Earlier this very same day he had managed to imply to the police that Stark had been a pedophile as well as pressured Teis Snap into abandoning the theft of his stock in Curaçao. And now this, the most important of alclass="underline" he had found the man who, with complete plausibility, could be set up as being the brains behind the Baka swindle if it proved necessary to deflect the blame. The perfect scapegoat. A man who had previously embezzled a considerable sum of money from his ministry. In short, he had discovered an individual of extremely dubious morals, who precisely for that reason had rationale enough for disappearing from the face of the earth.
So, Lady Luck, it seemed, was still smiling upon him.
21
“What’s Rose going to say when we go to see Malene Kristoffersen without her?”
Carl cast a glance up at the imposing gates of Vestre prison as they drove past. How many fools had he gotten dispatched behind those dreadful walls in his time? Not so few. It was just a damned shame that they came out again.
“Rose? She’s otherwise occupied at the ministry. I reckon she’ll get over it,” Carl replied curtly. After yesterday’s shenanigans with Gordon, preferential treatment wasn’t the first thing that sprang to mind at the mention of her name. Besides, he didn’t give a toss what she’d say. He had other things to think about.
Ever since their visit to Danida’s office for evaluating development assistance he’d had a strong feeling in his bones that they had proceeded too quickly. That he should have waited to interview department head René E. Eriksen until the case had been considered from more angles.
“Tell me again why you think our visit cheered Eriksen up, Assad. I noticed a reaction when you asked him about Stark’s sexuality, but I wouldn’t exactly say it cheered him up.”
“Don’t you know what happens when you give a camel a slap on the backside, Carl? It begins to run and stretch its neck toward where it thinks its goal is. Almost as if having a long neck in itself could make it arrive faster.”
“Sounds reasonable. But what exactly are you trying to say?”
“It was like we gave Eriksen a slap on the backside when I mentioned Stark’s sexual preferences. All of a sudden he seemed to set his sights on a goal and stretched his neck out toward it faster than his legs could keep up.”
“You mean he’d been keeping a secret he wanted to get off his chest?”
“No, you do not understand, Carl. It seemed like he suddenly saw a goal that had not been there before.”
“What sort of goal?”
“That’s what I can’t work out.”
“You’re saying he was lying?”
“I don’t know. But all of a sudden there were stories that could easily have come out earlier. Stories about young boys and glances and what else the devil knows.”
“Other way around, Assad. It’s ‘and the devil knows what else.’”
“Anyway, I think Eriksen had that look in his eye like when a person is given the chance to tell a good story.”
“And?”
“It’s just that suspecting a man you work with of being a pedophile is not a good story.”
Carl turned down Sjælør Boulevard. They would soon be there. “I got the same feeling myself, now you mention it. There was a lack of… shame in his voice.”
The house on Strindbergsvej was typical of the era in which it was built. A sloping, French-style roof and a bit of ornamentation to make it look more imposing than building costs justified. Homes like this were often divided into two, with a dwelling on each floor so Copenhagen’s exorbitant property taxes could be spread between incomes. A small green oasis in the suburb of Valby that satisfied both the desire to live close to the city center and the dream of living farther away.
Malene Kristoffersen received them looking like she hadn’t quite come home from her package tour. The suitcases in the hall were still to be unpacked and equal parts of self-tanner and intense sunbathing on the beaches of Turkey had left her skin discolored in the peculiar way that always made people at work envious. Despite the somewhat lower temperatures at home her flowing dress was colorful and light as a feather, almost certainly purchased on her vacation. She was an attractive woman who didn’t need to advertise the fact, even though the look on Assad’s face said he was quite impressed.
“We stayed home today. We need to sometimes when Tilde’s been for her checkup. It takes quite a bit out of her,” she said. “She’s sleeping at the moment, so you’ll have to make do with me, I’m afraid.”
Assad nodded very accommodatingly. “We’d be glad to come back again if necessary,” he said with a sheepish grin.
Carl wouldn’t put it past him.
“I’m very grateful for what you’re doing,” she went on.
An unusually promising opener, so seldom heard in Carl’s line of work.
He smiled slightly. “It’s always a sad thing when people disappear. But unfortunately, finding an explanation so long after the event is often quite a hopeless task.”
“Yes, I realize that, but I still hope. William is such a lovely man.”
Assad and Carl exchanged glances. This wasn’t going to be easy.
“We’ve been to his place of work and spoken to his boss and a couple of his colleagues,” Carl said. “Mostly to gain more of an idea of what he was doing in Cameroon. Did he tell you anything about that trip before he went?”
“Yes, he did, and he wasn’t keen on having to go. Tilde was doing poorly in the hospital, and William wanted to stay home and be here for the two of us. That’s the way he is,” she explained, adding a rather sad smile by way of emphasis.
“So he was ordered to go?”
“Yes, and at short notice, too. He was told only the day before, as I remember it.”
“And what was the point of the trip?”
“They suspected one of the local helpers of running off with some of the funding.”
“A local, you say?”
“Yes. A guy named Louis. Louis Fon. William had met him on several occasions and thought he was doing a good job. I don’t think he really believed what they were saying. There was also something about Fon having sent William an odd text message, too, that had William puzzled. He sat by Tilde’s bed all evening the night before he left, trying to work out what it meant, but it just seemed like a lot of gibberish.”
“He showed it to you, then?”
“Yes. Tilde’s into texting, but she didn’t understand it either.”
“Did you speak to William after he arrived in Yaoundé?”
“No, but he did phone just after he landed in Douala. He always did that. He complained about the heat and was sorry he wasn’t home.”
“But nothing about coming back the next day?”
“No.”
There was a rasping sound as Assad drew his palm back and forth against the stubble of his chin. Carl could almost hear his colleague’s gray matter creaking and groaning.
“I’m sorry to have to ask you so directly, but what about the possibility of suicide? Does that sound plausible to you?”
She smiled without reservation. “William’s not like that at all. He was happy with his life and his work. The only thing that weighed on him was Tilde’s condition. He would never leave anyone in the lurch like that, least of all us.”
“And the two of you got along well together?”
She nodded. First quickly, then again, more slowly. As though the question triggered forces inside her that had accumulated over a long time. She wasn’t upset, but mentally she seemed to have reached a point where feelings of grief were no longer welcome.
“We were soul mates. Do you know what I mean?” She looked up at Carl abruptly, in a manner that felt uncomfortable considering the way he and love were doing at the moment.
Assad slid menacingly close to the edge of his chair, his introduction to a round of potential shock treatment already formulated “We heard it suggested at William’s workplace that he may have certain interests you possibly know nothing about. Have you any idea as to what they might be?”