“Was that where the manufacturing was supposed to be done?”
“Yes, there and in the large hall.” She pointed as she spoke. “The welding shop was there, the pressure testing facility there, and the full assembly was going to take place in the hall. The building I live in was supposed to store the finished containments.”
“Why don’t you live in the house? It seems like a nice one,” Carl said as he noticed a row of grayish-black buckets in front of one of the buildings that didn’t fit with the rest of the landscape. Maybe they’d been left there by the previous owner. In places like this, time often moved at a snail’s pace.
“Oh, I don’t know. There are so many things in that house that are from bygone times. And then there’s the doorsills; I can’t deal with them anymore.” She thumped the armrest of her wheelchair.
Carl noticed that Assad was trying to pull him aside. “Our car is over there, Assad,” he said, nodding in the opposite direction.
“I would just rather go through the hedge there and up to the road,” said Assad, but Carl saw his attention was fixed on the piles of junk that were heaped on top of an abandoned concrete foundation.
“All that rubbish was already here when we arrived,” said the woman apologetically, as if half a container of scrap metal could mar the property’s overall dismal impression.
It was nothing but random garbage. On top of the rubbish heap were more of the grayish-black tubs. There were no labels on them, but they looked as if they might once have contained oil or some sort of foodstuffs in large quantities.
Carl would have stopped Assad if he’d known what his assistant had in mind, but before he could react, Assad had already leaped over some metal rods, jumbled piles of ropes, and plastic tubing.
“I have to apologize for my partner. He’s an incorrigible junk collector. What did you find, Assad?” Carl called out.
But Assad wasn’t interested in playing his role at the moment. He was hunting for something. He kicked at the junk, turning it over until he finally stuck his hand in and with some effort pulled out a thin sheet of metal, which turned out to be a sign that was about twenty inches high and at least twelve feet long. He turned it over. It said: “InterLab A/S.”
Assad looked up at Carl, who nodded in appreciation. It was a hell of a find. InterLab A/S was Daniel Hale’s big laboratory, which had now moved to Slangerup. So there was a direct link between the family and Daniel Hale.
“Your husband’s company wasn’t called InterLab, was it, Mrs. Jensen?” asked Carl, smiling at her tightly pressed lips.
“No. That’s the company that sold us the property and a couple of the buildings.”
“My brother works at Novo. I seem to remember him mentioning that company.” Carl silently sent an apology to his older brother, who at the moment was probably feeding mink up at the mink farm in Frederikshavn. “InterLab. Didn’t they make enzymes, or something like that?”
“It was a testing laboratory.”
“Hale. Wasn’t that his name? Daniel Hale?”
“Yes, the man who sold this place to my husband was named Hale. But not Daniel Hale. He was just a boy back then. The family moved InterLab north, to a different location, and after the old man died, they moved it again. But this is where it started.” She gestured toward the scrap pile. InterLab had certainly made a success of itself if this was how it began.
Carl studied the woman closely as she talked. She seemed to be completely closed off, and yet right now the words were pouring out of her. She didn’t seem agitated; on the contrary. She seemed totally poised, all of her nerve endings tautly woven. She was trying to appear normal, and that was precisely what seemed so abnormal.
“Wasn’t he the man who was killed not far from here?” Assad suddenly asked.
This time Carl could have kicked him in the shin. They would have to have a talk about these sorts of candid remarks when they got back to the office.
He turned to look at the buildings. They exuded more than the story of a ruined family. The gray-on-gray facades also had other nuances. It was as if the buildings were speaking to him. The acid in his stomach churned even worse when he looked at them.
“Was Hale killed? I don’t remember that.” Carl flashed a warning glance at Assad and turned back to the woman.
“I’d really like to see where InterLab started out. It’d be fun to tell my brother about it. He has talked so often about launching his own business. Do you think we could have a look at the other buildings? Unofficially, of course.”
She gave him a much-too-friendly smile, which meant she was feeling just the opposite. She didn’t want him here any longer. He should just pack up and leave.
“Oh, I’d be happy to show you, but my son has locked everything up, so I’m not able to let you in. But when you talk to him, you can ask him to show you around. And bring your brother too.”
Assad didn’t say a word as they drove past the building with the crash marks on the wall where Daniel Hale had lost his life.
“There was something really off about that place,” said Carl. “We need to go back with a search warrant.”
But Assad wasn’t listening. He just sat and stared into space as they reached Ishoj with its looming concrete high-rises. He didn’t even react when Carl’s cell phone rang after he’d switched it back on.
“Yeah,” Carl said, expecting to hear a sharp torrent of words from Vigga. He knew why she was calling. Something had gone wrong again. The reception had been moved to today. That damn reception. He could really do without a handful of soggy chips and a glass of cheap supermarket wine, not to mention that misbegotten soul she’d chosen to join forces with.
“It’s me,” said the voice on the line. “Helle Andersen from Stevns.”
Carl shifted down to a lower gear as he ratcheted up his attention.
“Uffe is here. I’m at Merete’s old house, making a home visit, and a few minutes ago a cab brought him here from Klippinge. The driver had driven for Merete and Uffe before, so he recognized Uffe when he saw him poking around in the ditch on the side of the motorway near the exit to Lellinge. He’s completely exhausted. He’s sitting here in the kitchen, drinking one glass of water after another. What should I do?”
Carl looked at the traffic lights. A breeze of excitement stirred inside him. It was tempting to make a U-turn and floor the accelerator.
“Is he OK?” asked Carl.
She sounded a little worried, displaying less of her country-gal cheerfulness than normal. “I don’t really know. He’s filthy and looks like something that’s been dragged through the gutter. Uffe’s not quite himself.”
“What do you mean?”
“He’s sitting here brooding. He keeps looking around the kitchen, as if he doesn’t recognize it.”
“That doesn’t surprise me.” In his mind Carl pictured the antique dealers’ copper pans covering the walls from floor to ceiling. The rows of crystal bowls, the pastel-colored wallpaper with the exotic fruit print. Of course Uffe wouldn’t recognize the place.
“I don’t mean the way it’s furnished. I can’t explain it. He seems scared to be here, but he won’t get into the car with me.”
“Where were you planning to take him?”
“To the police station. I’m not going to let him run away again. But he refuses to go with me. Even when the antique dealer asked him nicely.”
“Has he said anything? Made any sort of sound?”
Carl could tell that she was shaking her head. “No, no sounds. But he’s trembling. That’s what my oldest son used to do when he couldn’t have what he wanted. I remember once at the supermarket—”
“Helle, you need to call Egely. Uffe has been missing for five days now. They need to know that he’s OK.” He looked up the number for her. It was the only right thing to do. It would be a bad idea for him to get involved. The tabloids would be rubbing their ink-smeared hands with glee.
Now the small, low buildings began to appear along the old Koge highway. An ice cream stand from the old
