“You can sleep on the couch,” she assured him.
But he wanted to go home. “I’m okay,” he said.
When Søren woke up Saturday morning, he was angry. He was angry while he ate his breakfast, angry while he showered. He was angry when he stopped off at Bellahøj police station to switch cars, and angry when he reached Herlev Church for Professor Helland’s funeral. He sat in the back row watching Anna, Professor Freeman, Mrs. Helland, and the other two hundred mourners. His anger didn’t abate until the service started. Helland’s coffin was covered with colorful flowers. The roar of the organ opened the floodgates of his thoughts and he almost calmed down during the sermon, watching the backs of Anna’s and Freeman’s heads, one more stubborn than the other.
Maja’s funeral had been the worst day of his life, he had thought at the time. He had arrived late on purpose and was the last to enter the church. A funeral could be pompous, or almost euphoric, or indifferent, but when the coffin was the size of a box of dates, it was a nightmare. Søren’s nightmare. No one knew who he was, and he didn’t think Bo had seen him. During the service, Søren had wanted to stand up and scream: “My daughter’s in that coffin. My daughter.” But he had said nothing. It had been the worst day of his life. Or so he had thought.
Søren attended the wake after Professor Helland’s funeral. It was held at a funeral home not far from the church. He stood in a corner, watching everyone, speaking to no one and reeking of police. Mrs. Helland was distant. She was steadily drinking wine, speaking to people, but never for very long, and Søren noticed her gaze flutter like a butterfly. Just before five o’clock she made her excuses and left. Her daughter, Nanna, stayed behind. People began to trickle home. Søren could hear Nanna apologize. Her eyes were red, but she seemed more self-composed than her mother. She tidied up a little, and around six an older man offered her a lift home. She said good-bye to the remaining mourners, shook hands and was hugged. Søren went to his car. He had only attended the wake because he was desperate. He had even brought handcuffs, ready to slam them on the wrists of anyone who looked suspicious. How ridiculous.
Søren had reached Bellahøj police station and had just switched to his own car when his cell rang.
“It’s Stella Marie,” a voice said.
“Hi.” Søren was surprised.
“I know where I’ve seen that guy before.”
Søren was about to drive out of the basement garage, but pulled in and waved a colleague past.
“Go on.”
“He’s on the outside of Magasin. I drove past this morning. There’s a huge poster on the front of the building.” Yes, she was sure. Søren thanked her and drove into the city center rather than home. He parked at Saint Annæ Plads and walked a few hundred meters down Bredgade, past Charlottenborg and up to Magasin. The giant poster faced the square. It depicted a man and a woman. The woman smiled flirtatiously, baring her bright white teeth. She was wearing a soft pink sweater and tight jeans, and she held out her hand behind her to the man who was about to slip an ostentatious gold ring on her finger. The man was handsome, even Søren could see that. Auburn hair, brown eyes, scattered freckles. He smiled, mischievously, but he appeared sure of his success. Behind his back, he held a Swiss army knife with multiple functions, and the message of the poster was that once the Magasin sale started, the man would be able to afford the ring for her and the knife for himself. Søren stared at the man’s face. He was around thirty, a little less perhaps, and he didn’t look like someone who frequented the Red Mask. Søren quickly came up with a plan: contact Magasin’s marketing department and identify the model. But that couldn’t be done until Monday morning. Damn! He looked at his watch. He was off duty now, but he had no urge to go home to his silent empty house. He called Henrik.
“No problem,” Henrik said. “Come over.”
Henrik lived with his family on the outskirts of Østerbro, and Søren spent the rest of the evening there. They ate together, and Søren was fascinated by Henrik’s teenage daughters who were simultaneously distant and omnipresent. One man had a daughter who would never grow bigger, a tiny daughter with tiny feet in tiny socks, another man had two daughters, with curves, who picked at their food, answered back, and had bright eyes. Søren liked Henrik’s wife and couldn’t imagine why he was having an affair. Jeanette was five years younger than her husband and worked as an administrator at a nursery school. After dinner, the men cleared the table, the girls disappeared to their bedrooms, and Henrik’s wife went to the gym. For a moment, Henrik looked nervous.
He and Søren got two beers and discussed the cases. As far as Helland was concerned, Henrik, too, was of the opinion they had to check out Hanne Moritzen. Professor Moritzen was the only person who really knew how to handle parasites, and even though they could attribute no motive to her, there had to be one. They agreed Henrik would investigate her on Monday to see if he could establish a link between her and Professor Helland.
But Henrik frowned when Søren went on to suggest that Helland might have been murdered by his wife.
“Why would she kill him? She has no motive,” Henrik objected. “And she knows nothing about parasites.” The two men looked at each other.
“Tybjerg, however, has a motive,” Henrik continued. “He’s fed up with standing in Helland’s shadow and decides to get rid of him. He may not know much about parasites, but he is a biologist, so he can find out.”
Søren remained unconvinced.
“Birgit Helland is hiding something. I can feel it.”
“So is Anna Bella Nor,” Henrik said. “And she has a motive.”
“Which is?”
“She’s a killer bitch from hell who eliminates any man who crosses her path. Possibly even Johannes. You have to agree it’s odd that two men, whom Anna Nor has been around since she started her graduate program, die within three days of each other, or is that just me?”
“I don’t think Johannes Trøjborg’s death is related to Helland’s. I think we need to visit Count Dracula’s castle if we’re to have a hope of finding the man who killed him. Or woman.”
Henrik nodded and they agreed to check out everyone who had been to the Red Mask on September 7.
“I still think Anna is an enigma,” Henrik insisted. “Perhaps she and Dr. Tybjerg are an item and they killed Helland together? To be crowned the new king and queen of the dinosaur experts.”
“I don’t want to talk shop anymore,” Søren said, stretching out.
“Fine by me. But I don’t want to talk about you-know-what. I told her today that it’s over.” Henrik’s eyes flickered.
They drank more beer. Henrik leaned back and said: “Ahhh.”
Then Søren told him a story about a little boy who went on vacation to the North Sea coast and got trapped in the car with his dead parents.
They got drunk. Not very, but enough for Søren to relax. Just after midnight he called for two cabs. One to take him home and another to drive his car back. When the cabs beeped their horns and Søren was about to leave, he went to shake Henrik’s hand, but Henrik would have none of it. He hugged him. For longer and harder than the other day.
When Søren got home, he went to bed and slept soundly for thirty minutes, exactly, before his cell rang. He was deep into a weird dream about dogs with thick, glossy coats. He was looking after them, or he owned them, and he could control them by winking. He was the only man in the universe who could do that. Dazed, he sat up in bed, clammy with sweat though there was frost on the outside of the window. The ringing stopped, but when he swung his feet over the edge of his bed, it started again. It was charging under his clothes, which he had left in a pile, and when he finally found it, it had switched to voice mail. He entered the pin code but before he had time to do anything else, it started ringing again.