Username, page 9
‘Your friend’s here,’ he said to Majken, who looked up from her plate at him in astonishment before turning her eyes in the direction he was looking. But Kamilla was gone. He wanted to get up and run after her.
‘Kamilla? Where?’ Majken’s voice pulled him away from the thought.
‘She’s gone—with her son.’
‘That wasn’t her!’ Majken’s voice sounded sure. ‘Kamilla doesn’t venture out into the big dangerous world! Besides, her son’s…’ She caught sight of the waiter and waved him to the table.
‘What’s Kamilla’s son?’
They were interrupted by the waiter standing in front of them, listening expectantly. She ordered two coffees. She didn’t bother to ask him whether he wanted one. She was beginning to annoy him. He had never been a fan of dominant women. Sanne had often called him an old-fashioned male chauvinist, but that’s not how he felt now. He was happy to help with the washing up, and he could even cook a few light dishes. He was forced to do so after Sanne had left him. Yes, it had been hard. In the beginning, McDonald’s had been his ultimate rescue from starvation. But the weight gain and the film Super Size Me had changed his mind on that. Despite the first tour to the supermarket with the trolley feeling unfamiliar and silly, it was now a daily habit he didn’t have to think about. The little one-bed apartment he had found for rent in a property on Christiansholms Parkvej in Klampenborg, with a view of the lake, suited him fine. He had renovated a little. Though he certainly wasn’t a handyman, he had taken pride in being able to replace the kitchen counter himself. But there had been no women to praise his skill or comfort him when he wounded himself with the hammer or saw as he went about the unfamiliar work.
They sat in silence, drinking the coffee. He wondered why he hadn’t seen Kamilla before. If it had been her with her son.
‘Are you sure you don’t want to come home with me and have morning coffee?’ lured Majken again. But his good humour had gone. They were standing in front of the restaurant. The blackbird was no longer singing. Only the splashing of the water could be heard in the dusk.
‘No, thank you, Majken.’
She shrugged, trying to pretend she wasn’t disappointed. ‘It’s been a nice day,’ she said.
He nodded and lit the cigarette he had tapped out the packet and caught with his lips. ‘Shall I drive you home?’
She shook her head. ‘I don’t live that far from here, and I need some fresh air.’ The conversation stopped. She started walking.
‘Can we do it again?’ she shouted after him as he got into his car.
‘I don’t know how long I’m staying. Let’s see how it goes.’
He started the car and saw her waving. He felt tired and discouraged, and a lot of other unfamiliar emotions.
22
The evening was warm, and even though it was getting dark, Majken took a shortcut down to the beach. Giggling, she took off her sandals and walked barefoot in the sand. It was cold and damp after soaking up the day’s many rain showers, but it was cooling and pleasant against her hot feet, which had been squeezed into tight sandals. Fashion wasn’t always practical.
She felt a little drunk from the wine—and the heady feeling of falling in love. After so, so long, she felt the sensation bubble inside again.
As no one could see her, she spread her arms out and spun around. Her dress danced around her bare legs and the little shoulder bag swung around her on its strap, as if she were the centre of the universe. It was important no one could see her. That was how she had been raised. As a doctor, you couldn’t afford that kind of behaviour. Her parents would no doubt also have reproached her for inviting a patient to dinner. But really? It was just Troels. Besides, it was Danny she was interested in, and she couldn’t invite just him when he was sitting with Troels. Kamilla needed the company, too. She needed to meet other people and forget.
She stopped dancing and walked on quietly, carrying the sandals by the straps in one hand, listening to the sea. Seeing Kamilla in the condition she had been in for the past year tormented her. Kamilla, who faced everything head-on. Even Jan leaving her. She had even accepted Nina, almost as if she were one of the family. But losing her son, on top of everything else, had been a death knell. She was sure Kamilla was suffering from severe depression. But Kamilla didn’t want help. Never. So what could be done, other than what she was trying to do?
Despite it being nearly midnight, it wasn’t quite dark yet. It was one of those bright evenings that hadn’t been spoiled by this summer, when dark rain clouds had commanded the sky. The longest day of the year had passed; it wouldn’t be long before darkness slowly began to dominate again. But now it was so bright she could see a good distance out to sea and the lights from the ships passing on the horizon. She wished Danny had joined her. It had been so long since she’d had a man that she probably would have ripped his clothes off here at the water’s edge. She stopped and let the icy seawater reach her feet. She shuddered every time it hit them. She stared down into the water, which quickly retreated and disappeared into the darkness again, only to soon return. She imagined them lying in a hot embrace in the cold water and felt a warm stream flow through her body.
‘That’s not how a doctor thinks,’ she heard her mother’s voice. ‘Remember you come from a nice family of doctors; you can’t just do what suits you. Your title comes with obligations and duties.’ She had heard those words so often they were branded into her brain. She had always admired her father’s work and knowledge. The family had been doctors for as far back as she could remember, and now the title and responsibility had been passed on to her. But the duty wasn’t mandatory. She should have been a boy. Real doctors were men, after all, and there was no doubt Doctor Ove Thorup had wished his son had taken over. But those plans weren’t a part of Tobias’ life, and this had caused many quarrels at home, that is until her brother had moved away in protest. He would rather work with computers and programming. And her sister had neither the desire nor the ability to become a doctor. She had quickly dropped out of her studies. But Majken had passed all the exams with flying colours. She now knew as much as her wise father and had even specialised in child psychiatry, as both the mind and children interested her.
She hung her head. The thought of her sister and children was starting to spoil her mood. The wine was also beginning to make her head thud. Her self-confidence had waned. But maybe it wasn’t too late. Maybe all hope wasn’t lost. Danny had seemed interested in her yesterday when they had first met, and again tonight. But then he claimed to have seen Kamilla. It couldn’t have been her, could it? Had she really started to pull herself together and get out among other people? But with a little boy—that couldn’t be right. She stood still again and stared out at the sea. A cold breeze crept in over the water, making her dress blow up. Rasmus had been an open boy. Easy to talk to. Their many conversations after Kamilla and Jan’s divorce had brought them close.
He had only been five years old at the time. Helping him had felt good, the same way she had helped so many other children with problems since then. Rasmus was a sweet and suitably naughty little kid, like her own son would have been if she’d had one. She still could if she hurried. She should make it. ‘You haven’t lived if you don’t have children. You’re not a real woman,’—another of her mother’s many philosophies. Who else was to carry on the Thorup medical family name? The bitterness returned. She felt something wet on her cheeks and realised it wasn’t seawater. She wiped the tears away and saw her mascara had run. It had to be the wine. Wine always made her overly sentimental. She was beginning to freeze so found the path back to the road. Home wasn’t far.
23
DS Kim Ansager knocked gently on the door before entering the office without waiting for an answer, but Roland was expecting him. He straightened up in his chair and asked the nervous officer, who had already sniffled and pushed his glasses up on the ridge of his nose twice, to sit down. Roland had often wanted to ask him to fix the glasses, but they didn’t seem to bother Kim.
‘Did you get anything out of tracking the mobile phones?’ he asked.
‘Nothing. If the phones are switched off or the batteries are dead, which they probably are now, then they can’t be traced.’ Kim pulled a chair in front of Roland’s desk and sat down. ‘But I contacted TDC and received a transcript of both Gitte Mikkelsen’s and Louise Poulsen’s telephone conversations based on the phone numbers. I also got the phones’ IMEI numbers, so both phones are cancelled.’
‘Hmm,’ muttered Roland. ‘What did you get from the phone calls?’
‘Unfortunately, there’s nothing we can use. The conversations were to and from the parents, Louise called Gitte once and vice versa. The last call from Gitte to Louise was at three o’clock on Sunday afternoon. The day before she was murdered. A number of text messages were also sent, but none significant.’
‘Damn.’ Roland leaned back in his chair as he looked inquisitively at Kim.
‘But you said this morning that you noticed something important last night?’ The question hung in the air until Kim had poured a mug of coffee from the insulated coffee pot Roland had handed him.
‘Yes, Trille—my daughter,’ Kim glanced at his boss to make sure he knew who Trille was. Roland’s nod encouraged him to continue. Kim took a sip of the coffee. ‘I’ve told her she has to stop; you hear so much about bullying, harassment and much, much worse. But it’s so popular with kids and teenagers. It’s impossible to ban. Even if we were to take her computer away, she’d just go to her friend’s, and then we’d have absolutely no control.’
‘What are we actually talking about here?’ Roland could make neither head nor tail of the officer’s rambling explanation.
‘Chat rooms! Chatting on the internet. A children’s website!’ Kim Ansager took off his glasses and massaged the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger. ‘But they’re not just writing emails to each other,’ he explained. ‘They log in to a website with a username, a picture, information about their age and everything. There’s a picture gallery that looks like a bloody porn site. Some of the girls pose in low-cut blouses with seductive looks well beyond their years. Well, not Trille, of course, I won’t allow it. They chat about everything from how crazy their parents are to sexual abuses and who they fancy.’
Roland placed his elbows on the desk and leaned in towards the officer.
‘Where are you going with all this?’
Kim cleared this throat nervously. ‘Well, last night, Trille told me she’d seen pictures of the two girls from the newspapers and TV on a chat site. I followed her into her room and saw the profile pictures on the computer screen.’ He straightened his glasses and drank some coffee, though he didn’t seem to enjoy it.
‘It was them. Both Gitte Mikkelsen and Louise Poulsen are—uh, were—active users of the website. They must have lied about their age, because members have to be at least twelve years old.’
‘Are you absolutely sure it was them?’ Roland’s interest was suddenly piqued.
‘Sure. They didn’t use their real names. I can’t remember what Louise called herself, but Gitte’s username was Doll Child.’
‘Doll Child!?’ Roland felt discomfort somewhere between his shoulder blades and the little hairs on the back of his neck rose. He thought of the doll that had disappeared from the skip.
‘Is there a connection, do you think?’ he pondered.
‘It’s an encyclopaedia, Roland. An encyclopaedia for offenders with a penchant for children. Maybe the murderer found the girls there and arranged to meet them. It’s not uncommon for children to meet their contact outside of cyberspace. Fortunately, things often turn out fine. Do you think the website would help the investigation?’
‘This is about grooming. Maybe we should contact the Cyber Investigation Unit. Did you spot any older men among the profiles?’
‘I have to admit, I wasn’t looking for them.’ Kim made an apologetic grimace that sent the glasses sliding down his nose yet again. ‘It’s not certain he’d have a profile picture if he is a user. Not everyone has one, and wouldn’t an older man with that intention avoid putting his photo up?’ Kim looked at Roland quizzically.
‘I don’t suppose it could be a teenager. Can we rule that out?’ Roland asked slowly, considering the possibility. After all, sexual offenders weren’t always, as many people assumed, old men in long camel-coloured trench coats and glasses with thick lenses. They could come off like the sort of nice people who easily win the trust of both children and adults. They could have a good and well-functioning family life—even have children themselves. They could take advantage of a child’s natural curiosity once trust was aroused through chats on the internet. A child’s lack of experience and maturity meant they couldn’t always see the consequences until it was too late. Roland shook himself and reached for the thermos. From its weight, he realised it was empty and put it back on the table.
‘It could be an older user pretending to be much younger than he is. Yeah, maybe a teenager. But if the dark car’s linked to the case, we have to assume it’s someone over eighteen, who has a driving licence. Given the description, it sounds like a slightly too big and heavy car for a young man,’ said Kim.
‘Borrowed from daddy?’ suggested Roland.
‘Maybe. What about the girls’ private emails? Could they have been contacted there, too? Trille often receives emails from outside that website,’ Kim had a thought. ‘If it were done anonymously, which is probably what a criminal would prefer, do you think we could find something on the girls’ computers?’ He had all the demeanour of someone who had invented the wheel.
Roland nodded. Again, he thought about the context in which they were discussing ten-year-old girls. When his girls were ten, they had played with Barbie dolls. Today, children were chatting about sex and boyfriends online—and he was still learning how to use the internet.
‘It’s worth a try. Will you do it? You can take Mikkel with you. He knows all about computers,’ said Roland, concentrating on the computer again with narrowed eyes. A larger screen would do wonders.
‘What does Mikkel not know about,’ Kim mumbled. ‘By the way, did the dog unit find anything on Louise Poulsen?’
Roland sighed. ‘Unfortunately not. They sniffed their way to a couple of tyre tracks on the playground that forensics are currently working on. It’ll be exciting to see if there’s a match with the tyre print in front of the skip, so we can establish whether it’s the same car.’
He was cut short by the phone ringing. As he listened, he raised his dark eyebrows higher and higher in interest. Kim looked at him curiously from the other side of the desk. Roland breathed out as soon as he hung up.
‘We’ve received a report we have to look into,’ he said grimly.
*
There came a day when stepping on toads was no longer enough; he wanted to feel the life disappear from their bodies between his childish hands. Make them stop whining while he looked them in the eye. The protruding eyes stared at him until they became dull and lost all signs of life. It wasn’t the same crunching sound as when he stepped on them, but the sensation in his fingers gave him a better feeling. His little sister didn’t like the toads in the garden either. But when she had seen him stepping on a toad one day, she had lunged at him from behind, put her small arms around his neck and nearly suffocated him as she kicked at him with her legs. ‘You idiot! You idiot! Hear how they scream!’ she had shouted. He had grown angry because she had exposed him. ‘Toads don’t scream, they whine. They whine like you!’ he had answered nastily, and she had started to cry loudly. He had warned her not to say anything to Father. Mother wasn’t around anymore. Mother was a coward. She had just run away.
Her skin was so soft. Like the bellies of the toads, which, in contrast to the roughly knobbled backs, were as soft as silk. And yet her skin was soft in another way. She was prettier, too. They are at that age. Firm and tight in body. Unspoiled was the right word. They hadn’t tried it before. Had no comparisons to throw mockingly in his face. But she had lied about her age, too. So it was her own fault. It didn’t matter to him, the younger the better. Though there were limits. They had to know a little about what was happening, otherwise he couldn’t see it in their eyes. First naïve curiosity about something forbidden and exciting, then pain and, finally, fear. If he couldn’t see it, he couldn’t feel power. A power in direct opposition to the powerlessness he felt towards women. But she knew too much. He would have to get rid of her soon. It needed to be soon. He repeated that aloud to himself several times before reaching the hiding place.
24
After some interesting sightseeing in Aarhus, Danny drove along Marienlundsvej surrounded by Risskov’s tall trees. He parked in front of Danhostel Aarhus, the city’s only youth hostel, where he was staying in a single en suite room. Yet again, the beauty and location of the hostel captivated him, just as when he had arrived. He stood for a moment looking at the building. It was reminiscent of a beautiful oversized gazebo with its eight-sided main building, many white lattice windows, and Swedish-red woodwork against light blue painted carvings matching the blue flag waving on the black octagonal pointed roof. An unusual building with a unique location in the middle of Risskov, and only minutes from the beach. A colleague from the advertising agency had once mentioned the place, praising it warmly, so he had no doubt this was where he should stay on his trip. Not to mention it was cheap and had a relaxed atmosphere. A busy, overcrowded hotel in the holiday season wasn’t exactly what he needed.
He quickly took off his clothes, wet from the rain, and stepped into the hot shower. The rain had prevented him from visiting Den Gamle By again. So it had turned into a couple of lonely café visits and a peek at the Music House to see what they had to offer. He didn’t buy tickets. He found going to a concert on his own foolish. A concert was something to be shared. A stab of guilty conscience had hit him, too. He was behaving like a simple tourist, enjoying himself with amusements and pleasures. Shouldn’t he be seeking out the family he had destroyed?
