She nodded again. “Two of the boys called Pico and Romeo came back one day and gave Zola a photo they’d taken from a house. They talked about the African necklace and about the man who was wearing it in the picture. I saw the photo later that day and recognized it.”
“You recognized the necklace?”
“Yes. I remember I thought it was pretty. I’d seen it on a man they brought in with them one night. He was unconscious, so I thought he’d been drinking. But that was all I saw, because they sent me next door to the other house. I thought maybe he’d had an accident up on the main road and that they were helping him.”
“And what did they do with this man?”
“I don’t know. But I don’t think it was anything good.”
“Why do you think that?”
“Because I heard Zola’s car drive away later the same night, and Zola never did that if he didn’t really have to. At night he liked to be in bed with one of his women.”
“Does that prove anything?”
“No, but the next day there was a muddy spade leaned up against the bins, and Chris’s and Zola’s brother’s boots were covered in mud, too.”
“So you think they killed the man?”
“I don’t know, but I think he died.” She stared pensively into space. “That has to be what Marco found out, too.”
“What makes you think so?”
“The spade, I guess.”
“How quickly did they come back?”
“After about half an hour.”
“So if they’d buried the body, it could have been in the woods at the top of the hill?”
She nodded.
“We can confirm all this, Miryam. The man’s name was William Stark and his body is no longer in the grave up there. Have you any idea where they might have moved it?”
She wiped her runny nose with the back of her hand. “There was a gravel pit close by. They went there sometimes for target practice.”
Carl nodded. “OK, Miryam, thanks. We’re in possession of some of the man’s belongings and we also have a dog with a good sense of smell, so there’s a good chance we’ll find him.”
“What’s going to happen to me now?” she asked.
Assad got to his feet and quickly left the room while Rose remained seated.
Resolving situations was mostly her field.
–
“The motive, Assad, what is it? If you see the connection, then speak up,” said Carl. “In any case we’ve got a fair amount to go on now, like Miryam’s and Romeo’s statements, and what Marco’s been going around saying. We’ve got two missing persons, Stark and René E. Eriksen. We’ve got a link between Eriksen and Teis Snap, now deceased, as well as between Snap’s bank and once again, strangely enough, our Eriksen. We’ve got a person who disappeared in Africa and a development project in the middle of nowhere that never materialized. Basically, a long chain of individuals and circumstances all connected in some way to René E. Eriksen.”
Assad rasped a hand across the stubble of his chin. “The question is how this chain is then joined together, is it not? What came to the desert first, the camel or the dromedary? Do you understand, Carl?”
“Here we say the chicken or the egg, Assad. But I think we’ve got to assume that since Eriksen is at the center of all the links, the whole story begins in his ministry, and therefore he’s still the one we need to concentrate on getting hold of.”
“And Marco?”
Carl nodded. Yeah, where was Marco?
There was a sound of footsteps in the corridor. Unmistakably Gordon’s big flat feet.
“Rose isn’t here,” said Carl, without looking up.
“Oh, really? Actually, it’s you I wanted to see, Carl.”
What now? Was the dork about to sound off again with more of his dubious bright ideas, or was it just some excuse for not having got his ass into gear with the job Carl had given him?
“I did as you told me. I checked up on Eriksen’s financial affairs and discovered he recently sold off shares in Karrebæk Bank to the tune of ten million kroner.”
“So you said two hours ago.”
“I know, but we were interrupted. I really would have preferred to discuss it some more with you, but then I decided to pursue the matter myself.”
“And what matter would that be?”
“Well, I ran a check on Karrebæk Bank and found out the name of the chairman of the board is Brage-Schmidt.”
“Chairmen are always called something like that. A little hyphen now and again. Anything less would never do. So where are you going with this, Gordon?”
“Here comes the odd bit.”
“Well, come on, man, before we turn to dust.”
“Brage-Schmidt happens to be honorary consul for several central African states.”
“Not including Cameroon, by any chance?”
Gordon nodded, making the fringe of hair dance above his eyes like a line of washing in a stiff westerly.
“Well, I’ll be… damned. Cameroon’s honorary consul on the same board as Eriksen, who’s disappeared, and Teis Snap, who’s stone-dead?”
“Yes.”
“And he’s loaded, yeah?”
“Major shareholder in Karrebæk Bank, yes.”
“Have you spoken to him?”
“No, I didn’t dare, thanks to you.”
Carl smiled. Good boy. He was beginning to learn. A little respect was a good thing.
“Assad, check and see if this Brage-Schmidt’s at home, will you?”
A couple of minutes passed before his curly head reappeared in the doorway. “There’s a message from someone called Lisbeth on my voice mail. Has your mobile conked out, or is it because you can’t be bothered to talk to her, Carl? This is what she asks.”
Lisbeth! Shit.
He pulled his mobile out of his back pocket. Blank screen, dead as a doornail. That explained it.
“And what about Brage-Schmidt?”
“I think we should drive up there, Carl. He lives in Rungsted.”
“Drive up there? Why?”
“Because his house is on fire.”
–
They saw the coil of black smoke a mile off, spiraling into the sky above the Øresund strait. The flashing blue lights of ten fire engines and the feverish activity surrounding them assailed their senses as they turned into the road. The asphalt was already awash with sooty water.
The blaze was enormous, and it seemed clear that nothing would be left of the grandness of the residence but its foundations and its memories. The heat had melted the paint jobs on the Audis and Mercedes parked opposite, and the leaves of the surrounding trees were smoldering. Pandemonium reigned.
Carl shielded his face and tapped the fire brigade chief on the shoulder.
“Are there any fatalities?”
“Yes, we’ve pulled two bodies out.”
“Can they be identified?”
The man broke into a wide smile, the way only a hardened firefighter could when asked such a question. “You’ll have quite a job on your hands. I think you’d better start by finding yourself a couple of heavy-duty body bags and some good blokes with microscopes.”
Carl looked over at the two heaps he was pointing at. Leaning against one of them were a pair of wheels and a crumpled metal frame.
“Was one of them in a wheelchair?”
“Looks like it. Most probably the owner of the house. A couple of the neighbors say they haven’t seen him for ages. Maybe he couldn’t get about.”
“Brage-Schmidt?”
The fire chief checked his notes. “That’s it. Jens Linus Brage-Schmidt, Honorary Consul, it says here.”
Carl surveyed the hardworking firefighters, the boiling steam and the blaze. How the hell could anything burn like this?
“Any theories about what caused it?”
“That’ll have to come later. But inflammable liquids are in there somewhere, no doubt about that. The neighbors say something smelled like spirits just before they raised the alarm.”
“What about the other fatality?”
“No idea. The only person registered at the address was this Brage-Schmidt.”