She jerked her head back in alarm. “Of course I didn’t.”
“This is perjury, Helle Andersen. Your children are going to have to do without you for a while.”
For a stout country girl, she reacted with extraordinary speed. Her hands flew up to her mouth, her feet shot under the sofa, her entire abdomen was sucked in as she tried to create a safe distance between herself and the dangerous police animal. “I didn’t open it.” The words flew out of her mouth. “I just held it up to the light.”
“What did the letter say?”
Her eyebrows practically overlapped. “All it said was: ‘Have a nice trip to Berlin.’”
“Do you know what she was going to do in Berlin?”
“It was just a fun trip with Uffe. They’d done it a couple of times before.”
“Why was it so important to wish her a nice trip?”
“I don’t know.”
“Who would have known about the trip, Helle? Merete lived a very private life with Uffe, as I understand it.”
She shrugged. “Maybe somebody at the Folketing. I don’t know.”
“Wouldn’t they just send her an e-mail?”
“I really don’t know.” She was obviously feeling pinned down. Maybe she was lying. Maybe she was just sensitive to pressure. “It might have been something from the council,” she ventured. It was another blind alley.
“So the letter said: ‘Have a nice trip to Berlin.’ Anything else?”
“Nothing else. Just that. Really.”
“No signature?”
“No. That was all.”
“And the messenger, what did he look like?”
She hid her face in her hands for a moment. “All I noticed was that he was wearing a really nice overcoat,” she said in a subdued voice.
“You didn’t see anything else? That can’t be right.”
“It’s true. He was taller than me, even though he was standing down on the step. And he was wearing a scarf. It was green. And it covered the lower half of his face. It was raining, so that was probably why. He also had a slight cold, or at least that’s how he sounded.”
“Did he sneeze?”
“No, he just sounded like he had a cold. Sniffled a bit, you know.”
“What about his eyes? Blue or brown?”
“I’m pretty sure they were blue. At least I think so. Maybe they were gray. But I’d recognize them, if I saw them again.”
“How old was he?”
“About my age, I think.”
As if that piece of information would help.
“And how old are you?”
She gave Carl a slightly indignant look. “Not quite thirty-five,” she replied, looking down at the floor.
“What kind of car was he driving?”
“He didn’t come by car, as far as I could tell. At least there wasn’t any car parked outside.”
“You don’t think he
“No, probably not.”
“But you didn’t watch him leave?”
“No. I needed to give Uffe something to eat. He always had lunch while I listened to the news program on the radio.”
They talked about the letter as they drove. Assad didn’t know anything more about it. The police investigation had come to a dead end as far as it was concerned.
“But why the hell was it so important to deliver such an unimportant message? What did it really mean? I could understand it if the message were from a woman friend and the letter was perfumed and came in a little envelope with flowers on it. But not in such an anonymous envelope and with no signature.”
“I think that Helle, she does not know very much,” Assad replied as they turned on to Bj?lkerupvej, which was where Social Services for Stevns municipality was located.
Carl looked over at the buildings. It would have been nice to have a court order in his back pocket before going inside.
“Stay here,” he said to Assad, whose face virtually glowed with satisfaction.
Carl located the director’s office after making a few inquiries.
“Yes, that’s right. Uffe Lynggaard received care from the Home Nursing Group,” she said as Carl put his police badge back in his pocket. “But we’re a bit disorganized at the moment when it comes to archiving former cases. Municipal reforms, you know.”
So the woman seated opposite him knew nothing about the case. He’d have to talk to somebody else. Surely someone in the place had to remember Uffe Lynggaard and his sister. Just a tiny scrap of information could turn out to be valuable. Maybe someone had been to their house numerous times and had noticed something that might give him a lead.
“Could I speak to the person who was responsible for his care back then?”
“I’m afraid she’s retired now.”
“Could you give me her name?”
“No, I’m sorry. Only those of us who work here at City Hall can discuss former cases.”
“But none of the employees know anything about Uffe Lynggaard, is that correct?”
“Oh, I’m sure someone does. But, like I said, we’re not at liberty to discuss the case.”
“I realize that it’s a matter of confidentiality, and I know that Uffe Lynggaard is not under state guardianship. But I didn’t drive all the way out here to go back home empty-handed. Could you let me see his case file?”
“You know very well that I can’t let you do that. If you’d like to speak with our attorney, you’re welcome to do so. The files aren’t accessible right now, anyway. And Uffe Lynggaard no longer lives in this district.”
“So the documents have been transferred to Frederikssund?”
“I’m not at liberty to say.”
What a patronizing bitch.
Carl left her office and paused outside in the hallway for a moment, looking around. “Excuse me,” he said to a woman who came walking toward him, seemingly too tired to put up much of a fight. He pulled out his police badge and introduced himself. “Could you possibly help me find out the name of the person who handled cases in Magleby ten years ago?”
“Ask in there,” said the woman, pointing to the office he had just exited.
So it was going to take a court order, paperwork, phone calls, waiting time, and more phone calls. He just didn’t have the energy for all that.
“I’ll remember this the next time you need my help,” he said to the woman, giving her a slight bow.
The last stop on their expedition was the Clinic for Spinal Cord Injuries in Hornb?k. “I’ll drive myself up there, Assad. Can you take the train home? I’ll drop you off in Koge. There’s an express train to the Central Station.” Assad nodded, not looking terribly enthusiastic. Carl had no idea where the man lived. He’d have to ask him sometime.
He glanced at his odd companion. “We’ll start working on a different case tomorrow, Assad. This one is going nowhere.” Not even that promise set off any fireworks in Assad’s face.
At the clinic Hardy had been moved to another ward, and he wasn’t looking good. His skin was OK, but darkness lurked in his blue eyes.
Carl put his hand on Hardy’s shoulder. “I’ve been thinking about what you said last time, Hardy. But it’s not going to work. I’m really sorry. I just can’t do it. Do you understand?”
Hardy didn’t say a word. Of course he understood; at the same time, of course, he didn’t.
“How about if you help me out instead, Hardy? I’ll give you all the facts, and you can take your time thinking
