Lene Kaaberbol - Invisible Murder

“Yes. When I was out there Friday night, the children and I were ordered into the inspection pit. And I think the children had been down there many times.”

“Ordered, you say. By who?”

“The people at the garage.”

“And why? Do you know?”

Nina shrugged. “Someone came. The Roma called them ‘boss men.’ ”

“More than one, then.”

“Yes. I heard them arguing up above, but I couldn’t hear much of what they were saying. It sounded like it was about money, maybe rent. I’m assuming there weren’t supposed to be children or people like me at the repair shop. Peter … uh, Peter Erhardsen that is … he experienced something similar.”

“And you didn’t see these ‘boss men?’ ”

“No.”

Despite the recorder, he still made a note in his papers. He pulled out a plastic folder from his briefcase and pushed it over in front of her. It contained a single, letter-sized printout of what looked like a passport picture.

“Do you know him?”

There was very little personality in the stiff, over-exposed face. But yes, she was absolutely sure she had seen him before. Was he one of the men from the repair shop? She tried to remember the faces from the cold, flickering glare of the fluorescent light, but they all merged into one. Turned into frozen masks with hostile eyes.

Then it clicked. The gash over his eye. She had seen his face half covered in blood, in the yellow glow of the light in her car. She didn’t know his name, what he had done, or where he was now. Just that the left side of his rib cage must still be fairly sore.

“He … he was out there,” she said. “Who is he?”

“We were hoping you knew that.”

“No. He’d been in a fight, and I patched up a gash on his eyebrow for him. That was all. He was polite. Spoke very good English.” And then it hit her. He had been in her car. She had brought him home to Fejøgade and let him out there. And then a few hours later.…

“Oh, God.”

The PET man didn’t ask right away. He just waited, with relentless serenity.

“My daughter,” Nina said then. “My daughter was attacked. They broke into our apartment. Was he one of them?”

The man’s hawk face gave nothing away. Damnit! Couldn’t he just be human?

“When did the attack take place?” he asked.

“For God’s sake, you should know that better than me. My husband reported it. The police were there, they questioned her.… Was it him?” Her voice rose, becoming shrill and edgy. She could hear it, but she couldn’t stop herself. And that damned iron-faced robo-cop just sat there watching her, clearly making mental notes.

“We don’t always get every bit of information right away,” he said. “So when did this attack take place? And where?”

“Saturday night. In our apartment on Fejøgade. I just told you!”

“Thank you” was all he said, and then continued as if nothing had happened. “Tell me a little more about why you went to Valby.”

Nina tried to breathe calmly. If she didn’t relax, she was going to throw up again.

“I went to see a friend who was sick,” she said. “He said there were some sick children living under poor conditions, so I went to have a look at them.”

“Was this friend of yours Peter Erhardsen?”

“Yes.”

“Is this something you and Peter had done before? Tending to the sick and needy?”

Nina swore to herself. The Man in the Iron Mask was intent on digging around in the past, and she didn’t know how best to worm her way out of it. Luckily the Hungarian Roma were EU citizens and thus not as illegal as many of the Network’s “clients” were. Helping them with a little over-the-counter medication was hardly a hanging offense. It was another matter for Peter, who regularly hid illegal refugees at his house. If the police really looked into that, it could very easily turn into a criminal case. And all his damn lists and three-ring binders and budgets.… How many poor slobs would they find based on that treasure trove? Fuck. What if they had already ransacked his house in Vanløse …?

“We just think people ought to be treated properly,” Nina said vaguely. “Sorry. I’m not feeling so good.” She had no trouble at all pretending she was ill. She had been out of bed for half an hour now and was sweating hot and cold from exhaustion. When had she last eaten anything that didn’t come in a drip bag? She remembered the twist bread and the grilled sausage she’d chewed her way through outside the scout cabin Saturday evening. Back when she was still married and a mother, albeit not a perfect one, with an apartment in Østerbro. Today it was Monday, and Morten had left her. The nausea came all on its own now, and small black spots started to dance in front of her eyes.

The PET man sat motionless in front of her. The glasses on his curved nose caught and reflected the light from the window.

“I have neither the time nor the patience for your little games,” he said. “If you’re going to throw up, then throw up. But cut the crap. Someone brought radioactive material to Denmark, and at the moment we have every reason to believe it was done with malicious intent. People—a lot of people—may get hurt if we don’t stop this. Which is why we are prepared to go further than the police normally go when faced with a hostile witness. I can have you remanded for up to six months. And I will, if I have to.”

Nina stared at him in disbelief. No kid gloves here apparently—it was an iron hand in an iron glove.

“What I and Peter Erhardsen may or may not have done in the past has absolutely nothing to do with the repair shop in Valby,” she said. “I’ve already told you everything you need to know.”

For the first time his irritation was visible. His movements were still calm and completely controlled, but his eyes grew a shade darker as he spoke.

“In cases like these, the witness doesn’t decide what I need to know. I do,” he said coolly. “I ask a question, and you answer it to the best of your ability. Those are the rules. If you have a problem with that, as I said, I can lock you up.”

Nina noted a sour taste spreading through her mouth. She was wearing a gown so short and thin that it barely covered her high-waisted mesh underwear, stamped COPENHAGEN HOSPITAL AUTHORITY in bold, dark-green letters. She had been vomiting for two days, her apartment was sealed, and she had no idea where she would go if she ever got well enough to leave this sterile, gray room with its ugly ’80s-colored curtains. And now he was sitting there smelling of aftershave and everyday reality and threatening to put her in jail. As if she were a criminal.

“Peter Erhardsen works as an engineer for the City of Copenhagen.” The PET man didn’t seem to have noticed her stony facial expression and ploughed on, unperturbed. “It’s not an obvious place to run into Hungarian Roma. We suspect that Peter Erhardsen might be systematically working with illegal immigrants. Is this something you’re aware of?”

Was he bullshitting her? A single look at the man’s calm, resolute face made clear he wasn’t, and now to her annoyance she noted a hard, sharp lump in her throat that made it difficult to swallow. She was about to cry for the second time today. The first time had been right after she woke up and remembered Morten and Anton and Ida in Morten’s sister’s house in Greve. She had thrown up on the floor. The nurses had scooped it all up and packed it into the bright-yellow hazardous waste bags, but at least after that she had been left alone to cry into the enormous, bouncy hospital pillow. But sobbing hysterically in front of this imperturbable PET man, studying her right now over the rim of his glasses with that oh-so-patient look of his.… Nina resolved to buck up and fight her tears, and with a certain sense of relief, she felt the rage starting to grow somewhere inside her.