done now.
“I’m thinking mostly about Hardy, not so much about the Lynggaard case. The leads have gone cold, and nobody gives a shit about it, anyway. Including me.”
“But wasn’t the Lynggaard case solved?” said Morten, sniffling. “She drowned, didn’t she? What more is there to say about it?”
“Hmm, is that what you think? But why did she drown? That’s the question I keep asking myself. There was no storm, no rough seas, and she was apparently quite healthy. Her finances were good, she was attractive, she was on her way to building a big career for herself. Maybe she was a bit lonely, but at some point she would have solved that problem too.”
He shook his head. Who was he kidding? Of course the case interested him. Just like all cases in which the questions piled up, one after the other.
He lit a cigarette and grabbed a can of beer that one of the guests had opened but never drunk. It was lukewarm and tasted slightly flat.
“What annoys me the most is that she was so intelligent. It’s always difficult when victims are as smart as she was. As I see it, she had no real reason to commit suicide. No obvious enemies. Her brother loved her. So why did she disappear? If that was your background, Morten, would you jump into the deep?”
He looked at Carl, his eyes red-rimmed. “It was an accident, Carl. Haven’t you ever felt dizzy when you leaned over a boat railing and looked down at the sea? But if it really was murder, then either her brother did it, or there was some political motivation, if you ask me. Why wouldn’t a prospective leader of the Democrats have enemies, especially one who looked so stunning?” He nodded ponderously and had trouble raising his head again. “Everyone hated her. Can’t you see that? All the people she’d outstripped in her own party. And the ruling parties. Do you think the prime minister and his cronies were happy to see that luscious babe getting all that airtime on TV? You said yourself that she was brilliant.” Morten wrung out the dishcloth and draped it over the tap. “Everybody knew that she’d be the one to form the opposition coalition at the next election. She knew how to pull in the votes, damn it.” He spat into the sink. “Next time I’m not drinking any of Sysser’s retsina. Where the hell does she buy that rotgut? It makes my throat as dry as a desert.”
Outside in the circular courtyard, Carl ran into several colleagues who were on their way home. Over by the far wall behind the colonnade, Bak was having an intense conversation with one of his men. They gave Carl a look as if he’d spat on them and offended their honor.
“Buffoon briefing?” he fired off, his words echoing among the pillars as he turned his back on them.
An explanation came from Bente Hansen, who had been a member of his former team. He met her in the vestibule. “You were right, Carl. They found the piece of the victim’s ear in the witness’s flat. Congratulations, old boy!”
Fine. At least something was happening in the murdered cyclist case.
“Bak and his men have just been out to the National Hospital to make the witness cough up the whole story,” she went on. “But they didn’t get anywhere. She’s terrified.”
“Then maybe she’s not the one they should be talking to.”
“Probably not. But then who?”
“When would you be most likely to commit suicide? If you were under an insane amount of pressure, or if it was the only way to save your kids? I’d say it has something to do with her children.”
“The children don’t know anything.”
“No, I’m sure they don’t. But the witness’s mother might.”
He looked at the bronze lamps on the ceiling. Maybe he should ask for permission to trade cases with Bak. That would undoubtedly shake things up in this colossal building.
“So, Carl. The whole time I have gone around, thinking thoughts. I think we should go on with the case then.” Assad had already set a steaming cup of coffee in front of Carl. Next to the case files sat a couple of sweet pastries on top of the paper they’d been wrapped in. Apparently he was launching a charm offensive. At any rate, Assad had cleaned up in Carl’s office, and several documents from the case were lined up on his desk, almost as if he was supposed to read them in a specific order. Assad must have been on the job since six in the morning.
“What have you found for me?” Carl pointed to the papers.
“Well, here is a bank account statement that tells just what Merete Lynggaard took out during her last weeks. But there is nothing at all with food at any restaurant.”
“Somebody else paid for her, Assad. It’s not unusual for beautiful women to get off cheaply in such situations.”
“Yes, exactly, Carl. Very smart. So she got somebody else to pay. I think maybe a politician or some guy.”
“No doubt. But it wouldn’t be easy to find out who it was.”
“Yes, I know that, Carl. It was five years ago.” He tapped another piece of paper. “Here is a summary of the things that the police took from her house. I do not see any appointment diary like the woman, her new secretary, talked about. No. But maybe there is diary at Christiansborg. Maybe it will show who she was going to meet at the restaurant then.”
“She probably had her diary in her purse, Assad. And the purse disappeared along with her, didn’t it?”
He nodded, looking a bit chagrined. “Yes, but, Carl. Maybe we could ask her secretary then. There is a transcribing of her statement. She did not say anything then about the person who ate with Merete. So I think we should ask her again.”
“It’s called a transcript, Assad! But that’s still five years ago. If she couldn’t remember anything important at the time she was asked, I’ll guarantee she won’t remember anything now.”
“OK! But it says she could remember that Merete Lynggaard got a telegram for Valentine’s Day, but it was some time after, so. I think one could find out about something like that, couldn’t one?”
“The telegram doesn’t exist anymore, and we don’t have the exact date. So it would be hard to track down since we don’t even know the name of the company that delivered it.”
“It was TelegramsOnline.”
Carl looked at him. Was it possible this guy was a diamond in the rough? It was difficult to tell as long as he was wearing those green rubber gloves. “How do you know that, Assad?”
“Look there.” He pointed at the transcript of the statement. “The secretary remembered that it said ‘Love & Kisses to Merete’ on the telegram, and there were also two lips. Two red lips.”
“And?”
“Well, it had to be a telegram from TelegramsOnline. They print the name on the outside of the telegram. And they always have those two red lips.”
“Show me.”
Assad pressed the space bar on Carl’s computer, and the TelegramsOnline home page appeared on the screen. And there it was, the telegram just as Assad had described it.
“OK. And are you positive that this is the only company that makes these types of telegrams?”
“Really positive, yes.”
“But you still don’t have the date, Assad. Was it before or after Valentine’s Day? And who was it from?”
“We can ask the company. Maybe they have a list of when telegrams were sent to Christiansborg Castle.”
“That was all done during the first police investigation, wasn’t it?”
“There is nothing about this in the case file, no. But you have maybe read about something else?” He gave an acidic smile that stopped just short of insubordination.
“OK, Assad. Fair enough. You can check with the company. That’s a perfect job for you. I’m a little busy right now, so why don’t you use the phone in your own office.”
Carl gave him a pat on the back and ushered him out. Then he shut the door, lit a cigarette, picked up the Lynggaard file, and sat down in his chair, propping his feet on the desk.
He might as well dive in.
It was a stupid case, full of inconsistencies. They’d been searching high and low without any real prioritizing.
