Anneli laughed.
It seemed like she had gotten away with this. She had hidden Denise’s pistol and squeezed the gun into her hand so both their fingerprints were on it. If anyone had heard the shot and called the police, she had decided to pretend to be in shock and say it was an accident. That the woman had barged in, threatening to shoot her with that gun with the strange thing attached to it. That she was one of those crazy people who blamed their caseworker for their own inability to sort out her terrible situation. And a caseworker who had always done her best to help her, no less. The police would probably know that sometimes disturbed clients murdered those whose job it was to help them. It had happened a couple of times over the past few years. And she would add that the attack had removed any doubt from her mind that Denise Zimmermann was insane.
She would explain to them in detail how they had come to blows immediately when she answered the door to Denise. That they had fought their way into the apartment in a life-and-death struggle, with Anneli using all her strength to try to grab the gun from Denise’s hand. And that the gun had gone off by accident.
She would cry a little and say with quivering lips that this was the worst experience in her life.
But the police didn’t come.
Anneli laughed, retrieving Denise’s pistol from where she had hidden it. She could just leave Denise where she was for now while she drove to Stenl?se to liquidate Jazmine.
She looked at the gun with its makeshift silencer in Denise’s hand.
Both weapons had been used to kill. She was in no doubt about that. The question was if she could exploit that fact.
Oh yes, Anneli felt good about that thought. Wasn’t it just the most brilliant of all her plans? Yes, it was.
—
When Anneli passed the first road sign for Stenl?se, she was almost bursting inside. She was so excited about seeing Jazmine’s face when she opened the door.
Anneli imagined that the first thing the idiotic girl would think was that Anne-Line Svendsen was supposed to be dead. She would be completely thrown, perplexed, and surprised that Anneli knew where they lived. And she would wonder what had happened to Denise.
Yes, Jazmine would get a shock when she realized that her time was up.
Anneli would immediately force her into the sitting room and shoot her without further ado, at close range using the gun with the silencer. Then she would press Denise’s pistol into Jazmine’s hand and make it look like there had been a showdown between her and Denise that had resulted in Jazmine’s death. The old Luger pistol in Jazmine’s hand hadn’t helped her, it would appear. And later the police would discover that this was the pistol that had killed Birna.
After this, all she would need to do was pick up Denise’s body in Webersgade, prop her up in the passenger seat of her car, and drive her to Bernstorff’s Park. And she would place the gun with the silencer next to Denise’s hand so that it looked like a suicide. Voilà! One stone, many birds. At some point the police would find Jazmine and discover that the gun she had been killed with was the same one Denise had used to commit suicide.
All the loose ends would be tied. It was simply genius.
Anneli couldn’t help laughing insanely at how perfect her plan was. If she played her cards right, she might even be able to pin the hit-and-run murders on Denise. Surely the police would find out that Michelle had also lived in the apartment, bringing them to draw conclusions that would benefit Anneli. And if she really could pull all this off, she would have gotten away with everything. Then she could comfortably take a break from her killing spree and concentrate on her treatments and recovery. A year or two without murders and then she could slowly and steadily resume her mission. Meanwhile, she could keep herself entertained by coming up with new ways to kill. She would read books about how to use poison, fire, electricity, and water to fake accidents that couldn’t be linked to one another or the hit-and-run murders.
She turned on the car radio because her euphoric mood demanded music.
Now all she needed to make things perfect was a couple of candles and a glass of red wine. But all in good time. When she had completed this mission later tonight, it would be straight back to the apartment for a cozy night of watching a TV series with her feet up on the coffee table. She had heard True Detective was good.
She turned into the Sandalsparken parking area to the last ironic verses of Coldplay’s “Viva la Vida” and parked in the exact same place as last time. She was more ready than ever to embark on the penultimate act in this exhilarating play about life and death that she had set in motion a few weeks ago.
Just as she was about to get out of her car, a rather official-looking vehicle drove in front of her, albeit without the blue light on its roof activated. It parked so close to her that she could easily tell that the odd-looking pair wasn’t here on a social visit.
Everything about them screamed police.
She watched them as they went up to the apartment immediately to the left of Jazmine and Denise’s.
I need to stay away as long as they’re there, she thought, leaning back in a more comfortable position.
“But never mind. Good things come to those who wait,” she said to herself as the news on the radio announced that Denise Frank Zimmermann was wanted as a witness in connection with a murder. Anyone with information about her whereabouts should contact the police.
“Then I recommend that you take a look in Bernstorff’s Park tomorrow morning,” Anneli said, giggling to herself.
45
Monday, May 30th, 2016
“Which of the sisters will be there to let us in?”
Assad took his feet down from the dashboard, holding up a key as Carl parked the car. “None of them. But I have the key Vicky gave Gordon. If Rose won’t let us in, we can use it.”
Carl felt a bit uneasy about that idea.
“It makes me a bit nervous to think what Rose will say when we turn up unannounced,” said Carl. Not only was Rose as tricky and special as the situation, but she was also their colleague, and a female one at that. Why did women always have to be so complicated? Hadn’t he often been forced to acknowledge that in general he didn’t understand women at all? Perhaps it was the lively girls from Vendsyssel who had confused him and made him believe that all women were as forthright as they were. Hardy had advised him several times to find himself a coach or a men’s group that could help him deepen his understanding of the opposite sex. Maybe that was an idea that was worth pursuing. He just never really got around to it.
“I know, Carl. I’m nervous too,” said Assad. “I’ve been really down since she shouted at me on the telephone.”
They rang the doorbell a few times without hearing any sign of life from inside.