“Was it you personally, who visited Uffe in the past?” he asked.
“Only at the request of the police. But I was in charge of the case during all those years.”
“Was it your impression that Uffe’s condition was getting worse as time passed?”
She hesitated. She was about to slip away again, so it was just a matter of holding on tight.
“I’m asking you this because I think it might be possible to get through to him today, but I could be wrong,” he continued.
“You’ve met Uffe?” She sounded surprised.
“Yes, of course. A very charming young man. And what a dazzling smile he has. It’s hard to comprehend that there’s anything wrong with him.”
“Plenty of people have thought the same thing in the past. But that’s often how it is with victims of brain injuries. Merete deserved a lot of credit for keeping him from completely withdrawing into himself.”
“And you think there’s a danger of that happening?”
“Absolutely. But it’s true that he can seem very lively if you look at his face. And no, I don’t think he got any worse over the years.”
“Do you think he understood at all what happened to his sister?”
“No, I don’t think so.”
“Doesn’t that seem strange? I mean, he would get upset if she didn’t come home on time. Start crying, I mean.”
“If you ask me, he couldn’t have seen her fall into the water. I don’t think so. He would have become hysterical, and in my opinion he would have jumped in after her. As for his personal reaction, he wandered around for days down on Fehmarn. He had all the time in the world to cry and feel confused and try searching for her. When they found him, only his basal functions were left. I mean, he’d lost almost ten pounds and apparently hadn’t had anything to eat or drink since he was on board the ship.”
“But maybe he pushed his sister overboard by accident and realized that he’d done something wrong.”
“Now look here, Mr. Mørck! I thought that might be where you were headed.” Carl felt the wolf in her baring its teeth, so he needed to be careful. “But instead of slamming down the phone, which is what I feel like doing, I’m going to tell you a little story to give you something to chew on.”
He tightened his grip on the receiver.
“You’re aware that Uffe saw his father and mother die, right?” she asked.
“Yes.”
“It’s my opinion that since that day, Uffe has been simply floating around. Nothing could replace his ties to his parents. Merete tried, but she was not his father and mother. She was his big sister, and they used to play together, and that was all. When he cried because she wasn’t there, it wasn’t because of a feeling of insecurity; instead, it was because he was disappointed that his playmate had forgotten him. Deep inside there is still a little boy waiting for his father and mother to come back. As for Merete, sooner or later all children get over the loss of a playmate. So here’s the story.”
“I’m listening.”
“I went to visit them one day. I dropped by unannounced, which didn’t usually happen, but I was in the neighborhood and just wanted to say hello. So I walked up the garden path, noticing along the way that Merete’s car wasn’t there. She arrived a few minutes later. She’d just gone down to do some shopping at the grocer’s by the intersection. That was back when it still existed.”
“The grocery store in Magleby?”
“Yes. And when I was standing on the path, I heard a quiet babbling coming from over near their garden hothouse. It sounded like a child, but it wasn’t. I didn’t discover that it was Uffe until I was standing right in front of him. He was sitting on a pile of gravel on the terrace, talking to himself. I couldn’t understand the words, if they really were words. But I understood what he was doing.”
“Did he see you?”
“Yes, he saw me at once, but he didn’t have time to cover up what he’d been constructing.”
“And that was. .?”
“It was a little furrow he’d dug into the gravel on the flagstones. On either side of the furrow he’d placed small twigs, and in between them he’d put a little wooden block, standing on end.”
“And?”
“You don’t realize what he was doing?”
“I’m trying.”
“The gravel and the twigs were the road and the trees.
The block was the car that belonged to his father and mother. Uffe was reconstructing the accident.”
Jesus Christ. “OK. And he didn’t want you to see it?”
“He wiped out the whole thing with a single sweep of his hand. That was what convinced me.”
“About what?”
“That Uffe remembers.”
There was a moment’s pause. The radio in the background suddenly became audible again, as if somebody had turned up the volume.
“Did you tell Merete about this when she came home?” he asked.
“Yes, but she thought I was reading too much into it. She said he often sat and played with whatever happened to be in front of him. That I probably startled him, and that was why he reacted the way he did.”
“Did you tell her you had the feeling he acted as if he’d been caught at something?”
“Yes, but she just thought he’d been startled.”
“And you don’t agree?”
“I agree that he was startled, but that wasn’t the whole explanation.”
“So Uffe understands more than we think?”
“I don’t know. All I know is that he remembers the accident. Maybe it’s the only thing he actually remembers. It’s not at all certain he remembers anything from when his sister disappeared. It’s not even certain that he remembers his sister anymore.”
“Didn’t they try to interview him in connection with Merete’s disappearance?”
“It’s difficult with Uffe. I tried to help the police get him to open up when he was under arrest. I wanted him to remember what happened on board the ferry. We put pictures of the ship’s deck up on the wall and placed tiny little human figures and a model of the boat on the table next to a basin of water. We thought maybe he would play with them. I sat and watched him in secret along with one of the psychologists, but he never played with the toy ship.”
“He didn’t remember anything even though it was only a few days later?”
“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 Børge Bak.”
Was Børge 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. 2007
“Yes, well, I don’t know
what the hell we’re going to do now, Marcus.” Lars Bjørn 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 Vestergård, 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 Mørck 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 Hornbæk 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 Mørck 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. 2007
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. Sørensen. 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.
“Congratulations,” Mrs. Sørensen forced herself to say to Carl, as she gave Assad a sweet smile. “Here’s the paperwork you need to fill out. The course starts on Monday. ”
“A lovely woman,” said Assad after she had once again removed her purposeful body from their office. “What course was she talking about, Carl?”
He sighed. “You can’t become a superintendent until you go to school, Assad.”
Assad stuck out his lower lip. “So you are going away from here?”
Carl shook his head. “I’ll be damned if I’m going away from anything at all.”
“Then that I do not understand.”
“You will. But right now, tell me what happened when you went to see Hardy yesterday.”
Assad opened his eyes wide. “I did not like it. That big man under the covers, lying so still. Only his face showing so I could see it.”
“Did you talk to him?”
He nodded. “It was not easy, because he said I should leave. And then a nurse came and she wanted to throw me out the door. But it was OK. She was actually very much pretty in a way.” He smiled. “I think she noticed I thought so, then she went away.”
Carl gave him a blank look. Sometimes dreams of fleeing to Timbuktu could overwhelm him.
“What about Hardy? I asked you about Hardy, Assad! What did he say? Did you read any of the photocopies to him?”