Carl knew the type. “So what about point number one? What was it that Hardy saw when he met this Stephanie?”
“He’d been assigned to one of those boring crime-prevention jobs we have to do from time to time in schools, and when he was there he saw the most beautiful woman he’d ever laid eyes on smiling ever so sweetly at him from the far wall of the classroom. He found it difficult to concentrate. And when she was murdered, he felt frustrated, sad, and angry for days because someone had taken the life of such a lovely creature. He was really eager to help, but as you know he had enough to do with his own investigations.”
“Stephanie was a beautiful woman. I know that much.”
“She could throw any man off-balance, Hardy told me. Ask him yourself.”
“Have you saved the parent lists for the seventh and ninth grades that you mention in point two?”
“Hmm, Carl, I get the impression that you haven’t looked at the material I gave you at all. You’ll find the list of names on the other piece of paper I gave you at the café. Take a look. You might find something.”
“I’m really sorry, Marcus. This is embarrassing. This whole business with Rose has been occupying my mind.” He looked again at the piece of paper with four points. “And what about the third point on the list? Arguments must be part and parcel of parent-teacher meetings, don’t you think? I certainly remember a few when Vigga and I exchanged words with Jesper’s teachers.”
“Yes, I’m sure you’re right. And the two couples—the Carstensens and the Willumsens—who caused the arguments were also very forthcoming when I inquired about it. Basically, both sets of parents had the same issue, and according to the regular class teacher it wasn’t a very pleasant discussion, and also rather unusual. In the third case, involving the single mother, it was something of a more personal nature, and there were undertones that the regular teacher couldn’t gauge. The mother—Birthe Frank, I believe she was called—was causing a scene because she thought Stephanie was inappropriately influencing her daughter with all the attention she was giving her. The mother seemed jealous, according to the regular teacher.”
“So, basically, Stephanie was simply too pretty?”
Marcus laughed hoarsely and coughed a couple of times on the other end. So he was still feeling the effects of quitting smoking.
“You’re not as stupid as you look, Carl. The two couples were both parents to boys who were completely besotted every time they came home from school. One of the couples had even caught their son masturbating over her school photo and were of the opinion that Stephanie ought to tone down her feminine charms.”
“And what does that tell you?”
“Yeah, what indeed? In more than half of all homicide cases, sex plays a direct or indirect role, as you know. And Stephanie’s mere existence was something of a challenge in that area, as I understand it.”
“So you think I should look for someone who either had or wanted to have sex with her?”
“No idea. But now it’s out there.”
“But she wasn’t raped, was she?”
“No, she was hit from behind and murdered. Full stop.”
“Okay, thanks. I’m sorry I didn’t ask more when you gave me the notes, Marcus.”
He laughed. “I’ve had them for twelve years now. So one week wasn’t going to make a difference, was it? I knew we’d get to it at some point, Carl.”
After their conversation, Carl rummaged a bit more on his desk. Where the hell was the other note?
“Gordon! Assad! Come in here!” he shouted. He heard grumbling from the corridor before they appeared.
“Marcus Jacobsen gave me two notes the other day, and now I can’t find one of them. Do you know anything about that? It was written on the same kind of lined paper as this one.”
He held up the list with four points in front of them.
“You know what, Carl? I think you should come with us to the situation room and see something,” said Assad. “Gordon’s been very busy.”
The lanky guy apologized that he had been in Carl’s office to make copies of some of the papers on his desk. But he had no idea where the original was for the other note.
“But don’t worry, there are copies of everything in here.”
Carl followed them, and when he stepped into the room he immediately saw the five sheets of paper lined up on the big notice board.
“Here are the five cases we’re working on at the moment,” said Gordon.
Had he said five? How could it be so many?
Carl looked at all the sheets.
On the far left, Gordon had pinned up a sheet entitled “The Rose Case.” The only thing written on that page was “Rose’s dad died on May 18th, 1999.” Then came “The Zimmermann Case,” “The Stephanie Gundersen Case,” “The Hit-and-Run Case,” and “The Nightclub Case” involving the robbery and the shooting of the Icelandic woman. On all the sheets there were notes about the victims’ times of death and a little additional information.
“What the heck are the hit-and-run and nightclub cases doing there?” asked Carl. “They’ve got nothing to do with us.”
Gordon smiled. “Yeah, yeah, I know. But since I’ve ended up dealing with the TV crew and answering all their strange questions, I reckoned those cases could also hang here just so I could keep up to date.”
Carl grunted. That man was a piece of work. If he was so keen to take part in the investigation of those two cases, why didn’t he just move up to the second floor? It wasn’t like he hadn’t had the offer.
“Well, as long as Bj?rn doesn’t get the wrong idea, I suppose it’s okay. Where are Marcus’s notes?”
“I’ve pinned the two sheets of notes under ‘The Stephanie Case,’ you’ll notice,” said Gordon proudly.
Assad couldn’t contain himself any longer. “Before you look at the list of names, Carl, take a look at this photo.” He placed a blown-up color photo in front of him. “Look. We’ve just received this school photo. It’s a photo of the ninth-grade class at Bolman’s Independent School from 2003. Have a good look at it.”
Carl did as he said. It was one of those usual class photos that one hated a few years later and that many years later one regretted having thrown out. What was special about it?
“Stephanie Gundersen is standing lined up behind the students with the other teachers,” said Gordon, pointing at her.
Carl nodded, now recognizing her. “She was really the prettiest of them all,” he said. “But where are you going with it?”
“It’s not her you need to look at just now, Carl. It’s the girl in front of Stephanie—with Stephanie’s hands on her shoulders.”
Carl squinted. It was a girl wearing her hair up, blue lipstick, and with an expression that was both cheeky and happy at the same time.
“Her name is Dorrit Frank, as far as I can make out from the names underneath.”
“Exactly.” Assad smiled.
What was he smiling about? “Out with it. I can’t quite . . . Do you mean that . . . ?”
“Yes, Dorrit is Denise. She changed her name at some point.”