Three Dog Night (34 page)

Her mother nodded.

‘We always took the dog with us. And enough bags and cool boxes of food for a whole week.'

‘But we had to be home by evening because the pigs had to be fed,' Kir said.

‘You children would always find lugworms and fish. You and Dad. And float off on lilos.'

Kir felt a wonderful tingle in her stomach. She was carried away by the memory and the rare warmth in her mother's voice.

‘We always argued for the first hour. Red wanted to decide everything and Tomas always had a cold. Dad let us do what we wanted. I hated putting worms on a fishing hook, but Tomas and Red loved it. Later we sat under a blanket when we were cold from being in the water. All of us together under the same blanket.'

Her mother nodded. Kir wondered if perhaps those days were all she had to hold on to as well. Memories of good family life, those few happy hours and the hope of more. The rare days in her life when everything seemed bright and happy had a meaning far beyond time and place. That was what cemented loyalty.

Kir thought of the cat, wondering how long the loyalty would last.

P
ETER COULD EASILY
see why people would spend hours in Rollo's Kennel.

The shop was an absolute paradise for any adult children into role playing. The owner himself looked like a fairy-tale character – a giant of a man, heavily muscled, but with a solid layer of fat over the top. He wore a long blue smock with a broad leather belt, brown leather trousers and a pair of equally worn boots. His hair was bright red, as was his long beard. His eyes sparkled and were the darkest blue you could ever see, until the blue changed into black.

‘Are you Rollo?'

‘At your service, kind sir,' bellowed a deep bass. ‘How may I tempt you?'

Peter and Felix looked around the dimly lit shop. A couple of teenage boys in a corner were testing out some very lifelike Viking swords. There were stacks of various games, all with fantasy motifs of dragons and knights or Vikings. There were also costumes and accessories for role play: capes, helmets, swords, knives, armour, chain mail, gloves, coins and leather purses. In another corner, posters displayed images of tattoos in the same style: dragons and orcs, Vikings and elves, and whatever else belonged to the world of role play. There was also a display cabinet with several rings and other gold and silver ornaments clearly meant for piercings in various parts of the body.

‘I'm a friend of Elisabeth Stevns, who came here yesterday for a tattoo. She said you'd had three women here to have lilies tattooed on their thighs, high up. Some time last spring.'

Rollo examined him closely, then shook his head as though someone had insulted his professional honour.

‘I thought it was a bloody funny place to have a tattoo. I told them I thought it was weird. Said they wouldn't get much out of it.'

He winked at Felix.

‘But then again, what do I know? The customer's always right, isn't that what they say?'

‘Can you describe them?'

‘The girls? Yes, easily. But who are you?'

At that moment Peter dearly wished he could have produced a police badge.

‘Did one of them look like a boy, short with spiky black hair and a lot of piercings?' he asked instead. ‘And was the other one very Danish with long blonde hair?'

Rollo chewed on something in his mouth while watching them.

‘And was the third one sort of Russian, touch of Asian, with a broad face?' Peter continued.

Rollo nodded slowly.

‘It wasn't illegal. Everything was carried out in a clean, responsible way. Has anyone complained?'

Peter made a quick decision. Anna Bagger would probably be furious and so might Mark Bille, but he wasn't going to be put off by that.

‘The blonde was found dead in Grenå Harbour on New Year's Day. Strangled, with her hands tied behind her back. She had a fleur-de-lis on the inside of one thigh, with the same image branded over it.'

The shock effect was obvious. Rollo opened and closed his mouth as he stared at them.

‘
What?
'

Peter was about to repeat it, but Rollo stopped him.

‘No, no, I did hear you. But that's dreadful. She was such a nice girl. She was a bit worried that it was going to hurt.'

Felix had picked up a sword and was waving it around, testing it. It was made from a light material and completely harmless. All the items in the shop were toys of some kind.

‘Did they say why they wanted the tattoos? Or did you get an impression of the reason?'

Rollo shook his head, still struggling to digest Peter's information.

‘I'm not really sure. It was obviously something to unite them. A pact of some sort. The short girl was in charge.'

‘Did they mention a pact?'

Rollo scratched his beard.

‘Yes, because the blonde one especially needed persuading. The short one kept saying: “Remember we're better than them.”'

‘Do you know anything about branding with an iron?' Felix asked, putting the sword back.

He looked at them both with a serious expression.

‘It's hardcore. Some people also have horns surgically grafted on to their foreheads or hooks screwed into their skin so they can be suspended from the ceiling.'

He showed with his hand where potential hooks would be sited on Peter's back.

‘Some people get off on it.'

‘From the pain?' Felix asked.

Rollo nodded.

‘I think it's a kind of manhood test for boys who feel the need to prove something.'

‘A form of tribal ritual?' Peter asked.

Rollo nodded.

‘But they won't get that kind of thing here,' he said.

‘Did the women ask you to brand them?'

‘No. The tattoos were more than enough for them.'

More customers entered and started looking through the games. Peter and Felix thanked him and left the shop.

They had set out from Djursland at nine o'clock and had constantly checked to see if they were being followed. Peter had noticed that Felix's mood had changed a million times on the way, from intense and talkative to silent and introverted. Now her meeting with Arthur Sand from the Air Accident Investigation Board was an hour away. It was as if she was putting her faith in that appointment, hoping that she could tell him everything she knew and then put it all behind her. It probably wasn't going to be an easy meeting. He was sure she knew that, but even so he didn't dare say it out loud.

They found a café and ordered two coffees and a couple of sandwiches. He could clearly sense her nerves.

‘Boys who feel the need to prove something,' Felix said, stirring in sugar and slopping coffee into the saucer. ‘Was it someone like that who branded Tora and skinned her face?'

Peter took a bite of his sandwich, mostly to encourage her to do the same.

‘It's a possibility,' he said.

She pushed her plate away.

‘Men versus women? Is it war? Is that what this is all about?'

It occurred to him that she might just be right.

F
ELIX COULDN'T SWALLOW
a bite. The fear was back, and the thought of the black car tailing her was like a chill down her spine.

For a while, being with Peter and feeling his body embrace hers had calmed her. Just like when she danced, she had been able to free herself from the burden she was carrying, from Erik's betrayal and his lies and everything that had happened as a result. She had floated, weightless and carefree, from the moment she set her foot on the stairs to the second they had let go of each other and slept together in his sleeping bag. But reality had dawned with the sun. A reality which told her that she had been married to a drug dealer and was now lying in the arms of a man who had been in prison for manslaughter.

What did that make her? A naive, unintelligent woman who was also a terrible judge of character? Or – in the case of Peter – the opposite: a woman who instinctively sensed there was more to his story than he had told her?

She didn't want to risk further humiliation by letting herself be fooled by a wrong'un again. On the other hand, her intuition was usually sound.

She watched Peter eat first his own sandwich and then the rest of hers with a healthy appetite. She couldn't understand how he could get it down. She was still shaken from her encounter with the man in the black car, a man she had seen and not seen at the same time. She had tried to describe him to Peter, but to no avail. She'd had other things on her mind than getting a good look at her attacker. She realised that she had even been too busy to feel truly scared. But now the fear was getting under her skin again and pushing the night's events aside. The fear could make everything else seem insignificant.

She sipped her coffee. Her hand was shaking, and she hoped he hadn't noticed.

What had happened between them would have to wait. Right now the chill was spreading down her spine.

More than anything else she was tormented by a sense of chaos, and she longed to rid herself of her burden.

After leaving the café they drove to Sødalsparken in Brabrand. The buildings resembled large white boxes and had been situated so they would overlook Brabrand Lake. Felix thought it only appropriate to site SOK,
Søværnets Operative Kommando
, the navy building, here, where there was at least a view of water. The construction was brand new and the architecture modern. Large amounts of glass had been used so that the view could be enjoyed from the maximum number of angles. The Danish Air and Rail Accident Investigation Board occupied some of the offices.

Peter followed her to reception. They agreed she would text him when her meeting had finished and he would come to pick her up.

She giggled when they said goodbye, suddenly feeling playful in the safe surroundings.

‘Are we just being paranoid? You didn't see anyone, did you?'

‘No.'

No one had been tailing them on the road from Djursland. And now here they were in a sleepy Århus suburb in bright daylight.

‘Felix!'

Arthur Sand from the Air Accident Investigation Board came down the stairs. She quickly introduced the two men before Peter nodded goodbye and left.

She had met Sand twice before. First when she had just been discharged from hospital and remembered absolutely nothing, and later when she had gone to live by the cliff and didn't
want
to remember. Both times he had seemed frustrated, but had been enough of a gentleman to try and hide it.

‘Let's go this way.'

He walked back up the broad staircase and she followed. He carried on talking to her over his shoulder: ‘It's a little more informal than the police station, don't you think?'

‘It's nice here,' Felix said, feeling an urge to be friendlier than last time. Sand was a pleasant man in his fifties with a genuinely helpful manner. He always spoke in a soft voice, as though he had grown used to dealing with people who could jump at the slightest noise. He wore dark trousers and a red roll-neck sweater and walked more like a sailor than the pilot he was. The sturdy legs were in harmony with the rest of his compact body as he barrelled along.

He ushered them into a bright room with modern tables and chairs, and large windows overlooking Brabrand Lake. Surrounded by a wintry landscape and snow-covered red rooftops, the lake was being used as an ice rink. Sand pointed to a few dot-like skaters.

‘The ice isn't thick enough. No insurance would cover an accident there. I'm sorely tempted to draw the curtains, but it would be a shame given the view and the light.'

She considered telling him that she had gone skating on that same lake as a child. After her early childhood in Spain, she had grown up in a flat in Brabrand. If she looked out of the windows long enough she would probably be able to pick out the apartment block where her parents still lived. But she didn't say anything. She knew a cautious man when she saw one.

‘It's human nature to take risks, isn't it?' she said instead.

He gave her a smile and pulled out a chair.

‘I'm afraid you're right. And that's one of the reasons we've asked you to come in. There's been a new development in the case of your husband and daughter's death.'

Sand pushed a file across the table to her.

‘We've prepared a preliminary report. Your husband was flying a four-seater Robinson forty-four, a very stable and popular helicopter in Denmark. Its safety record is second to none. The aircraft has been constructed with a safety factor of three-point-five, which means that several components must fail simultaneously before an accident can happen.'

Her mouth went dry.

‘Are you saying that we were particularly unlucky?'

He looked at her sympathetically. Then he shook his head.

‘No, what I'm saying is we no longer think it was an accident. However, it would require an expert to tamper with such an aircraft to make it look like an accident. It's not something anyone could do.'

Felix moistened her lips.

‘But who …?'

‘That's exactly what we've asked the flight mechanic.'

She fought to regain her voice.

‘Do you think he did it on purpose?'

‘It would seem so. But we can't prove it. And, anyway, we still don't know why anyone would want to.'

This didn't come as a surprise to her. Not now, not given what she knew about Erik's life. And yet it still felt like a shock.

‘The helicopter exploded into a million pieces,' Sand said. ‘It's a miracle you survived, but fortunately miracles do happen.'

Only a few days ago she would have disagreed with him. She had wished she'd died in the crash. If he looked, he could probably detect the change in her, she thought.

Sand continued after a slight pause: ‘The manner of the crash has always suggested that the tail rotor was at fault. It's almost the only possibility. And if it had been defective, the mechanic would have discovered it during the obligatory pre-flight check.'