Bogman (15 page)

“She must have married money both times,” said Tobias.

“That’s sexist,” said Katrine. “She might have earned the money herself. Seventy per cent of women in Denmark work.” She glanced around as they waited at the oak and glass-pannelled front door. “I wouldn’t mind living here.”
 

“You’ll have to marry a rich man, then,” said Tobias. “And that’s not sexist. I know what a detective earns.” He straightened his cuffs and grinned at Katrine.
 

A thin, smartly dressed blonde with dark eyes opened the door. Her face was matt smooth, her hair shone. Her coral lipstick exactly matched her shirt. Those immaculately manicured hands never did a day’s work, thought Tobias. Mrs thirty per cent.
 

“Mrs Thomsen?” he said.

The woman nodded. “I’m Astrid Thomsen.”

“I am Chief Inspector Lange and this is Inspector Skaarup. We are trying to contact Emily Rasmussen.”
 

Astrid Thomsen’s hand flew to her mouth.
 

“I understand that she’s your daughter,” said Tobias.

 
“What has she done? Has she been in some protest? Why do you want to speak to her?”
 

“We think she can help us with an investigation,” said Tobias.

“What kind of investigation?”
 

“A murder investigation,” said Tobias.
 

The colour drained from Astrid Thomsen’s face. Tobias thought she was going to faint. He put out his arm to catch her. She clutched at it, steadied herself and said in a hoarse whisper, “Has something happened to Emily?”
 

“We have no reason to think so,” said Tobias. “We would just like to speak to her. Do you know where she lives?”

Astrid Thomsen shook her head slowly. “I wish I did.” She hesitated. “You’d better come in.”
 

The house smelled of lavender and beeswax with a hint of cigarette smoke. The rugs in the vast sitting-room were thick and silky. The sofas were deep and soft. Katrine had never seen such a luxurious interior.

“Take a seat,” said Astrid.
 

Katrine and Tobias perched on the edge of a sofa to avoid sinking into it. Astrid stood pulling at the sleeve of her silk shirt. She picked up a packet of cigarettes and a silver lighter from the coffee table. Her hand trembled as she lit a cigarette. She inhaled deeply before offering the packet to Tobias and Katrine. “Do you smoke?”

They shook their heads.
 

“I haven’t seen Emily for nearly fourteen years,” she said. ”It eats me up, not knowing where she is.” She drew nervously on her cigarette. “She sends me an email, once a year, on 12th April. I always reply, begging, pleading with her to get in touch, but she never answers. I sent her this address. We were living somewhere else when…..” Her mouth trembled. “It’s been thirteen years and seven months since I saw her, or heard her voice.”
 

“Why the 12th April?” asked Tobias.

“It’s the anniversary of my first husband’s death,” said Mrs Thomsen. “And Emily won’t let me forget it.” She ground her cigarette into an ashtray. “Wait here.” She hurried out of the room. Minutes later, she returned carrying a box file. “All I have of Emily is in here.” She sat down and cradled the box.
 

Katrine waited a moment before saying, “Do you have a photograph of Emily?”

“I have plenty,” said Astrid. “And I have not enough.” She opened the box and spread its contents on a glass table. Photographs, papers, a pink ribbon, a brown velvet rabbit, a necklace of red beads. Astrid touched the rabbit, almost surreptitiously, before she picked out a photograph and gave to Tobias. It showed Astrid with a blonde teenager - a younger version of herself, but with a stronger jaw line - sheltering under a golf umbrella on a beach near the water’s edge. They were both smiling.
 
The wind crumpled the sea behind them. The girl had her hand up to stop strands of hair blowing across her face.
 

“That was at Skagen,” said Astrid. “We went there for Emily’s 21st birthday. Just her and me. She loved the seaside. We asked a tourist to take the photograph.”
 

“What’s her date of birth?” asked Katrine. “And we need a photograph of Emily. Can we keep this one? We will have it copied and sent back to you.”
 

Astrid shook her head. “That’s my favourite.” She selected another photograph from the box. “You can have this one instead.” It was a head and shoulders photograph and looked as though it had been shot professionally in a studio. “Emily was born on 23rd March 1976. This was taken on her eighteenth birthday. Three weeks before her father died.” She handed the photograph to Katrine and lifted a sheaf of papers from the table.

“These are print-outs of the emails she sent me. They’re all the same, except for the first one.”
 

She gave the pages to Tobias. They were fastened together with a paper clip. The most recent one was on the top.
 

“Hello Mum. I’m thinking about Dad and you and the wonderful life we had together.”
 

Tobias leafed through the emails. They were exactly the same, except for one dated 24th September 1998.

“Dear Mum, I’m going away with Lennart. It’s for the best. Sorry for all that’s happened. I love you, Emily : ((“

“That’s the first one she sent me. Just after she went away,” said Astrid. “I thought the colon and brackets were a typing error but my husband said they meant something.”

“They’re an emoticon,” said Katrine. “Meaning sad, very sad.”

Astrid began to cry. Katrine hunted in her pockets for a tissue. Tobias produced a neatly folded, clean white cotton handkerchief and handed it to Astrid. She dried her eyes, sniffed, and composed herself.
 

“Thanks.” She moved to give the handkerchief back to Tobias. He shook his head.
 

“Keep it. I have another.”

“I’m sorry,” said Astrid. “It just brings it all back to me. It was a horrible time. Completely horrible.” She twisted the edge of the handkerchief. “Emily said unspeakable things about my husband. They were all lies. Terrible lies. The police said so.”

“The police?”

“They came to the house and they took away his computer and his laptop.” She paused and took a deep breath. “Emily told the police he had pornography on it.”

Katrine exchanged a puzzled glance with Tobias. “Pornography is not illegal in Denmark,” she said.

“That kind is,” said Astrid. “The kind Emily accused him of having.”

“Can you be more specific, Mrs Thomsen?” said Tobias.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” said Astrid. “It distresses me even to remember it. Anyway it wasn’t true. The police said so. It was a wicked thing to accuse him of. Wicked. They arrested Marcus and took his laptop.” She beat her fists together. Her shoulders shook. “And there was nothing on it,” she shouted. “No pornography. Just his business stuff.” She grabbed another cigarette and lit it. “I was so angry with Emily.” She jumped to her feet and began pacing the room, alternately puffing and waving her cigarette about. “We had a terrible argument. The police were going to charge her with wasting their time, but Marcus persuaded them not to. He said Emily was disturbed and possessive about me. He was kind and tolerant to her. She was horrible to him. She made those dreadful accusations. And he made excuses for her. And what thanks did he get? Not a word. It was the same when she and her friends were protesting about the golf club. Marcus persuaded the owner not to charge Emily with criminal damage. Even when she drove a mechanical digger into a wall.” Astrid collapsed into an armchair.

Tobias remembered his golf day with Norbert. The day Bogman was found. Hadn’t Norbert said something about green activists and a digger being driven into a wall at Skovlynd? Was that Emily?
 

“Do you mean the clubhouse at Skovlynd?” he said. “Owned by Kurt Malling?”

Astrid nodded. “Emily and her boyfriend said it was the habitat of some rare otter or something.” She shook her head wearily.
 

“Where was Emily living?” asked Katrine.

“In our house in Skanderborg. She had her own room and study. But she didn’t like it when Marcus moved in. It was only for a short time. Until this house was built. A year, maybe a bit longer. But she spent more and more time with her boyfriend. They were always travelling and protesting. Here, there and everywhere.” She waved her cigarette dismissively. “Sweden, Estonia, Germany, you name it. He had some kind of mobile home.” Astrid gave a little shudder.

“What was his name?” asked Tobias.

“Lennart. I thought he was quite a nice boy when I first met him, despite his being left-wing and always protesting about something. Marcus thought he was a bad influence on Emily. It turned out he was right. Emily put off going to university. She had this ridiculous idea that she could make a living as a musician.” Astrid jumped up and began to pace the room again, sucking on her cigarette. She swirled around to face Tobias and Katrine. “Why exactly do you want to speak to Emily?”

“We found the remains of a young man at Roligmose,” said Tobias. “We traced a bracelet found with the remains to a jewellery designer in Sweden. She told us the bracelet was ordered and paid for by your daughter.”

Astrid went rigid. “What happened to him? How did he die?”

“We think he was murdered,” said Tobias.

Astrid gasped. “Why was he murdered? Was it about drugs?”

““We are trying to find out,” said Tobias. “We hoped Emily could tell us if he had any enemies. If anyone had a motive for killing him.”

“What was his surname?” asked Katrine.
 

Astrid put her hands to her temple and shut her eyes in concentration. She opened her eyes and shook her head. “I can’t remember. I don’t know if I ever knew it. I only met him a few times. Emily told me his mother was a drug addict. She was banned from Christiana for selling hard drugs. Imagine. She died when Lennart was young. I don’t think he ever knew his father. I felt sorry for him. But Marcus thought he was after Emily’s money.”

“Emily had money?”

“Her father, my first husband, wrote jingles for advertisements and was very successful. Emily will inherit his money when I’m gone. Maybe she’ll come back to Denmark then,” she added bitterly. “When I’m cold and in my grave.”

“You say ‘come back to Denmark,’” said Katrine. “Do you think she is in another country?”

“I know she is,” said Astrid. “She’s in Sweden. It says so on her Facebook page.”

“When did you find out she had a Facebook page?” asked Katrine.

“Last week.” Astrid brightened. “It made her seems closer somehow. I know that’s absurd. But it gives me hope.”
 

“How did you find out?”

“A young friend suggested it. I don’t know about that sort of thing. I don’t do much on the computer, except receive and send emails.”

“Have you tried to contact Emily through Facebook?” asked Katrine.
 

“I asked my friend to help me. She said the way the page was set up meant I couldn’t send Emily a message.”
 

The door opened and a broad-shouldered, balding man in a well-cut business suit came in. “I saw you had visitors,” he said. “I hope I’m not interrupting something.”

“My husband, Marcus. Back from Stockholm,” said Astrid. She jumped up to greet him. “How was it?”

“Fine, fine.” He kissed his wife on the cheek and shook hands with Tobias and Katrine.

“Our visitors are from the police,” said Astrid. “Chief Inspector Lange and Inspector Skaarup.” She took her husband’s hand. “They’ve been asking about Emily.”

He stiffened. “What has she done?” He patted his wife’s hand. “Don’t get upset. We’ll sort it out whatever it is.” He sighed. “Tell me what she’s done.”

“Nothing,” said Astrid. “She’s done nothing.

“We’d like to speak to her,” said Tobias.

“So would we,” said Marcus. “Do you know where she is?”

“We were hoping Mrs Thomsen could tell us,” said Tobias.
 

“We’ve had no contact with Emily for a long time,” said Marcus. “Apart from an email once a year. But we don’t give up hope, do we, darling?” He patted Astrid’s hand again. “Why do you want to speak to Emily?”

“We’re believe a body discovered in a bog at Roligmose is that of Emily’s former boyfriend,” said Tobias. “His first name is Lennart. We were hoping Emily could tell us his second name so that we can inform his next of kin.” And find out who murdered him, he added silently to himself.
 

“That’s terrible,” said Marcus. “I can’t say I liked him. I thought him a bad influence on Emily. But all the same…” He shook his head. “What happened to him?”

“He was murdered,” said Tobias. “Beaten to death.”
 

Astrid gasped and hid her face in her husband’s shoulder.

“My wife’s upset,” said Marcus. “This is a great shock to her. She’s naturally worried about Emily.”
 

“Just one or two more questions,” said Katrine quickly. “I understand Emily is on Facebook.”
 

“I don’t know much about that kind of thing,” said Marcus. “The daughter of a friend said Emily might have a Face page or whatever it’s called.”

Astrid raised her head. “Sofie was a great help.”
 

“Sofie?” Tobias had spoken before he realised it.

“Sofie Fisker,” said Astrid. “Marcus plays golf with her father.”
 

Tobias was briefly flummoxed. Katrine voiced the question he was about to ask.
 

“Was Sofie friendly with Emily?”
 

“Not really,” said Astrid. “But she knows how much I’d like to find her. She was trying to help. I’m grateful for that.”

“But you discovered you couldn’t contact Emily via Facebook,” said Katrine.
 

“Sofie said Emily had arranged it so that no one could contact her unless she asked them to.”
 

“You’re certain it’s Emily’s Facebook page? I assume you recognised the photograph,” said Katrine.