The Hanging Girl

28

It was a fantastic new city space for Copenhageners. For once, the architects had bucked their own trend and created something homogenous and almost attractive. It was as if the rare rays of sunshine shone down from every angle, causing the glass and concrete to melt together with the landscape of bridges and canals that ran directly out to the harbor area. Even though the area had existed for a few years, Carl had never been there before, and he liked what he saw. If it hadn’t been for his thoroughly pitiful financial situation, this would really be something for him. Maybe he should talk with Hardy about whether he might want to chip in a bit.

“They’ll be home in five minutes,” said a very dark-skinned woman in an unmistakable Jutland dialect, as she led them through the apartment’s micro-kitchen and down some stairs to the living room. It was at least six meters to the ceiling, and large glass panels revealed that only a small pontoon ramp separated the apartment from one of the canals. Three small floors on top of each other, stairs here and there and everywhere. Definitely not something for a man in a wheelchair like Hardy. So much for that dream.

“The water got a bit too close when the storm came here last December. The water was just this far away from reaching the window.” She demonstrated with her fingers what couldn’t have been more than five centimeters.

Carl nodded. Another reason to stay in Allerød. There at least you were sixty meters above sea level. So when the catastrophe came, which was bound to happen sometime or other, it would take a significant glacial melt or tsunami.

“Good thing nothing happened,” he said, looking at the flat screen and all the other electronic equipment. “When Inge Dalby arrives, can we talk to her down here in peace and quiet?”

She gave him a thumbs-up. She and her husband could go for a walk. No problem.

Inge Dalby didn’t look happy seeing the trio standing at the bottom of the stairs down in the living room, waiting for her.

“Sorry we’ve come unannounced, but we were in the area and have a few questions we think you might be able to help us with,” said Carl as the brother gave him a very firm handshake. A friendly man who also got a suitably impressive shake back when it came to Assad. Just enough to crush.

After five minutes, a few of these questions had been answered.

“Yes, that’s right,” said Hans Otto Kure in an authentic dialect. It begged the question whether a Bornholmer like him could ever learn to speak real Danish. “My dad took care of the work with the motors while Uncle Sture took care of everything else, apart from anything electrical, which they had an assistant for. I’ve been to lots of those classic car events, so have you,” he said to her.

Then he and his wife left. “We have to go Irma supermarket and buy some groceries,” she said simply, and that was that.

Inge Dalby sat with her back to the panoramic window and rubbed her head with a rough hand that already seemed grey with oil and rust. Was she even aware where all this might be leading?

When their eyes met, she seemed calm, but a pulsating vein on her wrist told a different story. The next half hour would be interesting.

“You might well have questions but I’m done talking about that time. Kristoffer and I have been doing that for an eternity. It’s just all a bit passé for me.”

“I understand,” said Carl with a nod. “But I’m sorry to have to tell you that it’s not for the police, Inge. We have grounds to believe that you withheld evidence last time we spoke, so I’ve got four to five questions I’m going to ask you to answer, and I mean all of them. If you don’t, we’ll have to take you down to the station for questioning, understood?”

No reaction.

“Are you ready, Assad?”

He took out his notebook and lifted his pen, which strangely enough tended to get people talking.

“So, I’ll ask: Do you have a photo of the guy that Alberte was seeing? We know that you took photos at your trip to Østerlars Church where she met him, and that you most likely have a photo among them of the man we’re looking for. We also know that the man had contact with several of you students. You were one of them. So a second question is why you haven’t told us that. Was something going on between the two of you? Is that why you were so quick to forgive your boyfriend after his involvement with Alberte? Because you were both as bad as each other?

“My third question is equally important. You’re good with your hands. You’re interested in cars. You’ve been to classic car events, as your brother so kindly informed us, and probably also the event where the photo of the man with the VW was taken. We’re convinced that you actually met the guy before that day at Østerlars Church. Can you confirm that? And finally, isn’t it the case that you were fuming over Alberte stealing both your guys? First Kristoffer, who you’d been together with for half a year, and then also the guy you’d had an affair with in the summer of the classic car event? Are you aware what sick minds, like the sort detectives have, make of that? We think that you’re the one who rigged the car and drove it into Alberte. You simply couldn’t stand that she outdid you twice, so you’re the murderer, Inge. And now you’ve left your husband because he was getting too close to the truth, is that how it is? Yes, sorry, that makes it six questions.”

Carl had been watching her carefully during this tirade. Not once had she reacted. Not with the hypothesis that she knew the man earlier. Not even at the accusation of murder. Nothing. Just those black hands half covering her face. Had he played his cards too early?

Carl nodded to Rose, who moved closer. “We’re listening, Inge,” she said.

“Yes,” added Assad. “We’re old ears.”

At that the woman lifted her head and looked directly at him. “It’s called ‘all ears,’ mate. What planet are you from?”

Did she have enough energy to laugh just then?

Rose put a hand on the woman’s shoulder. “Will you answer or do we need to take you down to the station, Inge?”

“You can do whatever the hell you want. You won’t believe me anyway, no matter what the hell I say.”

“Try us,” said Carl.

They sat for several minutes in silence before she got her act together. Against all expectations, she appeared surprisingly unaffected, but concentrated as if she were passing a busy road with traffic coming from all directions. What was it that was making her so alert? Fear of being misunderstood or of saying too much?

“I know there were lots of things I could’ve told Habersaat back then, and that I didn’t. Did you know the man?”

“No, we didn’t,” answered Carl.

“Then let me tell you, he was strange. I didn’t like him at all, and I felt like that from the beginning. It was as if by any means possible he wanted us to point to someone among us who could’ve done this to Alberte. And when it didn’t work the first time around, you could be sure he’d be back, no doubt about that. And he was. Lots of times.

“If I’d told him everything I knew back then, he’d have pinned it on me, I can promise you that. He was obsessed with finding someone he could charge for what happened to Alberte.”

“So what was it you didn’t tell him, Inge? Does it answer some of our questions?”

“Not all. But some of them.”

“What ones doesn’t it answer?” threw in Assad. Always so impatient.

“Who did it. Because it wasn’t me.”

“You met Frank before you started at the school, isn’t that right?” asked Rose. A gamble with the name.

Inge sucked in half her bottom lip and started to bite it while looking over to the side. That alertness again, which experience said usually accompanied lies. Carl was really on alert now.

“How do you know that?” she asked.

She would have to make do with silence. Should they have blurted out that it was all guesswork? That they actually weren’t even sure of the guy’s name?

But they were just about to be.

She took a deep breath. “I met Frank at the beginning of July, the day before the classic car event. If that photo had been taken ten seconds later, you’d be able to see that I was on the other side. Yes, we had had sex in the car. I’ll tell you that right out. We did for a while. It was my idea that we should park down there at the back of the grass area because it was so secluded. I didn’t think we’d be kicked off or that the classic cars would turn up so early. But I let Frank deal with the business of being parked somewhere he wasn’t allowed, and I made my escape. I definitely didn’t want my uncle catching me with that hippie.”

“But you were also seeing Kristoffer at that time, weren’t you?” asked Carl.

“Yes, but Frank could do things Kristoffer couldn’t, and never learned. He could make love so it blew your mind.”

Carl decided it was a subject best left alone.

“Then it wasn’t guesswork when you described the VW Kombi. That black arched line that came up from the roof, what was that?”

“There was a large peace sign on the roof, and the circle around it went down the sides of the car a bit.”

“Anything else? Anything inside the car that could give us a clue so we can find the man.”

“I didn’t see much other than him. But there were posters stuck on the walls. Don’t ask me what they were meant to be. Some more peace stuff that the van’s owner had put up way back when.”

“And you’re sure you can’t remember what he called himself when he was with Alberte?”

“He only used Frank when we were together. That’s why it took a day or two before I found out that it was him Alberte was seeing. I don’t know why he used that other name when he was with her. He was a bit special.”

“Special?”

“Yes, he had a lot of ideas, I think, but for us it was just sex.”

It was hard to believe when you looked at her now.

“Tell us about him, Inge. Where did you meet him, and how were things later?”

“I met him in Rønne. Even then, I already knew who he was because I’d been down to Ølene once with a friend to see the hippie house, and he was there, walking about shirtless, looking hot. My friend and I were curious because there wasn’t much going on in those days on the island, and there still isn’t. And after Rønne, we began fooling around a bit. Nothing Kristoffer knew about. I mean, I knew the thing with Frank was something that would end suddenly, so it was good to have someone like Kristoffer to fall back on. Someone from the island.”

Carl mulled over what she’d said, fall back on. He’d felt like that himself once in a while. Not a feeling he wanted to repeat.

“And Kristoffer never found out?”

“I don’t think he ever suspected until you’d been to see us.”

“Why’s that?”

“Because of the business with the VW. He didn’t think you could see those stripes on the side. Not from the distance I said I’d seen it from, and he might be right. I should just never have mentioned it, and Kristoffer kept digging until I got pissed off. I hate it when people pick away at what I say.”

It wasn’t hard to imagine.

“And what about you and the guy, then?”

“Well, we continued until the thing with Kristoffer and Alberte, and at the time I thought maybe that was good enough. Yeah, at least it wasn’t me who broke up with him, even though that wasn’t what I wanted.”

What a nerve! Carl looked over at Rose, who just raised her eyebrows as if it didn’t surprise her one bit. Maybe the method was common practice among women. He knew damn all about that sort of thing.

“And afterward Frank began to see Alberte. Were you just frozen out from one day to the next?”

“Yes, it was the same for Kristoffer and me.” She took a cigarette from her bag and lit it. The no-smoking-inside rule had obviously been dropped. Was she smiling ironically through the smoke?

“They dumped us both at the same time, leaving us in the lurch, despondent and unable to do anything about it.” She laughed out loud. “But Kristoffer felt so guilty that I thought it was a situation I could use to my advantage for years. I had him over a barrel basically, without him even knowing that I’d been much worse than him. Poor Kristoffer. If I’d had the chance, I would’ve escaped from the island with Frank.”

Carl nodded. Yes, poor him.

“It isn’t true that you couldn’t do anything, is it?” said Assad. “As I see it, you were sick with jealousy and full of hate, so you killed her. You made that board thing from something or other from your dad’s workshop and secured it on the front of the vehicle and killed her. Once she was out of the picture, you could pick up where you left off with the guy. But you just didn’t get him to take you off the island because he disappeared, ironically enough. You might as well just admit it now.”

She leaned her neck back a little and looked down her nose with contempt, pointing at him with her smoldering cigarette. “It’s really wonderful to talk with you again after so many years, Habersaat,” she said.

She turned to Carl. “Wasn’t that what I said? That’s why I kept my mouth shut about all this to Habersaat. I didn’t want to be accused of something I haven’t done, like Mustafa’s doing now.”

“My name isn’t Mustafa, but I do know someone by that name,” Assad said dryly. “And he’s a good guy, so don’t let me stop you.”

There was no love lost between those two.

“Okay, so we believe somewhat in your motives for not saying anything back then,” Carl cut in. “Now I’m going to ask you a lot of questions and you’ll answer briefly, agreed?”

“Yeah.”

“What was the guy called other than Frank?”

“I don’t know. We were only on first-name terms.” She smiled cheekily.

“Can you tell us where he came from?”

“He mentioned Hellerup and Gentofte. We never talked about it.”

“Do you know what became of him?”

“I’ve tried to google him, but I don’t know.”

“Do you have a photo of him we can see?”

“Yes, but it isn’t any better than what you’ve already got. It was a really shitty camera. But I caught him by the church, that’s true enough.”

“Okay, while we’re at it, you must have noticed that Alberte made passes at him when they first saw each other. What did you do about it? Did you try to stop it?”

“How could I? But I harassed her, which was fun because she was too stupid to work it out. It’s true; I couldn’t stand that Copenhagen bitch, but I didn’t kill her. I had the room next to hers and could hear her talking to herself when she put the lights out. It was really pathetic. She was almost like a kid. She lay there touching herself, pretending he was there, but he wasn’t.”

“Harassed her?”

“Yes. Washed her clothes with something where the color would run. Encouraged her not to wrap up when we were outside so she’d catch a cold. Threw salt on her food when she wasn’t looking. She was really very naive.”

“But that didn’t stop them meeting, did it?” said Carl, all the while thinking what a bitch she was.

“I didn’t know how much they saw of each other, to tell you the truth.”

“How did Frank end the relationship with you?”

“We just used to meet at certain places that we agreed on from time to time. Before the folk school we met at the square in Rønne. And at the folk school, before he dumped me, we met over in Ekkodalen valley. You can get down behind the school; it takes about five minutes. Then one day he just didn’t show up as agreed. I went down there a few times but he never came again.”

“Do you think he also met Alberte down there?”

“Stupid question. Then I would’ve found out, wouldn’t I. I don’t know where they met or how. Only that she stood out on the road a lot.”

“Do you think Frank killed her?” asked Rose.

She shrugged as if she couldn’t care less. “No idea.”

“Was he the sort you think might be capable of it?” asked Rose again.

She shrugged again. “I don’t think so, but maybe. He certainly had a very strong personality.”

“What do you mean?”

“He could almost hypnotize people with a look. He had interesting eyes and interesting ideas. And he was strong and handsome. Charismatic, you might say.”

“And could bend spoons?”

“I never saw that. That was just a rumor.”

“Would you say he had psychopathic tendencies?” asked Carl.

She hesitated for just a second. “Who doesn’t?”

Was that self-awareness, or what?

“Do you have anything that might put us on his trail? Special characteristics, a completely general description, license plates, something he said? Something about what sort of environment he came from or what his dreams were for the future?”

“His dreams? Not other than that he knew with certainty that he’d be something big, something that could change people’s lives for the better.”

“Okay, so he wasn’t someone to hide his light. Change in what way, for example?”

“He believed that he could heal. That he had special energy and abilities, and I believe it. He certainly gave me some orgasms that I’ve hardly gotten over yet.”

Rose smiled at that. She was the only one.

“I’m afraid we’ll have to take you down to the station anyway, Inge.”

That made her start. “Why? I’m telling you everything I know.”

“It’s taking too long, Inge. You’ve got time to think in between, and that gives you time to make things up, which isn’t the point. If you want the chance here and now to avoid a normal hearing, you need to just list everything you can think of in relation to that man. Are you with me? And remember that you’ve said you saw him down at Ølene, so for that reason alone you must’ve seen more that can help us. So let’s get going.”

She seemed a bit shaken, and Carl could understand why.

“I was damn well in love with him, okay! So you don’t notice anything. I’ve thought about it a lot since, but I do remember a bit.”

She lit another cigarette and nodded quickly to her sister-in-law and brother, who came in the door with full plastic bags.

“His name was Frank and he was quite handsome with fine, strong features. He was six-one, six to seven years older than me, bit of a husky voice, but warm all the same. He was tanned but light-skinned under his clothes. His hair was long, down to his collar and almost ash blond, not red like you might have thought. And then he had a little dimple in his chin, which stood out when you saw him in a certain light.” She pointed to her own chin with a smile. There was certainly no dimple there.

“No visible scar or mark on his body? Hair, tattoos?”

“No, he did talk about wanting to get a couple of tattoos right enough, but he didn’t really know what he should get. It wasn’t nearly as fashionable as it is now.”

Carl nodded. No, people thought better of it those days, which was unfortunate from an investigator’s point of view.

“What about the eyes and eye area?”

“His eyes were blue, eyebrows very dark, front teeth rather wide, and a little white mark on one of them. He called it a sunburn. He was generally very preoccupied with the sun. That’s why he was on the island, he said.”

Carl looked at Assad. Once she started, there was no stopping her. It was just a case of hanging in there.

“He’d found two different sunstones within a week of each other, he said. He was really excited about it. First, one like those used by the Vikings for sailing. And then afterward, one like those found in the sun cult area on Rispebjerg down by Dueodde.”

“Sun cult! I think you’ll have to explain more about that, Inge.”

“I don’t know so much about it. Just a place on the island where altars had been erected for offering things.”

Rose had already made a start with her iPad, he noticed.

“Do you have any idea what the man lived off?”

“Unemployment benefits, I think. The car certainly wasn’t his. He’d borrowed it from someone he knew. Someone who’d been in the peace movement or something, way back when. And Frank did go about with those peace symbols on badges.”

“What did he wear?”

She smiled. “Not much when we were together.”

Assad’s glaring eyes and raised eyebrows expressed a wholehearted Touché!

Then her brother moved closer to the banister that separated the upper kitchen area from the living room below.

“Who’re you talking about, Inge? No one I’ve heard of, is it?”

She hit out at him in the air. Apparently there was a sort of inside talk between those two that others couldn’t or shouldn’t follow. Rose saw it, too, noticed Carl.

“He was called Frank, Hans Otto,” said Assad. “Someone you’ve met, maybe?”

He smiled and shook his head. Why wasn’t he surprised? Was Inge Dalby more experienced than you might think? Did the brother have a hand in it with the Frank guy?

“I think I can sense from your brother that there might have been more than just Frank along the way. Am I wrong, Inge?”

She leaned her neck back and sighed. “We’re island folk. If fresh blood comes to the quay, you taste the goods, right? In the old days they did it to mix the DNA up a bit. Think of the Faroe Islands or Iceland. Nowadays, we just do it for the fun and kicks. Yes, of course there were others.”

Rose shook her head. Obviously not a lead worth following. “We were talking about his clothes, Inge,” she said.

“Oh, yes. It was a bit wrong for the time, but actually really cool: bead necklace round his neck, loose-fitting woven shirts, and jeans. Really big boots. Not cowboy boots but some sort of homemade kind with soles that were a bit too wide. They weren’t very good but they looked cool on him. Sometimes he looked like a Cossack.”

They listened to her for a further twenty minutes. Small things that were noted down. Remarks between Frank and her. What they did when they weren’t together in the van. All commonplace things that from a policeman’s point of view weren’t exactly leading anywhere. But the appearance of the man was clearer now.

“We’d ask you to let us know if you’re thinking about going anywhere, Inge.” Carl gave her his card. “You’re not a direct suspect in the case but you could prove to be very important if we run into questions later that we can’t answer immediately. And you might be called to identify him if we find him. And just one more thing. We’d like you to get your husband to find the photo from your trip to Østerlars Church, okay? Because you’re not going back to the island just now, are you? I thought you might have to go out there to be together with your kids.”

Strangely enough, that made her frown in a way that resentment, skepticism, or any other negative responses could be ruled out. She frowned in the way people do just before they’re about to cry.

“Maybe you don’t see your children anymore?” suggested Carl.

“Yes, of course I do. They’re both at a residential school in Slagelse. We’ll be together again this weekend.”

“You seem sad. Have we worried you?”

She shook her head. “Sad? No. I’m just thinking that Frank couldn’t have done what you think. And if you find him, I’d like to meet him again. I really would!”

They were already on their way out the door when Carl turned around and used his final ammunition. If it could work for Columbo, then it could work for him, too.

“Just one more question, Inge. Did Alberte have a cell phone?”

She shook her head. “No, but then not many of the girls did.”

“Did Frank?”

“Not as far as I know. He wasn’t particularly materialistic. More the opposite.”

“Okay. And then there’s the thing with Frank’s name again. When we visited you on Bornholm, you said that Alberte had mentioned another name for Frank, but which you couldn’t remember. Probably something biblical or similar, you said. Short, like Eli or Job. Do you remember saying that?”

“Er, yes, of course.”

“Good.” He looked at Rose. “So what can we conclude from that, Rose?”

“That it’s extremely hard to believe that Inge Dalby wouldn’t know what her boyfriend went around calling himself. And if for some strange reason she should only have heard it through Alberte, it seems extremely unlikely that she should have forgotten it. She’d definitely take special notice of something like that, if you ask me.”

Carl turned toward Inge Dalby. She seemed rooted to the spot, as if caught red-handed. “What do you have to say to that, Inge?”