that it was impossible to determine whether she frequented the corridors of management or worked for an escort service in expensive hotel bars.
Yes, he was welcome to come in; and no, unfortunately both of her parents were dead.
She introduced herself as Camilla and led the way to a living room where traditional Christmas plates, skinny, triangular Amager shelves, and knotted rya rugs made up a significant part of the scenery.
“How old were your parents when they died?” asked Carl, trying to ignore the rest of the hideous decor.
She sensed what he was thinking. Everything in the house was from a past era.
“My mother inherited the place from my grandmother, so it’s mostly her things in the house,” she said. It was obvious that this was not how her own residence would look. “I inherited everything and just got divorced, so I’m going to fix the place up, if I can find the right builder to do the job. So you’re lucky to find me here.”
Carl picked up a framed photograph from the best piece of furniture in the room, a bureau in walnut veneer. It was a picture of the whole family: Camilla, Dennis, and their parents. It had to be at least ten years old, and the parents were beaming like suns in front of a silver wedding anniversary banner. It said: “Congratulations on 25 Years, Grete and Henning.” Camilla was wearing tight jeans that left nothing to the imagination, and Dennis had on a black leather vest and a baseball cap with the logo for Castrol Oil. So all in all it was banners and smiles and happy days in Sk?vinge.
On the mantelpiece stood a few more photographs. Carl asked who everyone was, and from what she said, he got the feeling that the family hadn’t had a large circle of friends.
“Dennis was crazy about anything that drove fast,” said Camilla, taking him to the room that had once belonged to Dennis Knudsen.
A couple of lava lamps and a pair of massive speakers were to be expected, but otherwise the room was very different from the rest of the house. The furniture was made of light wood and it all matched. The wardrobe was new and filled with nice clothes on hangers. The walls were covered with a sea of certificates, all neatly framed, and above them, on birchwood shelves up near the ceiling, stood all the trophies that Dennis had won over the years. By Carl’s rough estimate there were at least a hundred, maybe more. It was pretty overwhelming.
“As you can see,” she said, “Dennis won every competition he entered. Motorcycle speedways, stock-car races, tractor pulls, rallies, and all classes of motor racing. He was a natural talent. Good at almost everything that interested him, even writing and math, and all sorts of other things. It was very sad that he died.” She nodded, her eyes welling up. “His death took the life out my father and mother. He was such a good son and little brother. He really was.”
Carl gave her a sympathetic look, but he was puzzled. Could this really be the same Dennis Knudsen that Lis had described to Assad?
“I’m glad you’re going to look into the circumstances of his death,” Camilla said. “I just wish you’d done it while my parents were still alive.”
Carl looked at her, trying to figure out what was behind her words. “What do you mean by ‘the circumstances’? Are you thinking about the car accident?”
She nodded. “Yes, the accident and then Dennis’s death a short time afterward. Dennis would sometimes go on a drinking binge, but he’d never taken drugs before. And that’s what we told the police. It was unthinkable, as a matter of fact. He’d worked with teenagers and warned them against taking drugs, but the police wouldn’t listen. All they saw was his criminal record and how many speeding tickets he’d had. So they’d already convicted him in their minds before they even found those disgusting Ecstasy pills in his sports bag.” Her eyes narrowed. “But it didn’t make sense, because Dennis never touched anything like that. It would have slowed down his reactions when he drove. He hated that kind of shit.”
“Maybe he was tempted by the idea of making some quick cash and planned to sell the drugs. Maybe he was just going to try them out. You wouldn’t believe the sort of things we see at police headquarters.”
Now the lines around her mouth hardened. “Somebody got him to take those drugs, and I know who it was. That’s what I told the police back then.”
Carl pulled out his notebook. “Is that right?” His inner bloodhound raised its head and sniffed at the wind, catching the scent of something unexpected. He was fully alert now. “And who might that be?”
She went over to one end of the room and took down a photograph hanging from a nail sticking out of the wallpaper that obviously hadn’t been changed since the house had been built in the early sixties. Carl’s father had taken a similar photo when Carl won a swimming trophy in Bronderslev. It was a dad’s proud documentation of how great and talented his son had become. Carl guessed that Dennis was ten or twelve in the photo, looking handsome in his go-kart gear, and proud as punch about the little silver shield he was holding in his hand.
“That kid there,” said Camilla, pointing to a blond boy standing behind Dennis, with one hand on his friend’s shoulder. “They called him Atomos, but I don’t know why. They met at a motocross track. Dennis was crazy about him, but Atomos was a little shit.”
“So the two of them kept in touch after they grew up?”
“I’m not really sure. I think they lost contact when Dennis was sixteen or seventeen, but during his last years I know they were seeing each other again, because Mum was always complaining about it.”
“And why do you think Atomos might have had something to do with your brother’s death?”
She looked at the photograph with a sorrowful expression. “He was just a real prick, and ugly deep down in his soul.”
“That’s a strange way of putting it. What exactly do you mean?”
“He was fucked up inside his head. Dennis said I was talking nonsense, but it was true.”
“So why was your brother friends with him?”
“Because Atomos was always the one who encouraged Dennis to drive. Plus he was a couple of years older. Dennis looked up to him.”
“Your brother suffocated on his own vomit. He’d taken five pills and had a blood-alcohol level of four point one. I don’t know how much he weighed, but no matter what, he made a good job of it. Do you know whether he had any reason to drink? Was this new behavior for him? Was he particularly depressed after the accident?”
She looked at him with sad eyes. “Yes, my parents said that the accident had a terrible effect on him. Dennis was a fantastic driver. It was the first accident he’d ever been involved in, and a man died, besides.”
“According to my information, Dennis was in jail twice for reckless driving, so he couldn’t have been all that fantastic.”
“Ha!” She gave him a scornful look. “He never drove recklessly. When he was speeding on a motorway, he always knew how far ahead the lane was free. The last thing he wanted was to endanger the life of anyone else.”
How many sociopaths would never have been hatched if their families had only been paying attention? How many idiots were allowed to cling to the bonds of blood? Carl had heard the same story a thousand times before. My brother, my son, my husband is innocent.
“You seem to have a high regard for your brother. Don’t you think you’re being a little naive?”
She grabbed Carl’s wrist and leaned so close that he could feel her bangs brushing the bridge of his nose.
“If your investigative work is as limp as your dick, you might as well leave right now,” she snarled.
Her reaction was surprisingly fierce and provocative. So it probably wasn’t the corridors of management that she frequented, Carl thought, drawing his face away.
“My brother was all right. Do you hear me?” she went on. “And if you want to make any progress in what you’re farting around with, I advise you to remember what I just said.” Then she patted him on the crotch and stepped back. It was a shocking metamorphosis. Suddenly she seemed gentle and open and credible again. It was a hell of a profession he’d got himself involved in.
He frowned and took a step toward her. “The next time you touch my equipment, I’m going to puncture your silicon boobs and then claim it happened because you resisted arrest after threatening to slug me with one of your brother’s ugly trophies. When I slap the cuffs on you, and you’re waiting for the doctor as you stare at the blank white wall of a prison cell in Hillerod, you’ll dream about taking back that pat you gave me. Shall we proceed, or do you have anything to add regarding my nobler parts?”
She kept her cool. Didn’t even smile. “I’m just saying that my brother was OK, and you’ll just have to believe me.”
Carl gave up. It was no use trying to make her change her mind.
