The Killing 3 (18 page)

He didn’t like that.

‘We did everything by the book. Those sailors said they found the kid in the harbour. The autopsy I got back from Copenhagen said it was suicide. I don’t know where you got this new
one . . .’

‘The pathologist wanted us to see it,’ Brix broke in. ‘We found it next to her body. He’d cut her throat. Schultz . . .’

‘I read about that,’ Overgaard said in a voice close to a whisper.

‘He appears to be interested in those familiar with the case.’ Brix’s mouth made an approximation of a smile. ‘Like you.’

Madsen came back with the answer to Lund’s query scribbled on a pad.

‘If you feel vulnerable,’ Lund said, ‘we could offer you protection. A little help would be appreciated in return.’

A nervous laugh. Overgaard got up.

‘No. I’m going down to the Police Association to cheat at cards. No one’s interested in me.’

‘Sit down,’ Lund said.

He looked scared.

‘Sit down,’ she repeated.

The sudden, false good humour was gone.

‘What is it now?’

She showed him the note. A flight number.

‘Why are you in such a hurry to leave Denmark? You booked a flight to Bangkok today. It leaves just before midnight. You’re not going to the Police Association to play cards.
You’re running away.’ Lund put her arms on the desk. ‘Why is that? Who are you afraid of?’

‘Did somebody make it illegal to travel?’ Overgaard demanded.

‘Straight after the Hjelby case was closed you retired and moved to Copenhagen. You live on your own. You don’t know anyone here.’

Something in his eyes then. Resignation. Naked fear.

‘Stress. They gave me a pension. I wanted to be in the city. That’s all there is to it. Shit! I came here voluntarily. I told you all I could. I’m going . . .’

He didn’t move. He was an old cop. He knew.

Brix nodded to one of the night team.

‘Reserve a cell for our colleague here. Remind him of his rights.’

‘What the . . . ?’ Overgaard began.

‘We’ve reason to suspect you’re withholding important information,’ Brix went on. ‘I’ve a nine-year-old girl out there who could be dead tomorrow. If you know
anything—’

‘I don’t!’ the old cop screamed. ‘Nothing. I’ve got a plane to catch. Let . . . me . . . go!’

Madsen came in with a couple more men and took him away.

‘Go home, Lund,’ Brix ordered. ‘Get some sleep. Keep the phone close by.’

She’d been thinking, dreaming for a moment.

‘This man goes where he likes. Does what he likes. Knows what’s coming next.’

‘True,’ he agreed.

‘Borch thought he was wearing body armour when he was at the hospital. He’s got a handle on computers. Security systems. Weapons for all we know . . .’

‘Lund. Go home.’

She didn’t move.

‘He’s winning, Brix. He knows where he’s going next. And we don’t have a clue.’

He picked up Emilie’s phone from the desk. Then her car keys. Held the things until she took them.

Maja Zeuthen still hated the Zeuthen family home. Too easy to get lost. Too cold in places. Too many dark corners, hidden passages, rooms a family of four could never use.

But Emilie and Carl adored Drekar. They knew it better than she did. Loved playing hide and seek in the upper floors, burying themselves in dusty attics and storerooms, emerging filthy,
laughing, full of mischief. Once she found them climbing to the very top, saying they wanted to find grandad’s dragon and see through the creature’s eyes. After that she’d put the
upper storey out of bounds.

Still, it was the place they grew up. Part of their childhood. It was never going to be easy to drag them away to Carsten’s tiny bachelor flat in the city, make them happy there. It
wasn’t the size. Or even, mostly, that it was his place, not theirs. Something was missing. The love that initially joined them, mother and father, sister and brother. Tied to one another by
the magic that was family.

She sat in the downstairs playroom going through their things, Carsten next to her, trying to help as best he could. Next door they could hear Robert and Reinhardt talking quietly about the
investigation. They were doing what they could. Robert had set him looking for any information Zeeland possessed about the Jutland case. There seemed little of note. The sailors’ papers were
in order. They were witnesses, never suspects.

Carsten sat muttering under his breath as she ran through some of Emilie’s scrapbooks, her photos, some poems.

Then Robert said, too loudly, ‘Check with the directors too. I want to make sure we’re not hiding anything.’

‘That’s it,’ Carsten snapped, got up and went to the door.

She didn’t follow. There’d been enough arguments. But she heard.

‘What are you hiding?’ Carsten yelled. ‘Is this all down to you and Zeeland?’

She could picture it now. Robert looking resentful. Reinhardt being the servant he was, walking to close the door.

‘Maja’s going crazy trying to find the smallest thing that could bring Emilie back. Is she looking in the wrong place, Robert?’

‘Carsten,’ she whispered. ‘For the love of God shut up . . .’

Loud footsteps. He’d walked into the room.

‘What’s happening? What have you done? It’s your stinking money that’s brought this down on our heads, isn’t it? Well? Will someone answer me?’

The door closed. Maybe Reinhardt had pushed him out. Carsten started hammering on it. He wasn’t an angry man by nature. If he was she would never have fallen lazily into his bed when the
marriage crumbled. But he sensed something now.

Maja looked at the hand-drawn page in front of her and thought: perhaps he’s got his reasons.

A photo of her and Robert looking younger and so happy, her head on his shoulder. Both smiling. Emilie had cut it into the shape of a heart. Drawn flowers and birds as a border. On the opposite
page four silhouettes. Mother, father, two children, hand in hand walking through a field full of childish, exaggerated daisies, a woodland, their own, behind.

A line of text above:
The Best.

A line of text below:
The Zeuthens – that is US!

Carsten was still ranting outside.

Her hand went to her mouth. She started to sob, to choke, to feel the tears run slowly down her cheeks.

Emilie was lost in the dark world beyond the meadow, past the giant flowers, through the bare forest. They all were.

Lund’s home was in a backstreet of Herlev, a suburb nine kilometres north of the city. Nothing special. The giant shape of the huge local hospital close by. A street of
low bungalows, none alike. Then her simple red wooden cottage. She’d moved in six months before, had yet to finish furnishing and decorating the place. The tiny garden was full of sickly
plants in pots green with algae. The wheelbarrow she’d picked up for pennies at the junkyard was still parked near the front door, now brimming over with rainwater.

Life would come back to the little garden somehow. Once there was the time.

She parked her car in the road as usual. Couldn’t stop thinking about what she’d said to Brix. This man was special. The way he knew things. His detailed preparation. He was no
ordinary sailor out for revenge.

Then she thought about Mathias Borch. There was a good professional reason to call him.

Before he could say much she cut in.

‘Did you hear we picked up the old police chief from there? Nicolaj Overgaard?’

He laughed. Sounded nicer now he was distant. Younger too.

‘Yeah. I went to the local police station here. They were really impressed by that. He was quite a popular guy.’

‘He knows something. I’m sure. I’ll give him a hard time tomorrow.’

A sudden noise. She wondered what it was. Then realized: a ship’s horn blaring down the line.

‘Where are you?’

‘Down the harbour. I wanted to see where they found the body. Do you think KPS could be a company that’s closed or something?’

‘Could be,’ she agreed.

He went quiet. She thought she’d lost him.

‘Sarah? Are you OK?’

‘Long day. I didn’t do too well, did I?’

‘None of us did. It went the way he planned. We weren’t to know. You were good.’

‘Don’t be ridiculous.’

He paused again. Then said, ‘I’ve got to go now. I just wanted to say . . . I understand why you didn’t shoot.’

‘Good. Maybe I didn’t use the right words. I can’t find them sometimes. You should know that.’

She was sure he giggled then.

‘Should I? Remember when we went to the beach and you left me there? Just drove off and abandoned me. You found the words you wanted then.’

Lund didn’t answer. There was a light on in the house and suddenly she wasn’t thinking about Borch at all. Just a man smart enough to take body armour with him when he needed it, and
stay ten steps ahead of everyone chasing him.

‘Sarah? Hello?’

She put the phone in her jacket. Reached into the glove compartment. Took out the nine-mill pistol.

Walked slowly, warily to the front door.

Pushed at it. Open. The sound of someone moving inside.

One living room. Two bedrooms off. A tiny kitchen. A bathroom so small it might have been in one of the camper vans they’d been looking at.

Gun down by her side Lund walked into her home, saw the shape come out of the shadows. Lifted the weapon, finger tight on trigger.

Looked.

Long fair hair. Mouth wide open. Shrieking.

Screaming
.

‘Oh,’ Lund said and dropped the gun.

Eva Lauersen stood holding on to the nearest chair, the shabbiest, clutching at her bulging stomach.

‘Sorry,’ Lund said.

‘Owwww . . .’

She was doubled over as far as the bump would let her. Lund started praying . . .
not now, not now, please God . . . not now.

‘Sit down, Eva.’

Lund placed the handgun on the small dining table, came over and helped her into the chair.

‘Deep breaths,’ she urged. ‘All the way down to the stomach.’

Eva looked younger even than Mark then. She wore a long-sleeved grey jumper flecked with paint stains. A tatty old sweatshirt underneath.

‘I tried to call,’ she whimpered, giving Lund a scared look. ‘You said we could just turn up. You told us where the key was.’

‘I said I’m sorry.’

‘You had a gun!’

Lund nodded.

‘Where’s Mark?’

She was getting her breath back. Older than her son. But younger in some ways too. Nice, charming. Maybe not so bright.

‘I think it must be the hormones,’ Eva said. ‘Just . . .’ Her arms waved. ‘Pumping through my body. I go a bit mad at times.’

‘Wait,’ Lund ordered and put on the kettle.

‘No let me!’

Eva jumped up, found the pot. Some teabags. Looked more at home in the kitchen than Lund would ever be.

‘We had a row. I shouted at him. I think he’s having second thoughts. I got upset. I couldn’t . . .’ She grimaced. ‘My mum and dad split up. They don’t live
here any more. I couldn’t think of anywhere else to go.’

Lund made her sit down and took over. She could at least make tea.

‘Does Mark know where you are?’

Hands on belly, eyes on the threadbare carpet.

‘I left a message but he hasn’t called.’

‘That doesn’t mean he’s having second thoughts, Eva.’

‘The flat’s a dump. We’ve got no money. This is all so stupid . . .’

Lund got the tea though she really wanted a beer.

‘Things will work out. When Mark finishes his apprenticeship he’ll earn more money.’

Eva’s big round eyes stared at her.

‘The company laid off all the apprentices three months ago. He’s driving a cab. All hours. He only touches my tummy if I ask him. He never . . .’

Lund had to ask.

‘The baby wasn’t planned?’

Eva looked at her as if that was the stupidest question she’d ever heard.

‘Mark was happy when it happened,’ she said quickly. ‘He said he wanted a real family more than anything. Because he’d never had one. He didn’t want to end up
alone. Like . . . like . . .’

The big blue eyes closed.

‘Oh crap. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. I’m just stupid . . .’

‘No you’re not,’ Lund insisted.

‘Should I leave?’

‘You’re staying here.’

Lund’s phone rang. Eva was staring at the gun.

‘Don’t touch,’ Lund said, and answered.

Borch again.

‘Are you OK? You just went.’

‘I’m fine. That bang on your head.’

‘It really hurts.’

‘Take some paracetamol.’

‘I did. It’s still bad. I think I’ve got whiplash.’

‘Whiplash?’

‘They say it can last for months. Maybe I need one of those neck collars . . .’

‘Oh poor Mathias. The pain. Think yourself lucky. At least you get spared childbirth.’

Eva was watching her, wide-eyed again, hand to her mouth.

‘You’ve got the reports I sent up from Jutland?’ he asked primly.

‘I took them home with me. Didn’t I say that?’

‘No. I put crosses against some passages. You might want to raise them with Nicolaj Overgaard in the morning.’

‘OK.’

‘I’m going to sleep now. If I can. Goodnight.’

And he was gone.

She fetched the reports from the car. When she got back Eva was still sitting upright in her chair like a schoolgirl waiting to be told what to do.

‘You look wiped out,’ Lund said. ‘Help yourself to some food. Anything. Take my bed. It’s all right. You’re welcome to stay as long as you want.’

For a moment she was worried Eva expected a kiss. But then she shrugged, said she wasn’t hungry and took herself off.

Lund weighed up Borch’s reports. Lots to go through. Hours.

She went to the sink, poured away the mug of tea. Got a bottle of beer out of the fridge and drank it while frying a couple of eggs.

Then she took another beer, the eggs, some bread and a couple of slices of ham to the table. Sat down and started to read.

Saturday 12th November

Just after nine Lund was back in the Politigården checking a report from the night team and some fresh information from Borch in Jutland. Juncker had gone out on the road
to chase potential locations.