Jussi Adler-Olsen - Mercy aka The keeper of lost causes

He handed the document to Carl, who glanced at it. “So you came to Denmark in 2002?”

“No, in ’98. But I took Danish lessons in 2002. Were you working on that case then?”

“No, it was the Rapid Response Team’s case, before the reorganization within the police force.”

“And the Rapid Response Team did it because it had to be fast?”

“No, because it was…” He studied Assad’s alert face with the dancing eyebrows. “Yes, that’s right,” he corrected himself. Why should he encumber Assad, who had absolutely no background knowledge, with all the intricacies of police procedures?

“She was a pretty girl, that Merete Lynggaard, I think.” Assad gave his boss a crooked smile.

“Pretty?” Carl looked at the beautiful, vital woman in the photograph. “Yes, she certainly was.”

Over the next two daysthe messages began piling up. Merete’s secretary tried to hide her annoyance and pretended to be amiable. Several times she sat and stared at Merete when she thought her boss wouldn’t notice. She once asked if Merete would like to play squash with her on the weekend, but Merete declined. She had no desire for any sort of camaraderie with her staff.

After that the secretary resumed her usual morose and aloof demeanor.

On Friday Merete took home the last messages that her secretary had left on her desk. After reading through them several times, she tossed them in the wastebasket. Then she tied the strings of the garbage bag in a knot and carried it out to the garbage can. She needed to put an end to this, once and for all.

And she felt mean and miserable.

The home help had left a casserole on the table. It was still lukewarm when Merete and Uffe were done dashing about the house. Next to the ovenproof dish was a little note on top of an envelope.

Oh no, she’s going to quit, thought Merete and then read the note.

“A man brought this letter to the house. I suppose it has something to do with the ministry.”

Merete picked up the envelope and tore it open.

“Have a nice trip to Berlin” was all it said.

Uffe was sitting next to her with an empty plate, smiling in anticipation as his nostrils quivered at the delicious aroma from the food. Merete pressed her lips together and scooped up some of the casserole for her brother as she tried not to cry.

The rushing of the east wind was getting louder, whipping up the waves so the foam splashed halfway up the sides of the ship. Uffe loved to stand outside on the sun deck and watch the wake form alongside the ship while the seagulls soared on outspread wings overhead. And Merete loved seeing Uffe happy. She was looking forward to their weekend. It was good that she’d decided they should go after all. Berlin was such a marvelous city.

Up ahead on the deck an elderly couple was looking in their direction; behind them a family sat at one of the tables close to the smokestack, with Thermoses and sandwiches that they’d brought along. The children had already finished eating, and Merete gave them a smile. The father looked at his watch and said something to his wife. Then they began packing up what was left of their lunch.

She remembered going on this sort of excursion with her parents. That was a long time ago. She turned around. People were already heading below deck to where their cars were parked. They would soon reach the harbor at Puttgarden; only ten more minutes, but not everybody was in a rush. Two men were standing over near the huge picture windows in the stern, with scarves wrapped snugly around their necks as they calmly gazed out to sea. One of them looked frail and gaunt. Merete estimated that they were standing at least six feet apart, so they probably weren’t together.

A sudden impulse made her take the note out of her pocket and look at the six words again. Then she put it back in the envelope and held it up in the air, letting it flutter in the wind for a moment. Then she let it go. The envelope flew upward and then dived down, slipping inside an opening in the side of the ship, underneath the sun deck. For a moment she thought they’d have to go downstairs and retrieve it, but then the note suddenly reappeared and began dancing over the waves. It spun around a few times and vanished into the white foam. Uffe laughed. He’d been watching the envelope the whole time. Then he gave a shriek, took off his baseball cap, and tossed it after the envelope.

“No, don’t!” was all she managed to shout before the cap plunged into the sea.

It was a Christmas present and Uffe’s most-beloved possession. The minute it was gone, he regretted what he’d done. It was clear that he was considering jumping after the cap, in an attempt to get it back.

“No, Uffe!” she yelled. “You can’t do that. It’s gone!” But Uffe had already set one foot on the metal barrier of the railing. He stood there bellowing over the wooden rail, his body’s center of gravity far too high up.

“Stop it, Uffe! There’s nothing you can do,” she shouted again, but Uffe was strong, much stronger than she was, and he was far away. His consciousness was down in the waves with the baseball cap that had been a Christmas present. It was a relic of his simple, godless life.

Then she slapped him hard in the face. She’d never done that before, and she instantly pulled back her hand in fright. Uffe couldn’t understand what was happening. He forgot about his cap and touched his cheek. He was in shock. It was years since he’d felt pain like that. He didn’t understand. Then he looked at her and struck back. He hit her harder than he’d ever done before.

Homicide chief Marcus Jacobsen hadspent yet another night without much sleep.

The witness in the case of the cyclist murdered in Valby Park had tried to kill herself with an overdose of sleeping pills. Jacobsen couldn’t understand what the hell could have pushed her so far. She had children and a mother who loved her, after all. Who could have threatened a woman into taking such extreme measures? The police had offered her witness protection and everything else within their powers. She was under surveillance day and night. Where on earth had she gotten those pills?

“You should go home and get some sleep,” said his deputy when Marcus came back from his usual Friday-morning meeting with the police chief in the commissioner’s conference room.

He nodded. “Well, maybe just for a couple of hours. But you and Bak need to go out to the National Hospital and see what you can get out of that woman. And make sure to take her mother and children along, so she can see them. We need to try and bring her back to reality.”

“Uh-huh, or away from it,” Lars Bjørn said.

All phone calls were supposed to be redirected, but the phone rang anyway. “Don’t let anybody through except the queen or Prince Henrik,” he’d told his secretary. So it was probably his wife. “Yeah?” he said, feeling suddenly more tired than ever.

“It’s the police commissioner,” whispered Bjørn, holding his hand over the receiver.

He handed the phone to Marcus and tiptoed out of the room.

“Marcus,” the commissioner said in her distinctive voice. “I’m calling to tell you that the justice minister and the committees have made fast work of things. So the extra allocation of funds has been approved.”

“That’s good to hear,” replied Marcus, immediately trying to work out in his mind how the budget could be divided up.

“Yes, well, you know the chain of command. Today Piv Vestergård and the Judicial Committee of the Denmark Party met with the justice minister, so now all the wheels will start turning. The chief of police has asked the head of the National Police to find out if you’ve got the new department set up yet,” she said.