that isn’t yours, I assume?”
Carl watched as his cigarette smoke rose in the air. Of course he knew that Marcus wouldn’t stab him in the back, but the question was still a bit too forward for his liking.
“You know the drill, Marcus. You get all these conflicting and confusing gut feelings, and I for one hate that. And then there’s the business with Rose. We normally rely on her when we need to delve deeper into a case, but she’s not able to help us now, is she? We need her more than any of us could have imagined.”
Marcus smiled. “So what is it you’d like me to ‘delve deeper into,’ Carl? What are your gut feelings telling you?”
“That I need to know everything about the Zimmermann family and their background. We already know a good deal about Rigmor’s husband, and he definitely wasn’t a saint.” He told Marcus what they knew about Fritzl Zimmermann’s shady past, his later life, and his demise.
Marcus Jacobsen nodded. “No, not what you’d call a role model. But now that you mention it, I think our department had some dealings with the case about the man who drowned in Damhus Lake. So that was him, was it?”
They heard a faint humming sound from the hallway. Morten and Hardy were home.
Marcus smiled again. It was a reunion he had been looking forward to. He stood up to greet them in the doorway. It was moving to see their former uncompromising boss bending down to hug his old investigator.
“So, how was your trip, old boy?” asked Marcus when Hardy had finally managed to maneuver his electric wheelchair over to the garden table.
“Well . . . ,” he answered almost inaudibly as the red-eyed Morten came out to them and asked in a tearful voice if there was anything he could do for them.
“We’re fine, Morten, thanks.”
“In that case . . . I think . . . I’ll go and lie down,” he said, sniffling.
“What’s the matter with him?” asked Marcus when they could no longer hear footsteps leading down to the basement.
Hardy looked tired. “A broken heart. It’s not a good idea to go out in the sunshine in May if you want to avoid seeing people in love everywhere. He’s been wailing like an orphaned seal all the way.”
“Well, it’s hard to remember that feeling of rejected love!” Marcus shook his head and turned to Carl. He was already back in his role as an investigator. “What do we know about Birgit Zimmermann’s husband?”
“Nothing. But it’s one of the things we hope you’ll be able to tell us about when you’ve done some digging.”
—