Farewell to Freedom (44 page)

“He had a car waiting on the other side, and we were standing on Valdemarsgade at that time,” Louise calculated, looking over at Stig, who was clicking the pen he was holding in his hand. There was a half-empty cola on the table in front of him, even though it wasn't even 9
A
.
M
. yet. He might have slept even less than she had. He had stayed behind in Sweden so that he would be available to the Swedish police during the first few hectic days of the investigation. They had found the pastor's computer and the letter he'd written to them but had not had a chance to send.

Everything matched what Camilla had repeated to their Swedish counterparts and again out at National Hospital. It had also been confirmed that Baby Girl was Tereza's daughter. The baby was still at Skodsborg Orphanage, and Toft had brought the mother out there that same afternoon so she could sign the necessary paperwork, now that they had the mother's permission for the baby to be put up for adoption.

“What about the father?” Louise asked, her eyes drifting over toward her partner.

“Bosko,” he said. “The first time she met him, he raped her in a little apartment in Malmö. After that, he forced her to work until a week before she gave birth. He sent her to Denmark the day before the birth, and she stayed in the apartment out at Enghave Square. MiloÅ¡ Vituk was with her when she gave birth, and he was also the one who immediately took the baby and left it in the church.”

Louise sighed and then took a deep breath when Toft added that the little stillborn baby boy had been born in Malmö. The mother didn't know what had happened to him after Bosko's men had taken him.

Frandsen didn't knock before he walked in and quickly greeted everyone around the table.

“Bosko was in the church,” he began without any introductions. “We also have evidence that he was at the crime scenes in Kødbyen and in the courtyard off Sønder Boulevard, but there are no traces of MiloÅ¡ Vituk at these locations.”

Frandsen looked over at Willumsen, who just nodded.

“The three bullets that hit the sexton were not fired from the same weapon. The two bullets in his knees were fired from a pistol and match the casings from a Glock 9mm that our people found in the church, while the shot in the chest was fired from a revolver, which in all likelihood was identical to the Smith & Wesson you confiscated from MiloÅ¡ Vituk when he was arrested. And,” he continued, glancing around, “the pistol is the same as the one that shot and killed Henrik Holm up in Sweden, which occurred while MiloÅ¡ Vituk was in custody being questioned by you guys.”

He tossed his report onto the table in front of Willumsen and looked over toward the door when Igli knocked and stepped in.

The interpreter apologized and asked if he was interrupting.

Willumsen shook his head and waved him in.

“MiloÅ¡ Vituk still insists that he was responsible for all three shots even though he can't explain what happened to the other weapon,” Toft confirmed.

Igli stood against the wall, ready to distribute the copies he'd printed out of the numbers from MiloÅ¡'s “secret” phone. Once everyone had a copy, he cleared his throat.

“You're not going to get Bosko,” he said softly and sounded sure. “MiloÅ¡ Vituk will continue to claim that he was responsible for the whole thing and doesn't know anything about Bosko. In return he will be well looked after for the rest of his life. That's how it usually goes. I'm guessing that Bosko has already been back in Serbia for ages by now, and a man like him won't be caught there.”

Louise was lost in her own thoughts when Lars tapped her on the shoulder and pointed to the door, where Suhr had stuck his head in and waved for her to come out. She spotted Jakobsen behind him, looking all business with his silver-gray hair and a concerned cast to his eyes.

Out in the hallway, Suhr took her by the elbow and led her down to his office. The somber look in his eyes kept her from saying anything as he asked her to take a seat and pointed to a chair for the psychologist, who must have come straight over from National Hospital.

“We're going to have to talk about Jonas,” Suhr began once he'd taken his own seat behind the desk. “There's no reason to doubt the information the pastor gave us. According to the civilian registration database, there is no next of kin either in the pastor's family or that of his deceased wife.”

Louise nodded. That matched what Camilla had said Henrik had told her about his wife's death.

“That leaves Jonas Holm all alone. Without a family or any next of kin, we're going to have to concede that it will be darn near impossible for us to track down any potential biological family members in Bosnia, since no one knows his parents' identities.”

“I've talked to the boy a little.”

Jakobsen took over now, watching Louise with his clear, penetrating gaze.

“Jonas is still in a state of deep shock, but he did say that he was walking around at the edge of the woods gathering some kindling for the fire when his dad suddenly ran out of the house. Almost at the same time he heard a car door slam and the stranger came running along behind his dad. He crouched down and hid only a few meters from where his father was gunned down.”

Louise's throat constricted.

“I sat with him a long time last night,” Jakobsen continued. “This is a tough period he's going to have to make it through, and this trauma will be with him for a very long time. I tried to talk to him a little about the fact that—along with his input of course—we're going to have to find him a new family that he can live with.”

“How is that going to happen?” Louise asked, leaning forward.

Jakobsen looked at her, a serious expression on his face.

“Normally the social welfare authorities would find a foster family for him or maybe even a family that wants to adopt him. In his case, of course, they will have to keep in mind that it might be best if they live nearby so Jonas can keep going to the same school and stay in touch with his friends.”

“Normally,”
Louise repeated, watching Jakobsen. “What do you mean by
normally?”

Jakobsen folded his hands together in his lap and leaned back a little in the chair.

“In some cases, the child expresses a desire to live somewhere in particular,” Jakobsen said slowly. “And Jonas Holm would very much like to live with you.”

Louise stood up and turned away as Suhr took over.

“Do you even know this boy?” her boss asked.

Her eyes wandered to the window, watching a bird fly past before heading farther up into the sky, where there was no limit to how far it could go.

Then she nodded.

“It's a very big responsibility, and no one expects you to.…”

He hadn't finished when Louise spun around and walked out of the office.

Once out the front door, she started walking down the street, heading away from HQ. Her thoughts were racing. Finally she sat down on a concrete wall and looked over at the main library and Iceland Quay across the water. She watched the bicycles zoom past and a few boats sail by. She concentrated, recalling that fortuneteller who had once very convincingly told her that when a woman has a child, it was because the child had chosen her to be its mother. Now Louise's number seemed to have come up—chosen by a big, eleven-year-old boy.

Life sure is weird
, she thought as she got up and started walking again.

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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Copyright © 2010 by Sara Blaedel

Translation copyright © 2012 by Erik J. Macki and Tara F. Chace

Interior design by Maria Fernandez

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