“The hair comes from Emil Bentsen.”
“Emil?” Irene repeated, amazed.
Her brain went on strike. Then the wheels began to turn and she managed to say, “But Emil himself was murdered!”
“You’ll have to look at the tapes. Then you’ll understand. The stains on one of the police uniforms were human blood. We’re matching them against that of Carmen Ostergaard and Marcus Tosscander. The results will be ready tomorrow morning at the earliest. Peter should be in Goteborg between eleven and twelve. Order a good lunch. It will be a long one.”
After a curt good-bye, Irene put down the receiver. Her thoughts were spinning chaotically. What was she going to do? Her attempt at keeping Tom outside the investigation had failed. He was alive but seriously hurt. And this was plainly her fault.
She made up her mind. She rose and went into the room where her colleagues were still meeting.
When she opened the door, they turned their questioning faces toward her.
“Some dramatic things have happened in Copenhagen, which make it necessary for me to add to my report,” she said decisively.
SUPERINTENDENT ANDERSSON had flown through the roof. Irene was used to it but this fit had lasted longer than usual. When he was done scolding, it was clear Irene had landed in the soup.
The reactions from her other colleagues were largely condemnatory. Tommy was the only one who smiled supportively.
When his irritation had abated, the superintendent decided that Hannu and Jonny should be present during Irene’s meeting with Peter Moller.
“So that we can be sure our Danish colleague walks out of here alive,” Andersson concluded, with a dark look in Irene’s direction.
She restrained herself from answering. Possibly, she hadn’t dealt with things in the best way when she consciously withheld facts. Despite this, she still felt convinced that she would have done the same thing if she had the chance to do it all over again. Her attempt to protect Tom had failed, but she had really tried.
The fact that Jonny was in a terribly whiny mood didn’t help things. His bloodshot eyes and minty-smelling breath gave rise to the suspicion that he was hungover. Had he continued to drink after returning home from Copenhagen? After morning prayers, he whined several times about how unsociable Irene had been in Copenhagen. Finally, her irritation overcame her. She pulled him into her office and closed the door in Hannu’s face. Aggressively, she shoved her face toward his and said in a low voice vibrating with restrained fury, “It’s possible that I’ve dealt poorly with this case and I’ve been thoroughly reprimanded by the boss for my mistakes. But in any case, I’ve tried to do my job as best I can. That’s more than I can say for you! You were loaded from your first step onto Danish soil until we went home! Is that what you call being sociable?”
Jonny was still in shock from being dragged into a room without warning. He couldn’t come up with anything to say in self-defense. But Irene could see dark anger rising in his bloodshot eyes. After a period of silence, the anger was transformed into gushing hatred. Without a word, he turned and tore the door open, almost stomping on Hannu, who still stood outside. Hannu thoughtfully looked at Jonny’s back disappearing down the hallway. Then he turned his gaze on Irene.
“He needed to hear that,” he said.
Her anger left Irene as quickly as it had come. She felt emptied of any strength, both mental and physical. She sank into her chair, exhausted. Hannu came in and closed the door behind him.
“Have you known about Jonny’s drinking problem for long?” she asked.
“I’ve had my suspicions for about a year.”
“I hadn’t really thought about it until the trip to Copenhagen. What made you suspicious?”
“He’s often sick on Mondays or comes in late. Smells of old booze sometimes. On Fridays he disappears early in order to make it to the state liquor store before it closes. He uses a lot of breath spray and cough drops. And he’s always drunk at parties.”
When Irene thought back, everything Hannu cited added up.
“He needs help. What do we do?” she asked.
Hannu shrugged. Irene realized that he was right. What do you do when a colleague has a drinking problem if he refuses to acknowledge it? Jonny would go crazy if they tried to get him help. Talking to the boss wouldn’t do any good. Andersson hated employee problems. What a “fuss,” he would say, and mumble, and pretend they didn’t exist.
With a sigh, Irene decided to leave Jonny’s problems hanging. She had enough of her own to deal with. Peter Moller was expected to show up in two hours.
PETER ANNOUNCED his arrival at the front desk at eleven thirty on the dot. With an unpleasant, tingly feeling in her stomach, Irene took the elevator down to accompany him to their unit. Their meeting was stiff and cold, just as she had expected. The intimacy of the restaurant visit had vanished completely. Had it ever been there or had she just imagined it? Irene was unsure where she stood with him as she breathed in his wonderful scent. His expression was neutral and he displayed no special feelings. Dressed in a thin light gray blazer, dark blue pants, and a chalk white shirt without a tie, he looked like a bank director on his day off. Definitely not like a police officer.
He held a briefcase in cognac-colored leather in his right hand. Expensive. Probably his own, thought Irene.
He greeted Hannu as he entered the office. Jonny hadn’t arrived yet. Irene asked them to be seated. Peter, with the briefcase in his lap, started by saying, “We need a VCR.”
“Not a problem. We have one in the break room,” said Irene.
Peter shook his head. “Not the break room. Someplace where only we can see.”
“I can take care of that,” said Hannu. He disappeared into the corridor.
When he had closed the door, Irene said, “Tell me what’s happened to Tom.”
Her distressed tone of voice didn’t escape Peter’s attention. He observed her closely before he said, “If only I could understand how the two of you ever hooked up.”
A faint smile could be detected in the corner of his mouth. Irene felt a bit more at ease.
Peter took off his cotton blazer and hung it over the back of his chair. “Tanaka closes the shop at eleven o’clock on Saturday evenings. His employee, Ole Hansen, also worked on Saturday. Hansen was in the employee’s lounge just before ten thirty. As you know, it’s located between the shop and Tanaka’s apartment.”
He stopped when Hannu returned with Jonny in tow. Jonny greeted Peter warmly but avoided looking at Irene. As far as he was concerned, she was empty air. If Peter noticed the tension, he pretended not to. He picked up where he had left off.
“Hansen heard a noise inside Tanaka’s apartment.”
“A shot?” Jonny asked.
“No. A crash, from a broken window. Hansen hurried after Tanaka, who went into his apartment. Hansen, standing in the doorway to the kitchen, saw Tanaka disappear in the direction of his bedroom. Almost immediately, he heard a terrible commotion. He describes it as a roar, and the sound of people fighting.”
The roar had probably come from Tom. A sumo wrestler summons up power and instills fear in his opponent with the help of loud screams, thought Irene.
“Hansen dialed the emergency number on his cell phone as he was running toward the bedroom. When he got there, he saw Tanaka lying on the floor in a rapidly growing pool of blood. The room was covered with it. A large blood vessel in his throat had been cut and his blood was pumping out.”
Irene’s stomach knotted when she pictured the scene in her head.
“Hansen saw a man dressed in black, wearing a hooded sweatshirt, disappear through the window. Hansen didn’t see his face, only his back. But he got the impression that the man was large. Not fat, but tall, with a large build.”
“Did he take anything?” Irene asked.
“Yes. A picture. Apparently a framed photograph. According to Hansen, there had been two on the wall. Now
