“I don’t know.”
“It would be good if we could find a tunnel into Uffe’s memory. Even the slightest thing that might help me to understand what happened on the ferry, so I’d have something to go on.”
“Yes, I understand.”
“Did you tell the police about the episode with the wooden block?”
“Yes, I told the story to one of the officers with the Rapid Response Team. A Borge Bak.”
Was Borge really Bak’s first name? That explained a lot.
“I know him well. But I don’t recall seeing anything about this in his report. Can you say why he didn’t include this information?”
“No, I don’t know why. But later on it didn’t come up again. Maybe it’s in the report that the psychologists and psychiatrists wrote up. I didn’t read it.”
“I imagine the report is kept at Egely, where Uffe was placed. Wouldn’t you think so?”
“That’s probably right, but I don’t think it will add much to the picture of Uffe. Most of the psychologists agreed with me that whatever prompted the incident with the wooden block could have been something momentary. That Uffe really didn’t remember, and that we wouldn’t make any progress in the Merete Lynggaard case by browbeating him.”
“And so they dropped all the charges.”
“Yes, they did.”
20
“Yes, well, I don’t know what the hell we’re going to do now, Marcus.” Lars Bjorn looked at him as if he’d just heard that his house had burned down.
“And you’re positive that the journalists wouldn’t rather talk to me or the public information officer?” asked the homicide chief.
“They expressly asked permission to interview Carl. They’d talked to Piv Vestergard, and she referred them to him.”
“Why didn’t you just say that he was sick or on assignment or didn’t want to talk to them? Anything at all. We can’t just send him out into a trap. Those reporters from Danish Broadcasting will sink their teeth into him.”
“I know.”
“We need to make him say no, Lars.”
“I think you’d be better at that than me.”
Ten minutes later Carl Morck was standing in the doorway, scowling.
“So, Carl,” said the homicide chief. “Are you making any progress?”
He shrugged. “If you ask me, Bak doesn’t know shit about the Lynggaard case.”
“I see. That sounds strange. But you do?”
Carl came into the room and dropped on to a chair. “Don’t expect miracles.”
“So I take it there isn’t much to report about the case?”
“Not yet.”
“Does that mean I can tell the TV news people that it’s too early to interview you?”
“I’ll be damned if I’m going to do any TV interviews.”
Marcus felt a welcome sense of relief rush through him, making him produce a smile that was possibly a bit exaggerated. “I understand, Carl. When you’re in the middle of an investigation, it’s not something you want to do. The rest of us who are dealing with current cases have to do it, out of consideration for the public, but with old cases like yours, you need peace and quiet to do your work. I’ll let them know, Carl. It’s OK by me.”
“Could you make sure that I get a copy of Assad’s personnel file?”
What was he, all of a sudden, a secretary for his own subordinates? “Of course, Carl,” Marcus said. “I’ll ask Lars to see to it. Are you satisfied with the man?”
“We’ll see. But for the time being, yes.”
“And dare I surmise that you’re getting him involved in the investigation?”
“Yeah, you dare.” Carl gave his boss a rare smile.
“So you’re using him in the investigative work?”
“Well, you know what? At the moment Assad is up in Hornb?k delivering some papers he photocopied for Hardy. You don’t have anything against that, do you? You know how Hardy can sometimes think circles around the rest of us. And it will give him something to keep his mind busy.”
“Well, that seems all right.” At least he hoped so. “How is Hardy?”
Carl shrugged.
That was what Marcus had expected. Very sad.
They nodded to each other. The session was over.
“Oh, by the way,” said Carl as he stood in the doorway. “When you do the TV interview in my place, please don’t mention that the department has only one and a half employees. Assad would be upset if he heard that. Not to mention the people who allocated the funding, I would imagine.”
He was right. It was a hell of a situation they’d gotten themselves into.
“Oh, and one more thing, Marcus.”
The homicide chief raised an eyebrow as he studied Carl’s wily expression. Now what?
“When you see the crisis counselor again, tell her that Carl Morck could use her help.”
Marcus looked at his perennial troublemaker. Carl didn’t seem like someone on the verge of a breakdown. The smile on his face wasn’t really appropriate, considering the seriousness of the subject.
“I’m haunted by thoughts of Anker’s death. Maybe it’s because I see Hardy so often. Maybe she can tell me what to do about it.”
21
The next day everybody was jabbering to Carl about homicide chief Marcus Jacobsen’s TV performance. His fellow passengers on the S-train, people from the emergency services department, and everyone working on the third floor who would bother to condescend to speak to him. They’d all seen it. The only one who hadn’t was Carl.
“Congratulations!” cried one of the secretaries across the courtyard at police headquarters, while other people seemed to be avoiding him. It was very strange.
When he poked his head into Assad’s shoebox of an office, he was immediately met with a smile that nearly cracked the man’s face in half. Which meant that Assad was also well informed.
“So are you very happy now?” Assad asked, already nodding on Carl’s behalf.
“About what?”
“Oi! Marcus Jacobsen talked so good about our department and about you. The nicest words right from start and to finish, I want to tell you. We can be very proud, both of us, that is what my wife said too.” He gave Carl a wink. It was a bad habit. “And so you are going to be police superintendent.”
“What?”
“Just ask Mrs. Sorensen. She has papers for you I should just remember to have said.”
Assad could have saved himself the trouble because the clacking of the Fury’s heels could already be heard in the corridor.
