Authors: Sara Blædel
Camilla sat back a bit in her chair, offended, and fumed. “I wouldn’t dream of getting mixed up in all this, but I just might invite Henning to the event on Friday, and Suhr better not fucking stop me.”
Peter smiled as Louise sighed. She decided not to present Camilla’s idea to Suhr, but also wouldn’t tell Camilla she wasn’t going to. She really wanted to ask some more questions about Henning, but she held back since Peter was there.
The first of May was as warm as if it had been August, and people were strolling home with picnic baskets and blankets over their arms. It had been a long time since she and Peter had had dinner in the park. Even though it was so close to where they lived, they rarely went. Actually, it had been quite a while since they had done anything so wholesomely ordinary and enjoyable together. A little devil on her shoulder whispered that the spontaneity had vanished... after they’d moved in together. She looked at him and thought maybe it had already happened
before
they had moved in together. Their everyday lives had taken over. Work kept them busy. Peter had been working a lot of overtime, and he tried hard to keep his weekly badminton date. Most of the week was taken up that way, without much time for them to just be there for each other.
She reached for his hand. Every once in a while she longed for a little more togetherness, but mostly she enjoyed the sense of freedom she felt. She didn’t need them to do every last thing together. What she loved most about their relationship was just knowing they were on the same team, knowing that they loved each other and that he was always there for her. Doing everything together wouldn’t necessarily strengthen those feelings.
“I presume you’ll let me know what Suhr says about my idea,” Camilla nagged. “Or, obviously, I could call him and ask him myself.”
“We’ll have to wait and see how far he and Heilmann get tomorrow,” Louise said evasively. She thought about how Camilla’s suggestions often seemed very simplistic. Camilla went after ideas or stories without thinking about their consequences. They had known each other for many years, and Louise knew it didn’t matter what she said; Camilla always did whatever she wanted anyway. But Louise tried to be a little bit of a grounding influence by bringing up the consequences and realities that went along with the ideas in her friend’s blond head.
Later, all three of them strolled along Smallegade up to Falkoner Allé. Peter followed a few paces behind them.
“There’s one major flaw with your idea,” Louise told Camilla as they parted ways. “He has enough time to attack one more victim before Friday if we don’t do something before then. And Suhr won’t be happy about that, either. I’m sure that would get a lot of fucking play during the slow summer news cycle.”
“I
REALLY WANT TO TALK TO YOU BEFORE THE MORNING BRIEFING.”
Heilmann had come over and poked Louise’s shoulder as she stood pouring herself some coffee in the little kitchenette off the break room where her colleagues were showing up for Tuesday’s morning briefing.
Heilmann looked tense and serious, and Louise noticed how she was bracing herself for whatever was coming.
Fucking asshole
, she thought, picturing the back of the suspect’s head with its dark wavy hair, and then followed Heilmann into her office. Louise took a seat on the edge of the visitor’s chair and noticed she was clenching her jaw. She opened and closed her jaw a few times and massaged just below her temples to get her jaw muscles to relax.
Heilmann was watching her.
Self-consciously, she slowly lowered her hands into her lap and grew increasingly anxious because the sergeant was not saying anything.
“Susanne Hansson tried to commit suicide last night,” Heilmann said.
The silence was oppressive. Louise’s arms felt heavy.
“She’s been admitted to Hvidovre Hospital. Actually, the police aren’t involved with this at all, but obviously there’s no doubt why she felt driven to do such an unfortunate thing. Her mother was the one who called the ambulance.”
Exactly a week after she found Susanne the last time,
Louise thought, her heart sinking. She pictured the slightly awkward, battered expression on Susanne’s face, and it struck more of a chord in her than she would have liked.
There was a knock on Heilmann’s door, and Suhr stuck his head in. “You guys coming?”
“We’ll join you in minute,” Heilmann replied, waving him away.
“Susanne’s mother called Suhr at home at six this morning. She must have gotten the number out of the phone book,” Heilmann continued, smiling wanly. “I think you should drive out there and talk to Susanne. I’m sensing maybe there’s something she hasn’t told us. Something that’s really bothering her. This was a cry for help, so obviously we’ll also need to offer her some counseling.”
Louise nodded, completely in agreement.
“Not that you should push her too hard,” Heilmann continued, “but maybe she’s remembered something that could help us. Something she repressed originally because of the shock. We do see that all the time.”
“Of course I’ll talk to her. I can go right now,” Louise said.
“You should attend the morning briefing first. You can drive out to Hvidovre after that,” Heilmann replied, standing to retrieve the vehicle logbook off the bookshelf behind her. She wrote in Louise’s name and tossed her a set of keys. They walked together over to the break room, where the briefing was already under way. They had just sat down when Willumsen flung the door open and interrupted Suhr.
Louise followed along with interest as Willumsen, whom she was still angry with for forcing her to waste a whole day traipsing out to Nykøbing Sjaelland, unleashed a torrent of profanity. He ignored everyone else in the room, addressing only Suhr.
The murder of the immigrant woman had been officially categorized as “solved but not closed” since they had taken the woman’s ex-husband into custody. Now it turned out that the witness who said she had heard all the noise coming from the victim’s apartment around one o’clock had broken down and confessed that she’d only said that because a reporter was asking her a bunch of questions the same day the body was discovered. The reporter, along with a photographer, had settled into her kitchen; and since they were there, the witness felt under a lot of pressure to make some kind of comment on the appalling tragedy that had happened in the apartment below hers. So she’d made up those comments about the noise. The paper ran with that the next day, and when the police came back to ask why she hadn’t mentioned the noise the first time they talked to her, she was too afraid to admit she had gotten carried away and made it all up. Her lie had just snowballed out of control.
“Fucking idiots!” Willumsen snarled. “Now we don’t have
shit
to hold this guy on.”
Willumsen turned, surveying the officers of the homicide division’s five investigative units, and stormed out of the break room again. Louise wasn’t really sure who the phrase “fucking idiots” referred to—the witnesses or the reporters. She shook off his angry outburst and concentrated on Suhr, who was reviewing what the other units were working on. As he wrapped up the briefing, she got ready to head out to Hvidovre.
—
“Y
OU’RE DRIVING MY DAUGHTER TO HER DEATH!”
Accusations were being hurled across the hospital room. Susanne’s mother was on her feet, coming at Louise, before Louise even managed to close the door again.
“She can’t live like this,” Susanne’s mother continued. “We read it in the paper—there’s a vicious sociopath on the loose. And you’re not doing anything—aside from sitting around drinking coffee in people’s homes! First he came after
us
, and now he’s gone and murdered some poor young woman....”
Susanne’s mother’s voice was agitated and shrill, but devoid of even the slightest hint of sadness.
Louise looked over at the hospital bed. Susanne was just lying there, the same as the first time Louise had met her. Susanne turned her face toward the door to see who had come in, but avoided looking in her mother’s direction. That sent a twinge through Louise’s heart. The mother’s accusations had the same effect as one of those awful little yappy dogs: it’s all you can do not to kick it in the rump to get it to shut up.
“I’d like to ask you to step out of the room while I speak to Susanne.” Louise kept her face calm and spoke with all the official police authority she could.
“No way,” the mother fumed. “My daughter has suffered enough. I insist on being here to protect her. You’ve certainly demonstrated that you can’t.” She made a big show of walking over and sitting down on the edge of the bed. Susanne did not acknowledge her mother’s presence.
Again, Louise tried to get the mother to wait outside while she spoke with Susanne. But the mother started getting all worked up; when her accusations eventually reached the point where she was actually blaming the police for her daughter’s suicide attempt, Louise gave up.
“I’m just going to step out and call my partner, so he can remove you while I do my job,” Louise calmly announced.
That finally caused the mother’s voice to drop by an octave. “Someone has to take care of her,” she said in a half whimper.
That was the last straw for Louise. She walked over, grabbed ahold of the woman’s arm, and escorted her out of the hospital room. Susanne lay there watching her, and Louise thought she saw a little glimmer of amusement deep within those expressionless eyes.
Louise pulled a chair up to the bed and sat in silence for a moment as she searched for the right words, wondering whether she should be more professional or more personable.
“We’ve got to stop meeting like this,” she said.
Her words did not elicit any response. Susanne had swallowed a whole jar of Tylenol and ten of her mother’s sleeping pills, but then she started vomiting not long after that, so the pills hadn’t had a chance to have any serious effect. Her mother showed up and shook Susanne until she admitted what she had done, and then the mother called an ambulance. Under normal circumstances, a patient like this would probably have already been on her way home again with the number of a therapist in his or her pocket; but because of the recent rape and because Susanne refused to say a thing to the doctors who tried to talk to her, she now had to wait for a psych consult.
“Would you rather drive over to National Hospital and talk to Jakobsen instead of the psychologist on duty here?” Louise offered. Louise had no idea if that was even possible, but that didn’t occur to her until the words were already out of her mouth. But it was clear that Susanne had benefited from talking to Jakobsen before, and she might find it easier to talk some more to him.
“Yes, please,” Susanne said, nodding weakly as she turned her head to look at Louise. The bruising was still obvious, although it had faded from purple to a dark yellow, but the swelling had gone down. There was something about her expression that made Louise feel like Susanne was starting to disintegrate. Like Karin Hvenegaard from Rødovre, who had experienced a similar rape two years before. Louise held out her hand and gave Susanne’s arm a little squeeze to reassure her that she wasn’t alone.
“I’ll just check if he’s in and then I’ll arrange things with the nurses here,” Louise said. “Do you want to tell me why you did it before I go out and make my phone call?”
Silence. Susanne’s eyes were blank again.
Louise waited, then asked, “You’re thinking about the girl he killed? Are you afraid he’ll come back?”
“I didn’t want to die!” Susanne said. The sentence stood on its own; she didn’t add anything else.
“Is that why you threw the pills back up again?” Louise asked.
Susanne finally turned her head and seemed to snap out of it.
“No, that’s why I took them in the first place!” Susanne practically screamed.
It was hard to make any sense out of her words.
Susanne lowered her eyes to stare at the blanket, and Louise feared that she was disappearing back into her own world and that the conversation was over.
Then Susanne shook her head and quietly said, “I would rather be beaten to death by him than be suffocated by the life I have now.” Tears flowed noiselessly down her cheeks.
Louise stroked her arm as the full weight of Susanne’s grim admission settled in her chest like a tombstone. Susanne didn’t need to say anything else. Her message had been understood, and it was utterly bleak.
“Susanne, you don’t need to kill yourself to keep your mother from suffocating you. You can move out and break your ties to her—for a while,” Louise hurried to add before continuing. “Pound your fist on the table and tell her you’re a grown-up and she has to stop butting into your business.”
Louise hoped she hadn’t been too forceful.
“She teases me for trying to find a man that way.” Susanne’s words filled the room. “I wish I’d died last Monday, because then at least it would have happened with someone other than her.”
There was nothing else to say. Louise sat for a bit, stroking Susanne’s arm. Louise was already plotting how quickly Susanne could move to a new address. Not just to prevent Jesper Bjergholdt from finding her again, but also to get her away from her mother. She’d have to fill Heilmann in on how this all fit together, and Susanne needed to talk to Jakobsen. If the crisis psychologist wasn’t in his office at the hospital, she would drive Susanne over to his house. She contemplated whether someone ought to talk to the mother and make her aware of
her
part in all this.
But Louise knew there was no point. The mother was undoubtedly old-school enough that she wouldn’t listen to anything unless it came from the chief of police himself. Louise predicted Susanne’s mother would spew all her accusations against the police and their inability to protect poor innocent victims who were at a high risk of suicide.
Maybe Lieutenant Suhr could put her in her place,
Louise thought as she stood up to walk over to the door.
“Don’t go!” Susanne pleaded.
Louise turned and smiled reassuringly. “I need to talk to a nurse to get permission to take you with me,” she said.