Call Me Princess (5 page)

“I think your apartment is still sealed off, and it would be best if you weren’t alone.”

It didn’t look like Susanne agreed, but after a bit she nodded anyway.

“Let’s agree that you’ll come back here at two o’clock tomorrow afternoon. And now I’ll just arrange for someone to give you a ride home.”

Louise called up the operations desk and asked if there was someone who could drive Susanne Hansson back to her mother’s place. Then she drummed her fingers as she waited for a response.

“Great,” she said into the phone, once it was all arranged. Then she stood up. “I’ll walk you down to the main entrance, and a car will pull around to pick you up.”

They walked down the corridor together. Louise was surprised to see that Lars was still sitting in the office next door. After she saw Susanne off, she went back to find out if he had come up with anything, since he was still around.

“I just checked the Criminal Register,” he said, “but we don’t have anyone by that name. That would almost have been too easy.”

He stood up and offered her a lift home.

“Yeah, thanks,” she said. “I’m sure it would do me good to ride my bike, but it’ll be fine parked here until tomorrow.”

—

S
HE TIPTOED IN SO SHE WOULDN’T WAKE
P
ETER.
H
E’D LEFT A NOTE ON
the kitchen table with a big arrow pointing to the refrigerator and the words “midnight snack” written in red felt-tip pen. She smiled and opened up the fridge. She found Danish sausage, sliced ham, and different types of cheese neatly arranged on a plate. She cut herself a slice of bread, took a beer out onto the back steps, and sat down with the day’s newspaper, which by this point was almost twenty-four hours old. She hadn’t felt hungry earlier and didn’t really now either, but she needed to sit and unwind for a bit. As she finished eating, she suddenly felt tired. She yawned, folded up the paper, and went to brush her teeth.

“I
S THERE NO LIMIT TO WOMEN’S NAÏVETÉ?”

Michael Stig had sat down on the corner of Louise’s desk. She considered for a moment asking him to get his butt off her desk, but instead she forced a smile and asked what he meant.

They had accessed Susanne’s e-mail that morning, looked through her Outlook Express inbox, and seen that Jesper Bjergholdt had written to her from an account he had set up on Yahoo. They also determined that the two had not exchanged photos. That would help explain some of Susanne’s vagueness when it came to how he looked.

Louise stifled a snort, but it irritated her that they had gotten their hopes up in the first place, because obviously Susanne would have mentioned it if she’d had a picture of him.

Now she leaned back in her chair a little, preparing for one of her colleague’s sexist tirades by tuning him out to keep herself from becoming even more irritated.

“It’s pretty fucking hard to imagine the man who would send an e-mail from his personal account in a situation like this,” he began, waiting to see if she were with him before continuing. “They set up a Yahoo or Hotmail account so they don’t have to divulge their identity. But it’s so typical—women just hand out their e-mail addresses without a thought—let alone their phone numbers and physical addresses,” he added, rolling his eyes. “It fucking amazes me it doesn’t end in disaster more often.”

He hopped down off the desk and stepped behind Louise’s chair to study her bulletin board, where she had pinned up some personal photos of her and Peter in Scotland and one of Camilla leading her seven-year-old son Markus on an Icelandic horse.

“If you don’t have anything else, I’m actually kind of busy....” Louise hinted.

Before Stig could comment on the various photos, she got up and moved so close to him that he stepped back instinctively.

At that moment, her phone rang. She nodded toward the door to get him to leave.

“Unit A, Louise Rick speaking.”

“This is the front desk. You’ve got a visitor.”

“I’m not expecting anyone, and I’m just on my way out the door.”

She had an appointment with Lars to drive out to Susanne’s apartment so they could walk through it together.

“It’s a Susanne Hansson. She says she was here last night and... ,” the guard lowered his voice, “she doesn’t look like she’s doing that well.”

Louise sat down and scooted her chair in to her desk. It was eleven thirty, so her appointment with Susanne wasn’t for another two and a half hours. She felt a sense of alarm mixed with a subtle reluctance. She hoped there wouldn’t be too many problems with this case, glancing down at all the case folders piling up on her desk. Susanne’s report was straightforward: aggravated sexual assault in the first degree, and no real way so far to identify the assailant.

“Send her up,” she said into her phone.

Louise popped over to the break room to find Lars and tell him he could take his time finishing his lunch.

Susanne was wearing a baseball cap which in no way matched the outfit she had picked, but it did conceal a little of her battered face. She sat down in Lars’s chair across from Louise.

“It’s not right,” Susanne said. She didn’t waste any time on pleasantries, didn’t even say hi.

Louise’s head sank; an ominous thought started throbbing in the back of her mind. She was sure Susanne had changed her mind and decided not to report the rape after all, and how the hell could Louise stop her?

She took a deep breath and nodded at Susanne. “What is not right?” she asked in her most even-keeled, gentlest voice.

“I can’t put the blame on him,” Susanne said, her voice filled with regret and justifications.

Louise contemplated her for a moment and asked, “Have you spoken with the psychologist you were referred to at National Hospital yesterday?”

Susanne shook her head. “Don’t need to. I may well need some help at some point, but not right now.”

Louise rolled her chair over, next to Susanne’s. “What do you mean?”

“I went along with it,” Susanne admitted. “I can’t back out now, because I let it go too far.” Her voice was quiet but determined.

Louise took a firm hold of Susanne’s arm and pulled her toward her. Susanne’s response to the physical contact was for tears to well up in her eyes.

“Are you into S/M?” Louise demanded. “Did you tell him it turns you on to be bound, beaten, and raped?”

Susanne yanked her arm back. Her response was so forceful that she pulled Louise, and her chair, as well.

“Why are you saying that? Why are you accusing me of being into that kind of thing?” Susanne exclaimed, starting to cry.

When the door opened and Lars walked in, Susanne turned her back to them and rolled her chair all the way into the corner.

Lars stood in the doorway, trying to figure out what was going on.

“Should I go?” he gestured to Louise, who shrugged.

He closed the door and sat down on the low bookshelf next to the door.

Louise turned her attention back to Susanne and proceeded. “I’m not saying this to upset you. But since you just came in here and told me that you yourself are responsible for what happened, there are a few things we’re going to have to get out in the open.”

Not a sound from the corner.

Louise rolled her chair all the way over to Susanne. She would succeed either in getting Susanne to relax or in making her feel so cornered that she would decide to flee from the office. She cautiously laid her hand on Susanne’s shoulder and calmly said, “You didn’t ask for anything. You didn’t invite him to mutilate and humiliate you, and you
definitely
shouldn’t blame yourself.”

She gently stroked Susanne’s back and sat there quietly, just waiting for her to stop crying.

“I should have realized that something was wrong,” Susanne eventually said. “And in a way, you
are
asking for it when you bring a man home with you without getting to know him properly first.”

“Who the hell has been telling you crap like that?” Louise interrupted, so angry that it made Susanne jump and sit up in her chair, frightened.

“It’s obvious,” Susanne responded meekly.

Louise spun Susanne’s chair around so they were facing each other, and Susanne did not protest.

“Susanne, is this something that your mother put in your head when you went home last night or something? Where is this outrageous blaming-yourself stuff coming from?”

No response.

Louise turned to Lars, who was sitting perfectly still, trying to attract as little attention to himself as possible.

“Would you mind calling Jakobsen and telling him he needs to find time to talk with Susanne within the next hour?”

Lars frowned pessimistically. It was fairly short notice to give the crisis psychologist, but Lars headed out the door anyway, and when he came back a moment later, he nodded.

Technically Louise was supposed to ask Susanne if she felt like talking to Jakobsen, but it would be beyond all reason to give her any choice in the matter right now.

“We’re going to drive you over to National Hospital. They have a good psychologist you should talk to. There is absolutely no reason for you to be so hard on yourself, let alone
blame
yourself for what happened. While you’re with him, we,” she continued, pointing at Lars and back at herself, “will drive over and take a look at your apartment. It’ll be easier for us to get a sense of what happened once we’ve seen where it took place. Is that okay with you?”

Susanne nodded and found her keys in the pocket of her jacket.

In the car, Louise asked where she and Jesper Bjergholdt had had dinner on Monday night.

“We were supposed to meet at seven o’clock in Tivoli Gardens, but I don’t know what the restaurant was called. It was right next to Plaenen, the open-air stage there.”

Louise was going to suggest that they take a drive over there after they had looked at some pictures to try to come up with a better description of the perpetrator, but stopped herself. The priority now was for Susanne to talk to Jakobsen.

Lars, who had come with them in the same car, waited while Louise escorted Susanne up to the psychologist’s office, and when she came back down they drove out to the Valby neighborhood in southwest Copenhagen, to Lyshøj Allé. Unfortunately, there hadn’t been fingerprints either on the bottle of red wine or on the two glasses that were still on the coffee table when the police had arrived at the apartment.

“He was exceedingly aware of what he was doing,” Louise said as they walked up the stairs to the second floor.

“I’m curious to see how long it will take for them to get the results back on the hairs they found on the bed.” Lars ran his hands through his own short hair as Louise unlocked the door to the apartment.

“It might take a couple of weeks. Anyway, it’ll take that long for the semen samples Flemming thought he found on her back,” she said, looking around the front hall with curiosity as she shut the door behind them.

The crime-scene investigators weren’t there right now, but were still keeping the apartment sealed. It would be another day or two before they were done. There was some technical equipment lying around, but otherwise the crime had left behind only an aura of emptiness.

“He knew what he was going to do to her all along,” Lars said. “From the moment he packed his ‘rape case.’”

That was the name Flemming Larsen had immediately given to the small black briefcase Susanne said she had seen Jesper Bjergholdt pulling gags and duct tape out of.

“He had it under his arm when they met at Tivoli,” Louise added. “Hard to imagine anything more cynical or calculating than that.”

They were standing in the living room of the one-bedroom apartment. Louise went over and opened the door to the small balcony. She stepped out, looking over the bustling transit hub on Toftegård Square.

“He had Susanne undress herself,” Lars continued from the living room. He started getting into his reenactment, moving around the apartment as he described what had taken place. “He opened the wine, brought it in here, and set it on the table, but he got rid of his fingerprints. And Susanne was the one who poured it into the glasses. He was sickeningly aware of where he put his hands,” Lars said as Louise came back into the living room.

Louise took a seat on the couch. There was a bookshelf that took up one whole wall. In the middle of it was an empty desktop where Susanne evidently usually kept her computer.

“Do you need to see anything else?” Lars asked from out in the hallway. Since the crime-scene investigators were still working on securing the evidence, they had to make do with just a quick glance into the bedroom.

Louise stood up. The apartment was quite girly, exactly as she had expected, without even the slightest masculine touch anywhere. The kitchen had a bunch of white porcelain canisters with floral designs on the labels and the words “flour,” “sugar,” and the like printed in a swooping typeface.

She stood, looking around. There was something modest about the way Susanne had furnished the place. Nothing in the apartment came across as ostentatious in any way.

She turned and walked back out into the front hall. “Nah. Let’s just go,” she said.

“Should I swing by Tivoli after we pick up Susanne?” Lars asked once they were seated in the car. “While the two of you go look at some photos?”

She thought about it.

“I think we should bring her to Tivoli with us, if Jakobsen doesn’t have any objections. There’s a chance that some part of what she’s repressing will make its way to the surface when she finds herself back in the place where they had a good time together.”

But when Louise checked in with Jakobsen’s secretary to pick up Susanne, Jakobsen came out to let her know that it was probably going to take another hour or two before he was ready to let her go. He looked serious.

“Detective Rick,” he began, “the guy who raped her was kind enough to make it clear that he was just giving her what she had asked for,” he said.

Louise sighed.
Oh God, poor Susanne, it’s so unfair.
Previous experience told her that repressed memories could have two outcomes, and in some cases one of these was quite striking: the victim would simply push the traumatic event out of her mind. But it could also have the opposite effect, as in this case, where she had obviously repressed the details of what was going on when she said he was “just” giving her what she had asked for. As far as Louise understood the psychologist’s explanation, Susanne had somehow gotten it into her head that she had actually asked to be raped.