A Conspiracy of Faith (16 page)

“Does DNA change as it’s broken down?”

“No, it doesn’t change. It just deteriorates. But with all the adverse factors here, that might not make any difference in this case.”

Carl considered the smidgeon of blood on the shard. “What if they do get a result? What good would it do us? We can’t identify a body because we haven’t got one. And we can’t compare the genetic material with that of relatives because we don’t know who they are. We don’t even know who wrote the letter, so I can’t see how it would help, to be honest.”

“If we’re lucky, we can determine skin color, eye color, and hair color. Worth a go, wouldn’t you say?”

Carl nodded. Laursen was right, no two ways about it. The people at the Department of Forensic Medicine’s Section of Forensic Genetics were amazing, he knew that. He had once attended a lecture given by the deputy head of the section. If anyone could determine whether the victim was lame, spoke with a lisp, or was a redheaded Greenlander from Thule, it was those guys.

“Let’s give it a go,” said Carl. And then he gave Laursen a pat on the back. “I’ll be upstairs for a filet steak soon.”

Laursen smiled. “You’ll have to bring it with you, then.”

Her name was Lisa
, but she called herself Rachel. For seven years she had lived her life with a man who failed to make her pregnant. Weeks and months of infertility in mud huts, first in Zimbabwe, then in Liberia. Schoolrooms filled with wide ivory smiles lighting up the brown faces of the children, but also endless hours in negotiation with the local representatives of the NDPL and then eventually Charles Taylor’s guerrillas. Praying for peace was no help. This was not a place for which a young teacher out of the DNS International Teacher Training College had been able to prepare. There were too many pitfalls and evil intentions, but such was Africa.

When she was raped by a passing group of NPFL soldiers, her boyfriend had not intervened. His passivity had forced her into taking matters into her own hands.

For that reason it was over.

The same evening, she had gone down on her bruised knees on the veranda and clasped her bloodied hands, and for the first time in her ungodly life she felt the kingdom of heaven to be truly at hand.

“Forgive me, and please let there be no reprisals,” she prayed beneath the black sky of night. “Let there be no reprisals, and let me find a new life. A life of peace with a good man and many children. Please, God, I beg you.”

The next morning, she was bleeding down below. She packed her suitcase and knew that God had heard her prayer. Her sins were forgiven.

Her rescuers came from a small, recently established religious community in the town of Danané in neighboring Ivory Coast. There they were all of a sudden, benevolent faces on the A701 highway, offering her shelter after two weeks of following refugees along the highway to Baobli and farther on beyond the border. These were people who had seen great hardship and who knew that wounds need time to heal. From that moment, a new life unfolded. God had heard her prayer, and God had shown her the way.

A year later, she was back in Denmark. Cleansed of the Devil and all his work, ready to find the man who would make her fertile.

His name was Jens, later to be called Joshua. Her body was rich temptation to a man who had lived alone in the farmhouse he had inherited from his parents and from which he carried on the family business, hiring out agricultural machinery and equipment. Jens discovered the way of God in ecstasy between her thighs.

Soon, the church on the edge of Viborg was two disciples richer, and ten months later she gave birth to their first child.

Since then, the Mother of God had given her new life and been merciful to her. Josef, eighteen years old, Samuel, sixteen, Miriam, fourteen, Magdalena, twelve, and Sarah, ten, were the fruits. Exactly twenty-three months between each.

The Mother of God took care of her own.

Now she had seen the new man on several occasions in the Mother Church, and he had looked so kindly upon her and her children when they abandoned themselves in their songs of praise. Only blessed words had passed his lips. He seemed honest and kind, and to possess a depth of soul and character. A rather handsome man who would surely attract a fine, new woman into the Church.

These were good signs, everyone agreed. Joshua called him worthy.

When he came to the church that evening, for the fourth time, she felt certain he had come to stay. They offered him a room in the farmhouse,
but he declined, explaining that he was staying elsewhere and was in the process of looking for a house in which to settle. However, he would be in the area for a few days and would find it a pleasure to look in on them if he should happen to pass by.

So he was looking for a house, and this was the subject of much chatter in the Church, especially among the women. His hands were strong, he owned a van, and would be useful to his brethren. He appeared to be rather successful in life, and moreover was courteous and well dressed. A future pastor, perhaps. Or a missionary.

They would be especially accommodating toward him.

Only one day passed before he stood at their door. Unfortunately, it was a bad time. She was premenstrual and unwell, her head throbbing. All she wanted at that moment was for the children to be in their rooms and Joshua to attend to his business.

But Joshua opened the door and ushered the man through to the oak table in the kitchen.

“It might be the only chance we get,” he whispered, entreating her to rise from the sofa. “Fifteen minutes, that’s all, Rachel. Then you can lie down again.”

With her thoughts on the Church and how welcome new blood would be, she stood up with her hand pressed against her abdomen and went out into the kitchen, confident in the belief that the Mother of God had meticulously chosen this moment to put her to the test. To let her know that her achings were but the touch of God’s hand. That her nausea was little else but the scorching sand of the desert. She was a disciple, and nothing physical could stand in the way of that.

That was the whole point.

And so she came out to greet him, her pale face wearing a smile, and asked him to sit down and accept the gifts of the Lord.

He had been to Levring and Elsborg looking at cottages, he said from behind the steam rising from his coffee cup, and the day after tomorrow
or Monday he would drive to Ranstrup and Resen to see a couple more that seemed promising.

“Lord Jesus be praised!” Joshua exclaimed with an apologetic glance in her direction. She disliked him taking His name in vain.

“Resen, you say?” he went on. “That wouldn’t be on the way out toward Sjørup Plantation, would it? Theodor Bondesen’s place? If it is, I can make sure you pay a fair price. It’s been empty for eight months, at least. Longer, even.”

An odd look passed faintly over the man’s face. Joshua, of course, didn’t notice. But she did. It was out of place.

“Sjørup?” the man repeated, and his eyes darted about the room, looking for something to fix on. “I’m not sure. But I’ll be able to tell you more on Monday, once I’ve had a look at the place.” He was smiling now. “What have you done with the children? Doing homework, I suppose?”

She nodded. He seemed to be uncommunicative somehow. Had she misjudged him? “Where are you staying now?” She wanted a straight answer. “Have you got somewhere in Viborg?”

“Yeah, with a former colleague of mine in the town center. We were reps together a few years back. He’s on a pension now because of ill health.”

“I see. Worn out, like so many these days?” she asked, catching his attention.

His eyes were kind again. It took a while, but perhaps he was just reticent by nature. That wouldn’t necessarily be a bad thing.

“Worn out? No, though it would have been preferable. Charles lost his arm in a road accident.”

He indicated the point of severance with the edge of his hand. Painful memories. He assessed her expression, then lowered his gaze. “A dreadful business, but he does all right for himself.”

Then suddenly he raised his head. “Oh, by the way! There’s a karate tournament going on in Vinderup the day after tomorrow. I was thinking perhaps I might ask Samuel if he’d like to come along. Or would it be too
soon with that knee of his? He didn’t break anything when he fell off those steps, did he?”

She smiled and glanced across the table at her husband. This was just the kind of care and feeling on which their Church was founded. Take the hand of thy neighbor and caress it with love, as their pastor always said.

“No, nothing broken,” her husband replied. “His knee’s swollen as thick as his thigh, but he’ll be right as rain again in a couple of weeks. Vinderup, you say? I didn’t know there was anything going on there.” He stroked his chin. She could see he would pursue the matter presently. “We could see what Samuel says. What do you think, Rachel?”

She nodded. As long as they were back before the hour of rest it was fine by her. Perhaps he could take the other children along, too, if they wanted?

His expression became suddenly apologetic. “Well, I’d like to, of course, but I’m afraid there’s only room for three on the front seat of the van, and it’s against the law to take passengers in the back. But I’d be more than happy to take two of them along. The others could have their turn later, perhaps. What about Magdalena, would she like that, do you think? She seems like such an energetic young girl, and very attached to Samuel.”

She smiled, her husband likewise. It was a fine observation, and so nice of him to ask. It felt almost like there was some special bond between them already. As though he knew how close to her heart the two of them had always been. Samuel and Magdalena. The two children who resembled her most.

“Well, I think that sounds marvelous, don’t you, Joshua?”

“Indeed!” Joshua agreed. As long as no difficulty arose, he was easy enough to please.

She patted the hand of their guest that was placed flat against the table. And found it oddly cold to the touch.

“I’m sure Samuel and Magdalena would love to go,” she said. “What time should they be ready?”

He pursed his lips and gauged the journey. “Well, the competition starts at eleven, so how about if I pick them up here at ten?”

After he had gone, the peace of God descended upon the house. He had drunk their coffee and afterward he had taken the cups from the table and rinsed them at the sink as though it were the most natural thing in the world. He had smiled and thanked them for their hospitality. And said how much he looked forward to seeing them again.

Her abdomen was aching still, but the nausea had gone.

Charity was such a wonderful thing. Perhaps the greatest of all God’s gifts to man.

“It’s not good at
all, Carl,” said Assad.

Carl had no idea what he was on about. One two-minute story on DR.’s Update channel about green bailouts to the tune of trillions and he was off in the land of nod.

“What’s not good, Assad?” he heard himself say, from miles away.

“I have looked everywhere and now I am able to say with certainty that no incident of attempted kidnapping was reported at anytime in that place. Not for as long as any road called Lautrupvang has existed in Ballerup.”