The House That Jack Built (16 page)

Chapter 34

L
ars staggered into
his apartment. His heart was pounding in his chest. He was trying to suppress the memory of the sounds from Maria's bedroom the other night, but the creaking and moaning kept on going in the back of his head. The hyperactivity was abating. His head ached, his jaw was tender. And he was tired. Every single fibre in his body screamed for rest, oblivion. Speed comedown. He needed a piss; his bladder was about to burst.

Lars threw his jacket down on the floor and went into the bathroom. He lifted the seat. A splashing in the toilet bowl. He caught sight of himself in the mirror and almost took a step back in shock. His skin was ashen, and the large dark bags under his eyes gave him a hounded look. His hair was flat and lifeless. He needed a shave.

Lying on the edge of the sink was an exhausted toothpaste tube; the screw cap, with its hardened rim of grey paste, stood on the other side of the faucet. When would she learn to clean up after herself? He put the toilet seat down, and washed his hands. Then he grabbed the empty toothpaste tube, and stepped on the garbage can pedal.

Nestled in among rolled-up toilet paper, toothpicks, and crumpled Kleenex smeared with makeup, was a used condom.

He had to lean against the wash basin with both hands; the tiles buckled. This was not something he should get involved in; it was her life. But his body didn't agree. He chucked the toothpaste tube into the garbage can and let the lid drop. Then he turned on the cold water, splashed water on his face, and spat in the sink: a viscous, bloody glob slowly ran down the drain. His throat tasted of iron. The fatigue returned. There was a hammering in the back of his head and then everything went black.

“You have to wake up, Dad. Now.” Maria was tugging at him. Were those tears in her eyes?

The blanket of fatigue wouldn't lift. The headache hit him. His mouth tasted of blood, metal. Bad breath.

“Hmm?” He pulled his arm back, drew the comforter over his head.

It was torn off again. Crimson light penetrated his eyelids.

“Dad!”

He sat up and rubbed his eyes. Somewhere in the apartment, someone was quietly and persistently sobbing.

He opened his eyes, saw Maria in front of him. Mascara and eyeliner drew grimy lines down her cheeks. But it wasn't her crying?

“What's going on?” he mumbled.

“It's Caroline. She was raped. Last night.”

“Has she been to the hospital?” Wide awake, he got up. The blood drained from his head. He swayed back and forth, but his calves tensed against the edge of the bed and kept him upright until the blood returned. He picked up his pants and a sweater from the chair by the wall and got dressed.

Maria was shaking. She had moved to the edge of the bed, collapsing as he pulled the sweater over his head.

“We have to take her to Rigshospitalet. Does she know the person who did it?” Lars buttoned up his pants.

“Could it . . . be him, Dad?”

That one sentence was like a blow to his body. Lars had to lean against the wall so as not to double over.

“Where is she?” he managed to stammer.

Caroline was curled up on the couch in the living room.His daughter's friend was almost unrecognizable. Her long blond hair was matted. She kept moving her fingers through it, scratching, messing it up. She stared out the window, rocking back and forth. Her green eyes were vacant, the skin around them bruised and swollen. Her nose was crooked. She sobbed, wiping the tears on her sleeve.

They sat down on either side of her.

“Caroline?” He placed a hand on her shoulder. “You have to go to the hospital. I'll call for a patrol car.” Caroline didn't answer; she just rocked back and forth, staring into space. Lars looked at the dense pattern of wounds and gashes across her scalp, the caked blood in her hair. “She hasn't had a shower, has she?”

“I don't know,” Maria answered. “She didn't call me until noon . . .” She bit her lip, then glanced at her friend. “But the skin on her fingers was all wrinkled when I arrived.”

Lars got up, patted his pockets. Where did he put his cell?

“Stay with her. I'll call.”

It had to be in his jacket in the hallway. He was there in two bounds, picked up his jacket, and pulled out the cell in one motion. Lars asked the duty officer to send a patrol car to his address and returned to the living room.

“Has she had anything to drink?” he asked. “We need to get some water in her.”

Maria nodded, got her friend to stand. Lars could hear the tap running while he put his socks and shoes on.

Four minutes later they were down on Folmer Bendtsens Plads, Maria with her arm around Caroline, Lars half a step ahead of them. He tore open the back door as soon as the patrol car pulled up and helped Maria get Caroline into the back before he climbed in after them.

“Rigshospitalet. Centre for Victims of Sexual Assault,” he said. The tires screeched as the officer behind the wheel pulled out sharply and shot across Nørrebrogade. It had started to drizzle.

The duty nurse took one look at Caroline, now leaning on Maria, and said, “I'll get a doctor. Two seconds.”

Christine Fogh emerged almost immediately. She nodded at Lars, then smiled at Caroline and Maria.

“Hi, my name is Christine. I'm your doctor. Could you please follow me?” Her voice was soft and calm. Subdued. She helped Maria with Caroline, held her on her other side. They went through the first door on the left and into the windowless room where he had interviewed Louise Jørgensen on Tuesday morning. Christine directed Caroline to an examination table covered with a sheet of paper and fixed with two stirrups at one end.

A young nurse entered with a trolley.

“I'm going to examine you now,” Christine said. “And Line is going to take some tests. We'll be careful. Have you been in the shower?”

“I scrubbed and scrubbed and scrubbed,” Caroline whispered, “but it wouldn't go away.”

“That's okay.” She stroked Caroline's hair, gave Lars a pointed look over the rim of her glasses. His gaze wavered. What did she want?

“Dad, really. Get out.” Maria shoved him toward the door.

Of course
. He mumbled an apology and hurried out.

Inside the reception room on the other side of the corridor, he sat down on one of the low pine chairs with a light green cover. The ceiling light had a cold, yellowish tinge, making it difficult to make out any details clearly. On the way here, he had been able to concentrate on Caroline, on what needed to be done. But now, the thoughts descended on him. Caroline would never have set foot in Penthouse. She would never have met him if they hadn't come up with the idea of using Lene. He'd chosen that exact route through the city.

He closed his eyes, leaned his head back. Let it wash over him.

He had no idea how much time had passed when Maria opened the door a crack.

“Do you want to ask her some questions, Dad? She wants to speak to you.”

He got up but couldn't look Maria in the eyes.

“No more than a few minutes,” Christine said when he walked in. She was leaning against the wall.

He pulled up a chair, sat by the headboard. Caroline turned and looked at him. She attempted a smile.

“I've given her a sedative,” Christine said. Maria went to the other side of the bed, grabbed Caroline's hand.

“Caroline, I know this is difficult,” he started, “but I have to ask you a few questions about last night. Do you think you can manage that?”

“Yes,” Caroline nodded. The movement was hardly noticeable.

“Good.” He tried smiling. “Where did it happen?”

“In Nørrebro Park.” Her voice was hoarse from hours of crying. “I was going to get some cigarettes . . .”

He noticed Maria's ashen face out of the corner of his eye.

“Nørrebro Park — where exactly?”

“Behind the playground with the airplane, by the side street Bjelkes Allé. He pulled me into the trees by the basketball court.”

Lars nodded. He knew the place.

“I'll send someone to check it out.” There wouldn't be much to find. After an entire day, the crime scene would be contaminated by children, dog walkers, and joggers.

“What did he look like? Did you get a look at his face?”

Caroline shook her head. “He was wearing a cap. And black clothing. It looked like a tracksuit.”

“Can —” He cleared his throat; he had to force the words out. “Can you remember what time it was?”

“Twenty past three?” She looked at Maria. “Maybe 3:30 a.m.?” Her voice was almost gone now, her eyelids kept dropping. Lars caught his breath. No more than five minutes after he had escaped Lars on Jagtvej.

“Okay,” Christine said. “I think we should let Caroline get some sleep. I'll let you know when you can speak to her again.” She nodded at Lars.

It was time for him to leave, but would he be able to get up?

Caroline forced her eyes open, grabbed him by the sleeve, and held tightly.

“He hummed — during. Like this.” Slightly off-key and in a staccato shuffle, she tried reproducing the tune. But the bloody lips, the gap between her front teeth, made everything come out as spit and air. She started crying. On the other side of the bed, Maria tightened her grip on her friend's hand.

“Okay.” Christine moved away from the wall, placed a hand on Lars's shoulder. “She needs some rest now.”

Lars got up. Everything tensed.

“Can Maria stay with me for a bit?” Caroline forced the tears back. “Just until I've fallen asleep?” Her voice lingered.

“I'll be out in a minute.” Maria waved. Lars followed Christine out, closed the door behind them. He had found the strength from somewhere after all.

“You know her?” Christine looked at him with her probing grey eyes.

“Caroline is my daughter's friend.”

She held out her hand, bit her lip. Then she let her hand drop. “I just have to complete her chart, so if you have any more questions then come by my office.”

Lars nodded. He just had to make a call.

By the elevator, he rang the duty officer and asked him to get in contact with Frelsén and Bint and tell them to go out to Nørrebro Park. Then he called Toke to brief him.

“I should have caught him.” Lars massaged his temples with the thumb and middle finger of his free hand. A chair creaked as Toke sat down. It sounded like he was preparing himself for a long conversation.

“You're not going to catch him by blaming yourself,” Toke said.

He cleared his throat. Toke was right. “You'll have to go out to Nørrebro Park. Kim A, Frank, and Lisa have filed a complaint against me with Ulrik.”

Toke cursed. “I heard.”

“But Lisa? I didn't think she was that tight with Kim A?”

“They worked together on a couple of cases while you were gone.”

There wasn't much more to say. They hung up. Lars looked at the door to Caroline's room. Stine Bang and Louise Jørgensen. How many more victims were going to end up here?

The door to Christine Fogh's office was stuck. Lars gave it a hard push and it flew open with a crash. She looked up from behind her desk, startled.

“Sorry.” Lars mumbled, looked around for a chair.

“Yes, the door sticks a little. One moment and I'll be right with you.” Christine concentrated on the screen, punching in the final details of what had to be Caroline's chart.

“Well,” she said, pressed Enter, and looked up at him.

Lars took out his small notebook and a pen, flipped to a blank page. “How . . .”

She pushed her chair back, straightened her back. “Raped anally, several blows to the head and face. Caroline has a concussion, a broken nose, and several gashes on her scalp. Also several loose teeth, and one upper front tooth is broken.”

“Any bodily fluids? Bite marks?”

“I took a very small sample of semen from the rectum. It appears to be mixed with soap and water, but we might get lucky. I've sent it over to Forensics.”

“So it appears to be the same person who raped Stine Bang and Louise Jørgensen?”

“Her injuries resemble those of the other two victims.” Christine jotted something down on a notebook by her computer. “But there are differences too. The wounds on her scalp, for example. Fewer blows, but harder.”

Lars looked away, closed his notebook. “He was excited. He'd just tried attacking someone else.”

“I saw the newspaper,” was all she said.

Maria was waiting for him in the corridor. “Thanks, Dad. I didn't know what to do.”

Lars wrapped his arms around her. Maria snuggled up to him.

“They say she'll sleep until late tomorrow morning,” she said.

“Come on.” He held her tight, wallowing in the self-loathing and melancholy of a severe speed comedown. “Let's go find a cab.”

Upstairs in the apartment, Lars put out bread and cold cuts, but neither he nor Maria was hungry. They both picked at some bread and liver pâté in silence; it was all they could manage.

Maria ended up breaking the silence.

“I saw on the Internet that you had an operation last night? Did you try to catch him?”

Lars nodded. “He attacked a police probationer. I chased him into Assistens Cemetery, but he got away from me.” It was now or never if he was going to tell her. He took a deep breath but couldn't begin. Maria placed her hand on his. They looked at each other.

Then he looked away, tried changing the subject. “You went on a date the other day. How did it go?”

She smiled. She looked beautiful like that. “It was fine.”

“What's his name? Where did you go?”

She had that secretive look that he couldn't quite decipher. Then she shook her head. “It's not good for you to know everything, Dad.”

He was suddenly back in the hallway the previous night, standing in front of her door, the bed squeaking inside.