Username, page 22
Majken drank the coffee, which had become cold and bitter, and read on in the file.
Gitte had been plagued by anxiety attacks. A man who had come into their home had lifted her up onto his lap during dinner. He had touched her thighs under the table and brought his hand even further up. Majken straightened up on the chair as she read on. It had happened several times, even when Gitte was younger. She had been terrified of that man and hid whenever he came, but he had always found her under the pretext he was playing hide-and-seek with her. Majken had asked Gitte if the man had harmed her. Gitte had just shaken her head, her eyes dark and scared. Majken never got any further with the sessions because the treatment stopped, so she never found out how far this man had gone. It could take a long time before kids started to open up about that kind of thing. Especially a nine-year-old girl, as Gitte had been at the time. Ida Mikkelsen had rejected Gitte’s revelations by saying it was the girl’s active imagination. Their friends weren’t like that.
Majken scrolled down the page in search of a name, but found none. Only that it was one of Gitte’s father’s friends. Children tended not to register such names.They remember better how we treat them, Majken thought.
Preoccupied, she slowly took off her glasses. According to Section 152 of the Danish Penal Code, as a psychologist, she wouldn’t be punished for sharing patient information if it were for the investigation of a serious crime, such as manslaughter, sexual assault or grievous bodily harm. She put down her glasses before going back to the kitchen and making a call from her mobile.
55
Danny was on his way out to the car, a suitcase in each hand, when a red-haired man in a light windbreaker appeared in front of him, saying he wanted to talk to him. He was standing on the other side of a large puddle of water the violent storm, which had just passed, had made in the car park at Danhostel Aarhus.
He was already feeling very down. His conscience was gnawing at him. He reproached himself for not telling her, neither that night nor when he had visited her with the intention of telling her. What could he say? I was the one who did it. I was the one who killed your son. He hadn’t slept that night. Just lay there staring out into the darkness, holding her close to him. He was nearly about to fall asleep when he woke with a familiar start and caught sight of the shadow outside the window of her bedroom. Something had been looking in. The cat? In the moonlight, he saw its silhouette through the curtain. Then it was gone again.
Ironically, he had rejected the psychologist’s advice of seeking out the boy’s parents. He had only come to Jutland again in an attempt to gain control of his mental imbalance by visiting the site of the accident and facing his discomfort. It seemed too incredible to be true.
‘I have to catch a ferry,’ he replied curtly to the unknown man, throwing a suitcase in the boot. The man stood looking at him from a distance. The sun made the red hair look like a flaming fire.
‘Can I help you with something?’ he asked more accommodatingly, scowling at his watch. He didn’t have time for this if he was to make the next ferry.
‘Is that your car?’ said the man, looking with sheer hatred at Danny’s navy blue Opel Vectra.
‘What do you mean?’ Danny smiled, now putting the other case in the boot. When he slammed the door down, the man was standing right next to him. His face contorted with loathing.
‘I think you’re confusing me with someone else,’ Danny said calmly, taking the car keys out his pocket. But as he was about to get into the car, the man grabbed his collar.
‘No, I’m fucking not. You’re Danny Cramer, aren’t you?’ he hissed.
Danny didn’t know whether to confirm it. He didn’t seem to be very popular at the moment.
‘Child killer,’ the man continued, shoving him hard against the car. Danny could easily have taken the relatively slender man with a single blow, but the tormented expression in his eyes made Danny think again.
‘Did you come here to Jutland to murder children! You have a large dark car. A person fitting that description’s wanted in connection with the murder of a little girl—have you reported yourself to the police?’ he snarled. The pent-up anger in the man’s voice stemmed all the way from his stomach and didn’t fit with the man’s stature at all.
Danny began to relax his muscles a little. The deranged man apparently thought he had something to do with the murdered girl in the skip. He wanted to find a scapegoat to punish.
‘Are you the girl’s father?’ He tried to make his voice sound as understanding as possible. The man tightened his grip even more, and Danny noticed he would soon have to retaliate to avoid being hurt.
‘No, he probably would have spat on you, you fucker. But I am a dad, too. Why did he have to die!?’ There was something tearful in the man’s voice. Carefully, Danny tried to loosen the man’s grip on his jacket collar.
‘Who?’ Danny stammered, feeling the panic of having been delayed meaninglessly. He would have to drive fast now to make the ferry.
‘Did you have that car a year ago, too?’ asked the man. Some of the words were almost incomprehensible because his voice was mixed with tears. His nose had started to run. ‘Was that the car you were driving when you murdered my son?’
Suddenly it dawned on Danny who the stranger was. He was just about to say something when the man loosened his grip and landed the first blow. It struck with much greater force than Danny had expected, sending him sliding down the car and toppling to the ground. The hard blows and kicks that followed non-stop sent him deeper and deeper into a hazy world, where all sound disappeared and the fog was eventually replaced by darkness.
56
The smell of freshly baked bread rolls mixed with the smell of bad coffee, cigarettes and Mac Baren tobacco.
The stragglers had found their seats and the morning briefing had just begun. It was early Monday morning and everyone had a little of the ‘Monday blues’, tired after the weekend.
The call from Majken Thorup meant Roland was seeing light at the end of the tunnel. And if those lights weren’t the headlights of the oncoming freight train, he and his team could be onto an important lead in the murder case.
Jesper Ingemann had received help from his solicitor. There was sufficient evidence of sexual assault, but they couldn’t pin murder and kidnapping on him. His alibi checked out and the DNA didn’t match. Roland had begun to fear the blood might not have anything to do with the killer. That the only way they would be able to convict Jesper would be to find the crime scene and obtain incriminating evidence. For now, he was remanded in custody.
Fortunately, answers had finally come from the analysis of the mud. The technical explanations didn’t tell him much. The analysis showed it was heavy clay soil and, to cut a long story short, involved microorganisms, hydrogen, nutrients and so on, which he intended to explain to his people in two words: ‘forest floor’. Finally a crime scene was in sight. Now the task was to comb every forest area in the vicinity of Brabrand with the hope of finding something. First, it concerned those with the same forest growth the samples had shown traces of—oak.
Time was of the essence. Crimes against children concerned the population, and police work was mocked from almost every side, even politically. The mayor had spoken personally to Superintendent Olsen about the matter. This was one of the worst cases Roland had investigated. At least, the one he had the hardest time letting go of in his spare time. But that was life as an inspector.
A police officer’s brain worked around the clock to solve crimes, whether they wanted it to or not. A journalist’s brain did the same. Anne Larsen kept the case alive with daily articles on the investigation, or the lack thereof, no doubt helping to emphasise how incompetent the police seemed.
Progress stalls in Gitte murder and missing Louise probe read the latest headline in bold type on the front page of the newspaper that had caught his eye over morning coffee. But at the same time, he had to reluctantly admit it was because of the press that people in the area had become aware of what was believed to be the killer’s car. Despite the poor description, several people had confirmed they had seen what was apparently the same dark car, at the same time as the murder. Of course they could also have read the appeal for the car on the East Jutland Police website, but people probably read newspapers more than the police website.
It was undoubtedly the same car seen in connection with Louise’s disappearance. Roland was convinced the two crimes were related.
Mikkel Jensen had visited a woman in Brabrand who thought she would recognise the make and model if she saw a picture, but when he showed her pictures of the possible cars, she had still been confused and pointed out an Opel, a Honda and a Mercedes.
Louise had been missing for five days. As time elapsed, the trail became colder. And what was the nature of the person she was with? Would the perpetrator panic and hurt her? It was a ticking time bomb. Was she already dead? Neither Gitte’s bike, helmet, backpack nor tights had been found. They had disappeared, just like Louise.
Kim Ansager had questioned Simon Agger, who had sobbingly convinced them he had simply found Louise’s mobile phone. Simon had replaced the cover, but thankfully he hadn’t managed to get hold of a new SIM card—that would have made tracking the phone even more complicated. Gitte’s phone still hadn’t been found.
Roland observed his trusted officers in the case. They were sitting around the table chatting to each other about their experiences over the weekend. It was different for the younger generation; they have so much else in their lives that a murder or two doesn’t stand in the way of having fun at the weekend, which is how it should be.
Roland cleared his throat. There was immediate silence as everyone’s attention turned to him. He reached across the table and grabbed the insulated coffee pot.
‘Let’s get started. We have a busy day ahead of us,’ he said, pouring coffee into the white plastic cup and passing the pot to Mikkel, who was sitting to his right.
‘Did you go to the funeral on Saturday?’ he asked, looking at Roland with tired eyes, revealing he must have had a little too much fun on his date at the weekend.
‘I only made it for the end of the service. They’d just lowered the coffin into the ground when I arrived, then most people headed off. There was coffee and cake afterwards in the Mikkelsen’s home, but I didn’t think it appropriate to attend. It was only for immediate family.’
The men at the table nodded knowingly, their faces serious. It was a difficult subject to swallow after a happy weekend. Roland had made it home to Højbjerg just as Rikke had been reversing the car out the driveway with Marianna in the back seat, though he had managed to get a hug from his granddaughter and his daughter before they left—Tim was waiting for them. Some could fulfil their familial obligations. Others couldn’t. Roland felt guilty when he saw the disappointment in the eyes of Rikke, Marianna and Irene.
‘What’s new?’ Morten Toft asked curiously as he poured coffee into his mug and passed the pot on to Kim.
‘Majken Thorup, the doctor who had a break-in last Friday. She specialises in child psychiatry and remembered Gitte Mikkelsen was a patient of hers last summer. The file seems to have been taken during the burglary,’ Roland announced.
Toft whistled tellingly. ‘How did she only notice it now?’
Roland shrugged. He had asked himself the same question.
‘She has so many patients, she can’t remember them all.’ Those were Majken’s own words. He sank his teeth into the crispy bread roll from the canteen and enjoyed the taste of the thick layer of butter that melted on his tongue and mixed with the taste of poppy seeds. He rinsed it all down with the coffee. Irene would have asked him to scrape off some of the butter. He could almost hear her reprimand.
‘I thought medical records were kept digitally nowadays. On the computer, I mean.’ Toft was up to speed with most things.
Roland nodded. ‘Exactly! Luckily Majken Thorup keeps both. Therefore she was able to tell us Gitte was afraid of a man who came to the family home. The theft may have been committed to remove that lead.’
‘Isn’t she breaking her oath of confidentiality by telling us?’ Mikkel looked surprised at the butter-scraped roll. Roland had followed Irene’s reprimand. Mikkel, like most others at the table, looked at Roland and felt a little ashamed.
‘She can’t be punished when it’s in relation to solving a crime, as I’m sure you remember,’ Toft quickly answered.
‘But she isn’t obliged to tell us?’ Mikkel got the last word.
Roland was pleased to hear his officers had a good grasp of the law. He wiped his mouth with a paper napkin from the canteen.
‘Jensen, you take Majken Thorup. Review everything she can remember from her conversations with Gitte. Every single word. And, if you can, get a printout of the file. Unfortunately, no names are mentioned, according to Majken. Only that the man in question is a friend of the family who came into the house,’ he continued, feeling uncomfortable. Could one of his own family friends try to harm Marianna? The job could make him completely paranoid at times. If he couldn’t even trust his friends…
‘Jesper Ingemann’s not a friend of the Mikkelsens. He only knows Gitte from the short period she attended the Søvejen After-School Centre in Brabrand, and he said a passing hello to her parents. But maybe the man Gitte mentioned doesn’t have anything to do with the case. That’s what we need to clarify now,’ Roland informed them.
‘I’d still wager he has a Hotmail address called teddy bear at,’ said Mikkel confidently. ‘Have Ingemann’s emails been reviewed?’
‘Cyber’s on it.’
‘How do we find him—the friend?’ Kim wanted to know, pushing his glasses into place with his index finger.
He hadn’t said anything all morning, despite not usually being the quiet type. His skin was extra pale under his dark curls. The case was affecting him, too. He had a daughter only a few years older than Gitte and Louise, who had been in the same chat forum as the two girls. The Amalie Bang case also bothered him.
‘First we have to ask the Mikkelsens about their circle of friends. I’ll take that. Then we have to go through the friends and interview them one by one,’ said Roland.
‘Do you think the murder of the woman on Mejlbyvej has anything to do with it? Isn’t it weird she was murdered days after Gitte?’ asked Superintendent Kurt Olsen, unscrupulously taking the last half of bread roll on the platter.
Roland shook his head as he turned his plastic mug, deep in thought.
‘Inspector Holsted will keep us informed, of course, but I don’t see a connection.’ He looked resolutely at his officers and raised his voice. ‘The result of the analysis of the mud on Gitte’s clothes and hair has finally arrived. Now we can start looking for the crime scene. The analysis shows the mud originates from a forest area.’
‘Aarhus municipality owns most the forest in Denmark,’ Kim said resignedly.
‘I’ve been on to the Danish Nature Agency and received some pertinent information,’ said Olsen, stuffing his pipe with delicate fingers that practically caressed its highly polished surface. ‘Most Aarhus forests are predominately deciduous trees, and beech trees, of course. But that’s mainly along the coast, so we’re ignoring those areas for the time being.’
Roland lit a cigarette. A cigarette was perfect after the bread rolls and coffee. ‘We assume it’s one of the new forests we need to concentrate on, given the results were from an oak forest. That limits it to about five hundred hectares of forest. That’s significantly less than the thirteen hundred hectares of old forests out there,’ he offered, blowing cigarette smoke out the corner of his mouth. ‘First we take the oak forests around Brabrand. They’re closest. And it further narrows the area. The superintendent has a map.’ Roland nodded towards Olsen, who confirmed with a nod.
Roland shared more about the analysis of the mud, after which he allocated assignments. He stacked his papers by slamming the edges against the tabletop, then emptied his mug. They knew the routine and that the morning briefing was now over. Chairs scraped, and the chat gradually began to buzz again.
‘Any questions?’ shouted Roland above the noise, but the group was already out the room, eager to get on with the day’s duties. Olsen gave Roland a complimentary pat on the back.
‘There’s a visitor coming this afternoon,’ he said.
Roland looked at him questioningly.
‘Her name’s Julie Hermansen and she’s from the Special Operations Unit. She’s a specialist in criminal profiling. An order has come from on high. I expect you to be here to meet with her and fill her in on the cases. I’m heading out to a meeting,’ he continued before returning to his own office, puffing his pipe, clearly relieved he had other things to do.
57
It was a little after noon. Kamilla was in Aarhus taking some scenic pictures by Aarhus River. Thygesen had given her the assignment so he could get pictures for an article entitled New harbour atmosphere in Aarhus, in which he had written about the attractive café environment, and the history around Aarhus River from the time Viking trading ships had sailed all the way up to Immervad. Even then, it was a place where people met and shopped. Thygesen obviously thought it was time to show the newspaper’s readers Aarhus wasn’t just crimes and unsolved murders.
Afterwards, she window-shopped along Strøget and enjoyed city life. She had again ended up down at Vadestedet opposite Magasin department store. She sat down at a vacant table outside Café Sidewalk and ordered a cappuccino, even though the air was a little cold and damp. It looked like it would start to rain soon. The mobile phone in her camera bag rang. She took it out and waved to the waiter. He was standing confused on the doorstep of the café, looking around for her with a large cappuccino on a tray with tall glasses. He was a very young man, a student with a summer job perhaps.
