Bogman (23 page)

“We found a passport in the name of Corazon Girlie Sanchez,” said Katrine.
 

Irene cried, “Oh, no. I was afraid it was Girlie. I left my phone here last night. I found it on the desk on this morning. I saw she’d sent me a message. A photo.” She picked up a phone from the desk and handed it to Katrine. “Look at that.”

Katrine saw the blurred, headless, image of a bulky male shape in a black sweater and trousers. The photo was timed at five minutes past nine the previous evening. She passed the phone to Eddy.

“I told Girlie she could call me any time. But when she called, I didn’t have my phone,” said Irene. “I feel terrible. I let her down. I was laughing my head off at the cinema when she needed me.” Her eyes filled with tears. “If only I’d had my phone.”

“You wouldn’t have known what this was,” Eddy was looking at the photo, thinking it didn’t tell him much.
 

“Did you know her mobile number?”

Irene shook her head. “But I would have guessed it was Girlie.” She pulled a tissue from a box on the desk and mopped her eyes.
 

“You’d have thought it was a mistake,” said Eddy. “The kind that happens when people press a button by accident. I’m going to need this photo, OK?” He forwarded the image to his own phone. Then he wrote the number of Girlie’s phone in his notebook.

“I might have called her,” said Irene. She blew her nose.
 

 
“You’d have been too late,” said Eddy. Had a phone been found at the scene? He didn’t think so. “There can only have been a couple of minutes, maybe less, between her sending this and hitting the ground.”
 

Irene winced.
 

“Why did you tell Girlie she could call you?” asked Katrine. “Why did she come to you? Was her husband beating her up?”

“Her husband’s in Manila,” said Irene. “They have three children. Girlie was sending money back.”

“Money earned as a prostitute,” said Eddy.
 

“She was desperate,” said Irene. “She didn’t want to be a sex worker. She answered an advertisement in the Philippines for a job at the UNICEF Depot in Copenhagen. It was a scam. She paid over all her savings to fly here. The job didn’t exist. She applied for asylum. She’d no chance of getting it, and she knew that. She met someone who said she could get work here. It was sex work, of course.”
 

 
“So it was a client who beat her up,” said Katrine.
 

Irene nodded. “I told her to tell the police. She wanted to know if she reported the assault, would it help her request for asylum. I said it was unlikely. I offered to find her a place in a refuge but she said she needed to work to send money home. She told me she’d been to the hospital but I could see she was in pain every time she moved. She could barely see out of one eye. She was frightened as well. I gave her my number and told her she could call me anytime. What else could I do?”
 

“If you’d reported her to Immigration, she might still be alive,” said Eddy.

“That’s not our policy,” said Irene, holding her head up. The colour returned to her cheeks. “Our service is confidential. If we reported people they’d never come to us.”

“What did she tell you about the man who attacked her?”
 

“Not much,” said Irene. “He picked her up down by the harbour. They went back to one of the flats she and other girls used for clients. It’s in one of the blocks here. She didn’t tell me where it was exactly. Maybe it was the one she fell from. I don’t know. The client called himself Jon. They all do, apparently.”

“What age was he?”
 

“She wasn’t sure. She thought he was thirty at least, maybe older. But we were speaking English. She had very little Danish and her English wasn’t that good either. I got her to fill out a form.” She opened a drawer in one of the filing cabinets, leafed through a folder and pulled out a single sheet of paper. She gave it to Katrine.

Only six answers, on what was obviously a standard questionnaire, had been filled in: Name, Girlie; age 26; country of origin, The Philippines; Married; immigration status, not divulged.

“Girlie told me another sex worker was attacked five months ago,” said Irene. “She said all the working girls were nervous afterwards. The girl who was attacked was from Thailand. She didn’t go to the police. Girlie said she went to Copenhagen.”

“Do you know the Thai girl’s name?”

Irene shook her head.

“Girlie never came back,” she said. “Do you think she fell over the balcony when she was trying to get away from this man?”
 

Katrine imagined the scene. Girlie opening the door to a client, recognising him as the man who’d attacked her. Backing away. Trying to make a call for help. His cry of rage as he realised what she was doing, his bull-like charge at her, the phone flying from Girlie’s hand.
 

“We think he pushed her,” she said. “This is a murder enquiry.”
 

35.

Tobias made himself a cup of coffee and switched his mind to work.
 

Two murders; two people who seemed to have vanished from Denmark, if not from the world; two sets of human bones which had materialised in rubbish bins in the city. He would leave Eddy to run the Girlie investigation. He would concentrate on Bogman. Katrine could assist them both. And the bones? The bones could wait until carbon dating told him how old they were.
 

He was sure Agnes had called or texted Magnus with the urgent request to contact him about Aksel. He trusted his daughter. He didn’t trust Magnus. On the two occasions they’d met, Magnus, in various subtle ways, had shown his disdain for the police. He would drive to the protest camp and find Magnus. The cadaver dog was going to Roligmose. He could stop there as well. See if the dog had sniffed out anything. The wind-farm protest was in North Jutland Police District, where Pernille Madsen was based. He called her from the car, before he set off.
 

“The Wind Farm protest? We keep an eye on it,” said Pernille. “They haven’t caused any trouble so far. A patrol car drives up there from time to time.” She gave Tobias the co-ordinates for the camp. “Why the interest? Anything I should know?”

“We’re trying to trace a missing girl. Emily Rasmussen. She was the girlfriend of the victim we found in the bog. She was active in the green movement. They both were. There’s a guy up at that camp who knew her. He might know where she is.”

“I saw her details on our system. I saw the television reports as well. You were looking good, Tobias.”

“Thanks.” Tobias wondered how Pernille looked these days.
She sounded just the same.

“So you identified your Bogman,” said Pernille. “And now you’re looking for his girlfriend.”
 

“She’s an elusive girl,” said Tobias.
 

“Are you sure she’s alive?”
 

“We’re not sure about anything,” said Tobias. “But she sends emails. We’re waiting to hear where they’re sent from.”

“Thanks for your email about Bruno Holst. You closed that case. Well done.”

“Thanks. What about you? You were working on an assault last time we spoke.”

“Plus two burglaries and a domestic. We’re at least one detective short.”

“Cuts? Same here. There’s a team on round-the-clock watch on the gang we’re pretty sure did the Danske bank raid. Plus we’ve a detective on sick leave.”

Tobias switched on his satnav and began entering the co-ordinates of the camp.
 

 
“The assault is taking most of my time,” said Pernille. “The perpetrator is a nasty piece of work. I want to nail him and put him away for a long time. He gagged a sex worker with her own panties and nearly beat her to death. We have DNA and a thumbprint but it doesn’t match any known offenders.”

“Good luck,” said Tobias.

“You too,” said Pernille.
 

She switched her attention back to the report on the dead prostitute who had been found at Lonstrup. The prostitute who had been dumped in the sea at Hamburg. She had a feeling this case was connected to the cases the profiler, Matt Erikson, had found. She read the autopsy report closely. And there it was. The giveaway detail she thought might be there. Traces of silky threads found in the victim’s teeth. Gagged with her own panties. She drummed on the desk with satisfaction. “You bastard. I’ll get you yet,” she said.
 

36.

A weather front was rolling in from the west when Tobias reached the forest track leading to the camp. “Save Our Trees: Say No to Turbines” proclaimed the banner strung across the track. Tobias drove underneath it and followed the track for a kilometre until it reached a clearing the size and shape of a football pitch. It seemed to Tobias that trees had already been chopped down to make space for the turbines. Logs were stacked in rows along all four sides of the clearing. Two canvas tents and a wigwam constructed from woven branches stood on the south side, sheltered from the prevailing wind. A wisp of smoke rose from a hole in the ground outside one of the tents. Tobias parked the car and got out. There was no sign of anybody. He walked towards the tents.
 

A girl with abundant blonde hair emerged from one of the tents. She was wearing green dungarees and hiking boots and carrying a large coffee percolator. She looked relaxed.
 

“Have you brought the charcoal?” She crouched over the hole in the ground, moved a metal cooking rack to one side, picked up a stick and poked at a smouldering charcoal fire. “We’re running low.” She pushed the rack back into place and put the percolator on it.
 

“I’m not here about charcoal,” said Tobias. “I’m looking for Aksel.”
 

The girl stood up. Her expression changed. “Who are you? Why are you looking for him? Anyway, he’s not here.”
 

 
Tobias produced his ID.

“This is a peaceful protest,” said the blonde. “We’re not breaking the law.”
 

“I’m not here about your protest either,” said Tobias. “I want to speak to Aksel about another matter. Can you tell me where to find him?”

She shrugged. “He comes and goes. I don’t know where he is.”
 

There was the sound of a vehicle coming up the track. A dark blue van turned into the clearing and stopped. A slim figure with long dark hair, and wearing khaki trousers and a camouflage jacket jumped out. It was Magnus. He strode towards Tobias and the girl.

“If you’re looking for Agnes, she isn’t here, Chief Inspector,” he said. “Is something wrong?”

“Didn’t you get her message? She asked you to call me.”

Magnus addressed the girl. “I got charcoal. It’s in the back of the van.” It was clear he intended her to fetch it. She went obediently to the van. Magnus watched her go. He tossed his hair back.
 

“Why do you want to speak to Aksel?”
 

“I’m investigating a murder,” said Tobias. “He might know the whereabouts of an essential witness.”

“I don’t know where he is,” said Magnus.
 

“But you know him?”

Magnus said nothing. He stroked his beard.

“You’ve been seen together,” said Tobias. It was a shot in the dark.
 

“I might have known you’d be snooping on me,” said Magnus.
 

Tobias felt like telling Magnus he was not important enough to be snooped on, but merely said,

“Where can I find him?”

Magnus shrugged. “He’s not here. He could be in Aarhus. He could be in Copenhagen. He could be in Sweden. He hasn’t been here for a while.”

Nor have many other protesters, thought Tobias. It seemed to him a feeble sort of protest. The turbines would probably win. He felt a pang of sympathy for Agnes. She would be disappointed.

The blonde girl came back carrying a large bag of charcoal. She dumped it beside the fire.
 

“Who is Agnes?” she said.

“Agnes is a green warrior,” said Magnus. He looked uncomfortable. Tobias wanted to punch him.
 

An ancient bus lumbered into the clearing and stopped. Five young people dismounted, chatting and laughing. They dropped rucksacks beside the bus and headed towards the fire. Tobias guessed they were students. One of them called out, “Any coffee on the go? We’ve come all the way from Esbjerg.”
 

The atmosphere lightened. The blonde girl said, “You’re welcome. Coffee will be ready soon.”
 

Tobias showed his ID to the group. “I’m looking for Aksel,” he said. “It’s not connected to this protest.”

“Aksel who?” said a red-haired girl.

“I’m not sure of his second name,” said Tobias. “It might be Schmidt.”

“Where’s he from?”

Tobias said he didn’t know that either.
 

“You don’t know much,” said the red-haired girl. The rest of the group laughed.

“I wish I knew more,” said Tobias. “Because I think he can help me solve a murder.”
 

The group fell silent.
 

“A young man, a green activist, was murdered in a bog at Roligmose fourteen years ago,” said Tobias.
 

“I saw something about that on television,” said a skinny boy in the Esbjerg group.
 

“His girlfriend hasn’t been seen since,” said Tobias. “Aksel knew her. I think he might know where she is.”

There was a general shrugging and mutterings of “Don’t know him. Can’t help you.”
 

The percolator bubbled and gurgled. “Get yourselves mugs,” said Magnus.

The students drifted towards the rucksacks. Magnus went into the wigwam.
 

“Aksel’s in Aarhus,” said the blonde girl quickly. “In Brabrand. The Gellerup part. First floor, end of a block near City Vest.”
 

Magnus emerged from the wigwam with two mugs.
 

“I’ll be off then,” said Tobias.

He looked back when he got to his car. The students were drinking coffee and laughing again. Magnus and the blonde girl appeared to be having an argument.