Then he heard a commotion in the corridor, and a second later Assad and Gordon burst into his office together.
Gordon was first and sounded out of breath. “The technicians have now concluded that it was the red Peugeot that was used to hit Michelle the first time, and it was the same car used to kill Senta Berger, Carl,” he almost cheered. “Lots of traces such as hair and blood on the hood and the fender.”
Assad stood next to him groaning. “Everything is spinning around in my head just now, Carl. Can’t you just—”
“It’s highly likely that Michelle Hansen was connected with the robbery at the nightclub,” continued Gordon. “I’ve spoken to one of the people who questioned Patrick Pettersson, who was Michelle’s boyfriend, and Patrick swears that he wasn’t involved and has been extremely cooperative. But Pasg?rd isn’t satisfied and has brought him in for a third questioning. They are squeezing him for more details as we speak. I think Pasg?rd will let him go anytime now, so I thought we could lure him down here before he disappears.”
Lure? thought Carl. Gordon was on a mission, but if it annoyed Pasg?rd, he was in.
“Do you mind if I say something? Shouldn’t we discuss what we’ve discovered in the Zimmermann case first?” interrupted Assad. “Carl, you had a lot of questions and I’d like to have the chance to answer them, if you don’t mind.”
Carl nodded. Were these two in competition with each other now?
Assad looked at his notepad. “You asked when Birgit Zimmermann was married. I assume you mean to Denise Zimmermann’s father?”
“Yes. Were there others?”
“There were. In 1984, when she was eighteen years old, she married a Yugoslavian migrant worker, but they were divorced three months later. In 1987 she was remarried. This time to a former captain in the US Army who was working as a bartender in central Copenhagen. That year she became pregnant with Denise, who was baptized Dorrit when she was born in 1988. The American was the one with the surname Frank, of course. James Lester Frank to be precise. Born in Duluth, Minnesota, in 1958. He hasn’t paid taxes in Denmark since 1995, making me assume he moved back to the US. I’ll follow up on that if you think it’s worthwhile.”
He seemed very keen to move on.
“Thanks. I think we should pass this on to Marcus to follow up. He’s already looking at the case,” said Carl.
“And then there was your second question. Denise had attended a school in R?dovre but switched to Bolman’s Independent School in the third grade and left after the ninth grade in June 2004.”
“So a few weeks after Stephanie Gundersen was murdered. Am I right?” asked Carl.
Assad nodded. “Yes. And the teacher who was present at the parent-teacher meeting with Stephanie when she and Stephanie argued with Denise’s mother a few months before still works at the school but couldn’t remember the meeting or Denise’s mother. But she remembered their substitute teacher being murdered in the middle of the exam period and how annoying that had been.”
“Because it happened during the exam period?”
“Yes, actually. She had to step in and take Stephanie’s place as a proctor for the final-year exams and certainly didn’t sound like someone who had grieved at the time.”
“That’s a bit cynical,” said Gordon.
Assad nodded. “She really sounds like one of the witches from Ball Mountain.”
“You mean Bald Mountain, Assad,” Carl corrected him.
Assad looked at Carl as if he was crazy. Did it really matter in this connection what the name of the mountain was?
“It was far too difficult to talk with the internal revenue service or the probate court. To be honest, they weren’t very cooperative. But Lis helped me—she’s a real spot when it comes to that sort of thing, Carl.”
Spot? “You mean a real sport, Assad.”
Carl had hit a nerve. “Can you not stop interrupting me all the time, Carl?”
Carl nodded. “Yes, but ‘can you not stop interrupting me’ isn’t quite what you mean, Assad. It would be better if you said, ‘can you stop interrupting me all the time.’”
That was the final straw. “It’s the same damn thing, Carl!” Paying no attention to the fact that Gordon and Carl were shaking their heads, he continued his tirade. “I’ve put up with it for many years now, but I have to ask you to stop correcting me constantly, Carl!”
Carl raised his eyebrows. Did he really correct him that much? He wanted to protest but said nothing, noticing Gordon patting Assad’s shoulder. Two against one on a Monday. Who could be bothered with that fight?
Assad took a deep breath and looked down at his notes. “Lis found out that Rigmor Zimmermann was very aff . . .” He thought for a moment. “. . . afflu . . . ent.” He glared at Carl, who wanted to nod but didn’t dare.
“As well as the six million we already knew she had in the bank, she had stocks to the value of four million and also owned three apartments. One in Borgergade, which is where Birgit Zimmermann lives, one in R?dovre above the old shoe shop her husband owned back in the day, and then one in Stenl?se.”
Carl whistled. “A rich lady and no mistake. And you say that she owned an apartment in Stenl?se. That’s odd. That’s where Rose lives.”
Assad nodded. “Yes, Carl.” He turned toward Gordon. “This will be news to you, too, Gordon, because I’ve only just found out.”
Gordon shrugged. Was he supposed to be impressed?
“You won’t believe this. Rose’s neighbor is called Zimmermann. Rigmor Zimmermann—to be precise!”
40
Monday, May 30th, 2016
“Everyone at the plant hates you, Rose. Everyone. They smile at you, but when you turn your back they’re bent over double laughing about how bad you are at your job. Ha-ha-haaaa, they laugh, but you also make them feel uncomfortable because they know how dangerous it is to have someone like you at the plant. So it’s about time you pull yourself together before something goes wrong.”
Her father looked at his sheet, marked a couple of slabs with white, and then pointed a yellow finger at her. When he pointed that accusing finger, there was no knowing what it might lead to, because Rose’s father had a habit of ensuring that he kept hurting her in new ways. He lived and breathed for the pleasure it gave him to bring her down, and nothing was beneath him.
She knew that most of what he said wasn’t true, but she just couldn’t take it anymore. The distress of not knowing when he would attack next drained her of energy, and a couple of days ago she had decided that it had to stop.