The Girl Without Skin

44

‘Are you awake?’ Jakob asked as he knocked softly on the bedroom door. He gave the door a light push and peered inside.

Paneeraq pulled the quilt over her head.

‘I’ve fried you an egg,’ he went on. ‘If you come into the living room, you can eat your breakfast there. There’s also yoghurt and apple juice.’

He watched her peek out of the small crack between the quilt and the mattress.

‘Ah well,’ he said in a loud voice, retreating. ‘It doesn’t look like she’s here. I think I’ll go to the kitchen to get some cutlery, and we’ll just have to see if a girl drops out of the sky meanwhile.’

Back in the kitchen he could hear Paneeraq dash through the living room and over to the sofa. The sound of quick footsteps and a big quilt being dragged across the floor.

‘Good heavens,’ he exclaimed in mock surprise when he came back from the kitchen. ‘Did that quilt crawl in here all by itself?’

The quilt giggled.

‘I wonder,’ he went on in a pensive tone of voice, ‘if quilts like fried eggs and rye bread, or whether they just drink juice? I’ve never seen a quilt with a mouth, and I don’t think I really would want to, because it would be difficult to sleep if you’re worried about your quilt nibbling at your toes.’

A head appeared. Two black eyes surrounded by bed hair.

‘Oh no, it’s a troll!’ Jakob shrieked.

Her eyes widened.

He narrowed his eyes and inspected her closely. ‘Aha! It’s you, Paneeraq. Phew, you had me worried for a moment.’

She held out her hand and opened it so that he could see the fossil.

‘And the sea urchin. Are the two of you hungry?’

She nodded.

‘Then make your way to the table and eat your breakfast. I’ve read somewhere that fossilised sea urchins absolutely love fried eggs.’

She scrunched up her nose and looked sceptically at her fossil, but then she put it on her plate next to the rye bread and the fried egg.

They couldn’t see out of the windows, which were completely covered by the snow that had drifted up against the house overnight. Jakob could hear the wind still raging and tearing at everything.

‘I think we’re snowed in,’ he said, nodding towards the front door. ‘Have you ever tried that before?’

She nodded and looked towards the windows on either side of the front door.

Jakob got up and walked over to the front door. ‘I’ll be looking through that window in a moment—if I can clear the snow away, that is.’

Paneeraq nodded again. She reached for her juice.

The front door opened with a hollow sound, and Jakob muttered to himself as he stepped outside and a long, cold gust of wind found its way into the living room.

Paneeraq looked alternately at the door and the window. ‘Jakob?’ she called out tentatively after just under ten minutes. She frowned. ‘Jakob?’ she called out again, louder this time.

A windswept face covered in snow appeared in the doorway. ‘Yes?’

He saw her dive back under the quilt while he brushed the snow off his face. ‘I’m almost done,’ he continued. ‘You’ll be fine here. I’ll leave some food out for you, and I’ll lock the door behind me.’

Paneeraq’s eyes scanned the living room, and Jakob tried to follow her gaze. It was completely different from the living room she was used to at home. The dark furniture and the many fossils and books must have seemed strange to her. He remembered what Lisbeth said: that many little girls in Greenland didn’t know love and affection in a way that was natural to him. He looked at the quilt and the girl. She might well prefer to be with him because it was safe and fun, but he didn’t have to think too hard before realising it could never happen. There was no physical evidence against her father, and her mother was doing her best—despite the father’s long shadow. Jakob sighed to himself. Mortensen would have a heart attack when he found out about it. You kidnapped a child, Pedersen. A potential witness in your own crackpot investigation!

‘Would you like some more juice before I go?’

‘Yes,’ she said from under her quilt. ‘Can stones not feel anything at all?’

‘No, I don’t think so,’ Jakob replied with a smile, while he put two cups on the table. ‘After all, it wouldn’t be very good if we always had to apologise to the rocks for walking on them.’

Paneeraq looked down at her clenched fist and smiled almost imperceptibly.

‘What do you think its name was?’ She opened up the palm of her hand so that he could see the small, dotted piece of flint.

He exhaled and raised both eyebrows. ‘I really don’t know what those creepy crawlies were called all those millions of years ago, but… well, why don’t we call it Paneeraq, just like you?’

She turned her gaze towards him. ‘Do you think that was its name? Is it a girl?’

‘Well, I know it’s not called Jakob, because that would be a silly name for a sea urchin.’

She turned her hand slightly so that she could study the sea urchin from another angle. Her eyes had grown sad again. Her fingers closed around the fossil. ‘They’ll come back.’

‘Who?’ Jakob pressed his lips together.

‘The men. They always come back.’

‘We don’t know that,’ he responded as swiftly and as calmly as he could, but he struggled to hide his agitation. He had been hoping that she had slept through it all. ‘They were just angry. That happens to grown-ups like them sometimes.’

‘They always come back.’ Her voice had slipped deeper into the embrace of the quilt.

Jakob looked at her. ‘Do you mean those specific men?’

She nodded. Slowly. Without looking up.

‘Do you know them?’

‘They visit my dad sometimes,’ she said in a voice so small it was barely audible. ‘And the last time they brought an old man from Denmark.’

‘Old?’

‘Like you… The minister, that bastard, my dad called him when he had gone.’

There was total silence in the room.

Jakob wanted to sit next to Paneeraq and give her a big hug, but he was scared to even touch her hair.

‘They’ll never come back,’ he said. ‘And that’s a promise.’

45

It proved quite a challenge for Jakob to get to work that morning. The storm continued to rage around the houses, snapping up anything left lying on the ground, and it felt as if snow was being hurled at the town from all sides.

Paneeraq was alone in his house with plenty of biscuits, crackers and juice, as well as comics, pencils and paper, should she want to draw. He had told her that she was free to move about his house and that she could touch anything she wanted to. There was nothing dangerous or forbidden in his home. She was even allowed to play with the fossils. She had been upset when he left, but he had promised her that he would be back and that he was going to find out where she would live from now on. She had said that she would like to live with him. He had had no answer to that.

Jakob looked about uneasily as he walked through the entrance to the police station. His recent row with Mortensen was unlikely to be a secret, and he was afraid that everyone would know that he was hiding the girl.

‘Did you return the child, Pedersen?’

He turned his head and saw Mortensen’s chin. ‘I need to speak to you about Jørgen Emil Lyberth and Kjeld Abelsen. It’s serious.’

‘Really? I’m rather busy today.’

‘But they—’

‘I hope you haven’t upset those fine gentlemen for no good reason?’

Jakob shook his head. ‘No, but they—’

‘Good, then it can wait. I have meetings with the Home Rule Committee, the Greenlandic Provincial Council and the Minister for Greenland, and I haven’t got time to listen to your conspiracy theories. You understand that, don’t you?’ Mortensen rubbed his eyes. ‘We need to put a lid on all that nonsense before the minister flies back to Denmark tomorrow—that’s the way it is. Frankly, it’s like herding cats.’

Jakob shook his head and took a very deep breath all the way down to his stomach.

‘Take Karlo with you, then go and apologise to the girl’s parents,’ Mortensen said. He went back towards his office, but turned around in the doorway to make sure that Jakob had taken his message on board. ‘I mean it.’

‘Yes, sir.’ The air seeped out of Jakob. ‘We will.’

He could smell wet clothes inside the office. His fellow officers, their snow-caked boots, trousers and jackets were thawing in the heat. The steam from the melting snow made the office smell like a damp basement.

‘I’ll keep my coat on, shall I,’ Jakob grunted when, at that very moment, he spotted Karlo, who was waiting for him, already dressed for the outdoors.

The two men went outside and let the snowstorm embrace them. Jakob patted Karlo on the back. ‘The more decorations they get on their shoulders, the less they remember what it means to be a police officer.’

‘The responsibility probably weighs heavily on them.’

‘I wish. No, I think it’s about not wanting to lose what you’ve got, so you switch your allegiance upwards rather than remember those down on the ground.’

‘I don’t think the world is as black and white as you make it out to be.’

‘You may be right, but our boss would rather be a friend to politicians than a protector of children at risk—that much I know.’ Jakob’s voice sharpened. ‘Right, we had better get a move on, although this is yet another deeply idiotic idea. Why are we having to suck up to a rapist instead of pursuing him all the way to hell?’

‘Let’s wait and see how the case pans out,’ Karlo said, looking straight into the hissing polar wind. ‘We still have to solve the murders.’

Jakob leaned towards Karlo. ‘Jørgen Emil Lyberth and Kjeld Abelsen paid me a visit last night. They want us to arrest Thomas Olesen from Block 16 for the murders and close the case.’

‘Thomas Olesen? But surely he has nothing to do with this.’

‘And they know it, but they want the case closed now. They brought with them some thug from the Faroe Islands and they threatened me.’

‘Are you serious? Please tell me you’re not.’

‘I am—although no one will ever believe me. But I’m telling you, they were there, I swear.’

‘Yes, of course. I believe you. So what happens now?’

‘We apologise to that bastard in Block P, and when we get back to the station, Mortensen will tell us to arrest Olesen for the murders.’

‘Mortensen? Do you think that—’

‘It’s entirely political,’ Jakob interrupted. ‘The last thing anyone up here wants is an investigative commission from Denmark turning up while the hullabaloo about the EEC is still a gaping wound and the newly minted Home Rule Committee is trying to find its political feet and its identity.’ He heaved a deep sigh and watched it linger in the cold air as tiny frozen particles. ‘I’m thinking in particular of all the Danish civil servants who have been up here for years, acting like petty monarchs. They don’t want to hand over their power to Denmark, or to a new, independent Greenland.’

‘And Mortensen and Abelsen are two such monarchs?’ Karlo said.

‘You bet they are. And when it comes to politics at that level, some damaged girls and a few murdered men don’t count for much. Until they start to attract unwelcome attention—something that threatens the status of the monarchs, that is.’ Jakob kicked a pebble along the road. ‘There’s something about this case that can bring down Abelsen and Lyberth, and possibly the Minister for Greenland as well. And unless I’m very much mistaken, the crux of the matter has nothing to do with politics and everything to do with the minister, who has a taste for little Greenlandic girls.’

Karlo stopped. ‘What? Are you serious?’

Jakob nodded. ‘I am, but I can’t prove it yet. I…’ He exhaled. The wind was pulling so hard at their clothes that they both struggled to stand still. ‘I think that’s the connection, but right now it’s just a theory.’

Karlo rubbed his forehead and the snow scattered from him. ‘Once this storm dies down, the Minister for Greenland will fly back to Denmark.’

‘I know.’ Jakob shook his head. The gusty snow stabbed his face like icepicks. ‘But there’s not a lot I can do about that. I simply haven’t got the evidence.’

‘And we can’t arrest the three of them purely on a hunch.’

‘I know that too.’

‘So what happens, then?’

The wind took hold of Jakob and he missed a step. ‘It’ll play out like I said. We’ll be ordered to arrest Olesen so that he can be convicted of the murders, and if we don’t, then I’m finished.’

‘And the girls?’

‘No one gives a toss about the girls.’

Block P was starting to emerge from the snowstorm in front of them. Jakob heaved a sign of resignation and glanced at Karlo. ‘We’ll have to see what happens.’

46

Karlo knocked on the door to the apartment they had already visited twice.

Jakob wondered how best to handle the conversation. He couldn’t very well apologise for having kept the girl, because there was no way he was giving her back to such a father. It was out of the question. But then again, Karlo didn’t know that Paneeraq was back at his house. No one knew, nor had the parents reported her missing, which proved Lisbeth’s point.

‘I don’t think they’re in,’ Karlo said, knocking so hard the whole stairwell could hear.

Jakob grabbed the handle and pushed it down. The door made a small click and opened. He looked at Karlo and raised his eyebrows. ‘Let’s take a look around.’

‘Are you sure? After all, Mortensen—’

‘—isn’t here,’ Jakob cut him off, pushing the door wide open and taking a step inside. ‘Something’s wrong.’

Karlo nodded slowly and moved past Jakob. ‘It smells like someone has been hunting.’

The two men looked at one another, and the reality dawned on them simultaneously.

‘Oh, no,’ Jakob exclaimed, and with long strides he followed Karlo into the living room, where he came to an abrupt halt. Anguteeraq Poulsen was lying on the floor in front of them. His intestines had been cut out and left around his body in a bloody circle of death. His skin was gone, except for that on his hands and feet. His facial features had been erased. All that remained were brown muscle fibres and pale sinews. His teeth grinning. Exposed and hysterical.

Jakob raked his hands through his hair, all the way to the back of his neck.

Karlo had already squatted down by the body. ‘Jakob,’ he said slowly. ‘The four men we listed as the worst offenders are all dead now. No one else.’

Jakob stared straight past Karlo and down at the dead man’s forehead. They had both seen it.

‘There’s a piece from your jigsaw puzzle on his forehead.’ Karlo’s voice was hoarse.

Jakob closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. ‘It must be the man from the Faroe Islands who put it there… He was messing about with my jigsaw puzzle last night. The one I told you threatened me with a knife.’

Karlo nodded, but he looked away.

‘Surely you don’t think…?’ Jakob ground to a halt and his shoulders slumped.

‘No… no.’ Karlo shook his head.

‘Where’s his wife?’ Jakob heard his own voice say the words, but it was Karlo’s body that moved. Past the dead man. Past the blood and the stench of gutted prey. Around the sofa, where he stopped. He looked up. Stared at Jakob, who stepped past the body of Anguteeraq Poulsen so he too could see the dead woman on the floor behind the sofa.

She hadn’t been killed in the same manner as the men. Far from it. She had suffered a single injury to her head. That was all. Someone had hit her hard, and the blow had killed her. It might not even have been intentional.

‘There’s one thing I don’t understand,’ Karlo said, interrupting Jakob’s train of thought. ‘You don’t seem to be worried about the girl at all.’

They both looked towards the door to the bedroom from where, a few days earlier, Poulsen had carried his daughter.

Jakob knew he had to react quickly to the question. Say the right thing. But his thoughts were so disjointed that all words deserted him.

Karlo took three long strides towards the door, pushed it open and disappeared inside. ‘She’s not here,’ his voice called out from inside the room. ‘But then, you already knew that, didn’t you?’

47

Paneeraq smiled contentedly. Jakob’s coffee table was covered with rocks. Not as densely as the shore of a pebble beach, but more like a display in a shop. She had arranged them on the stripy wood, pretty much in order of size. Only one had received special treatment. The small, fossilised sea urchin lay at centre stage, with plenty of room around it.

She had spent hours lining up the stones, and was finally satisfied with her efforts. It had been a big job because there were so many colours, shapes and patterns, and no two of them were alike.

She trailed her hand across the stones, and tapped them lightly with her forefinger one by one while she reeled off an endless list of names. ‘Hansiina. Nivi. Aviaaja. Rebekka. Olga. Julianne. Nuka. Najak.’ The finest of them all was Paneeraq, in the middle. It was also the softest and had been found in Denmark, which was far away.

At school they had seen many pictures and movies from Denmark. It was a country with tall trees with fruit on the branches, and it was warm. In the summer the children could run around and play outside—for a whole day, if they wanted to—without getting cold. It was hard for her to imagine, but she thought that it might explain why the little sea urchin was so smooth and fine. All that heat. After all, stones could melt if they got very hot.

She was wearing her white dress with the big coloured dots that she had worn yesterday, and the same yellow socks. She had nothing else, but Jakob had said that he would get the nice lady from the police station to help find her some clothes. They could also get some from her mum at home, but she didn’t want to leave yet. Being at Jakob’s was fun and peaceful.

Outside it was daylight, and the snow glowed white and bright through the windows. Jakob wouldn’t be back until it was dark again. Completely dark. Just after five o’clock, he had said, but he had also promised her that he would try to be home sooner than that.

She was startled by a sharp noise. She tumbled to the floor and disappeared into the grey woollen rug under the coffee table world of soothing rocks.

The noise came again—three hard knocks. Someone was outside. There shouldn’t be anyone outside. No one should be knocking on the door. Jakob had said so. No one comes here. Jakob had said so.

She clutched the sea urchin in her small fist. Mumbled to herself into the rug, telling herself that no one was knocking on the door. But they were. And they did it again. Three fresh knocks. Hard. Exploding against the wooden door.

Don’t open the door to anyone, Jakob had said. But someone was banging on it now. The handle rattled. Up and down. She tried pushing herself into the deep pile of the carpet. Hiding in the grey, dusty world.

On the shelf below the coffee table was Jakob’s book about rocks. The boring one. She could see its spine and the words on it. She closed her eyes. She tensed her body. Praying to turn into a stone herself.

The hammering resumed, and a voice reached the living room through the window near the coffee table. The voice called out to her. It spoke her name, but it wasn’t Jakob’s voice. It was angry. She had to open the door, the voice ordered her, or they would break it down. But she wasn’t going to open the door. She didn’t want to let the angry men in. She didn’t want to leave Jakob’s house and the stones.

The noises by the door changed. One crash after another. Paneeraq’s fists were clenched in front of her mouth, while a monotonous, hoarse sound seeped out between her lips. Her body rocked back and forth.

The door gave in with a heavy splintering and slammed into the wall. She shook her head. Cried out no on the inside. Where is Jakob? Where is Jakob?

Her dress grew wet. As did the rug. And her face. The chanting between her tightly pressed lips grew louder and more panicked.

Voices jumped around her like snarling dogs. They spoke but said nothing. A big hand grabbed her and spun her around. She didn’t want to look.

Relax, the hand said. We have you now. You’re safe. He can’t hurt you anymore. You’re free.

Did he hurt you? another voice said, but she didn’t want to see or hear them. These men were wicked. They had come to take her away from the stones. And Jakob’s sofa.

Bloody hell—she’s pissed herself!

Two big hands grabbed her and picked her up. You’re coming with us, the voice behind the hands said. The hands were very strong. She fought but she wasn’t strong enough.

The voice shouted at her and the hands squeezed her tight. They shook her. She lashed out with her feet. The hands tightened their grip. She couldn’t breathe. She dropped the sea urchin. She was slung over someone’s shoulder and restrained.

The shoulder was hard. The back below it broad. Her eyes followed the small sea urchin as it rolled across the floor. It fled towards the bedroom, but lost speed before it got to safety and ended up lying on its side, its fossilised stomach pointing diagonally up into the air.

Paneeraq stopped moving. Her hands were clamped together, and her legs held in place. Then she screamed her own name. She cried out for the sea urchin, which grew smaller and smaller with every step taken by the body below her, until it disappeared.

They left the house. Everything around her grew cold. The frost nipped at her arms, her face and her legs. The urine froze on her thighs. As did the tears on her cheeks. Her eyes stung.

A car door opened and she was plonked onto a cold plastic seat. Someone tossed in her jacket, boots and satchel. The door slammed shut. She pushed against it and pressed her face against the icy glass. Her mouth wide open. Her teeth grinding against the windowpane. She was still screaming. Screaming deep inside herself.

48

The moment Lisbeth saw Benno and Storm arrive at the police station with Paneeraq, she jumped up and ran to the little girl. She knelt down in front of Paneeraq and tried to look into the girl’s red eyes.

‘What have you done to her?’ she challenged the two officers.

‘We just went to fetch her,’ Benno said casually, attempting to maintain his status in front of the angry secretary. ‘Out at Jakob’s. She was like that when we found her.’

‘Yes,’ Storm piped up. ‘There’s no way we’re taking the rap for this. The girl was already lying on the floor screaming when we came in.’

Lisbeth gently pulled Paneeraq close and could feel the child shaking all over. She turned her attention to Benno. ‘And how did you get in?’

He shrugged. ‘She was lying on the floor without moving, so we broke down the door.’

‘Standard procedure,’ Storm added. ‘We were sent to pick her up, and she was just lying there on the floor. How were we to know what he had done to her?’

‘Have you completely lost your minds?’ Lisbeth was whispering in order not to frighten Paneeraq even more. ‘Have you no idea how traumatic that would have been to a child?’

She got up slowly and guided Paneeraq carefully to her chair and desk. ‘Now, you sit here for a moment,’ she said softly, pulling open a drawer and finding some chocolate. ‘I’ll get you some cocoa in a minute, and afterwards I’ll take you home with me. This isn’t a place for children.’

‘But we…’ Benno cleared his throat. ‘She’s in our care, and we need to get her seen by a doctor today.’

On hearing this, Paneeraq flinched.

Lisbeth squeezed Paneeraq’s arm and shook her head dismissively. ‘Just ignore them. I’ll go and get your cocoa now, and we’ll leave very soon.’

Paneeraq nodded. Her eyes had started to liven up a little.

‘If I hear either of you say another word to that girl, I’ll bloody well kill you.’

Benno looked at the small, incensed woman. ‘Listen, we were only doing our job.’

‘Your job? What kind of a job is it to scare the living daylights out of an already broken little girl? Eh? Can you tell me that? Have you really no idea what this child has suffered? Not just for one night, but for years.’

Benno stared down at the wooden floor, as if an answer could be found in its cracks.

‘You’re only a secretary,’ Storm sneered. ‘So perhaps you should let us do our job—especially if you want to keep your own.’

‘Oh, shit,’ Benno grunted with resignation as he stepped in front of Storm and felt Lisbeth’s blow hit his chest with full force. For a moment he was winded, but he kept his gaze fixed on the irate woman’s eyes. ‘That’s enough for now,’ he said with a quick nod, then he turned around, grabbed Storm by the arm and dragged him into the office.

Lisbeth could hear Storm complaining bitterly, but she could also hear Benno, who, in an even louder voice, shouted, ‘Just shut your mouth!’

She waited to make sure that the two men were not coming back, then rushed to Mortensen’s office, where she knocked while pushing open the door without waiting for an answer.

‘Mrs Ludvigsen,’ the small man exclaimed in surprise. ‘You nearly gave me a heart attack.’

‘I apologise, sir,’ she said, her voice trembling. Lisbeth was so angry that the words got stuck in her throat. ‘But Benno and Storm have just terrified a little girl who is already utterly broken. What the hell is it that you men don’t understand about girls and women who have been destroyed by men? Do you think we just wake up the morning after we’ve been raped and everything is fine? Can you really not imagine that it hurts forever, and we’re eaten up by anguish and grief every hour of the day and night?’

Mortensen stubbed out his cigar in the ashtray and rubbed his pale chin. ‘I know what you’re saying,’ he said. ‘But we must never let personal feelings cloud our objectivity as law enforcement officers.’

‘We’re talking about a little girl. A child!’ Lisbeth threw up her hands. ‘There’s nothing objective about that. She needs love, and your men are stomping all over her like a herd of elephants.’

‘I was referring to the objectivity between you and Pedersen,’ Mortensen said. ‘We couldn’t leave the girl with him—it wasn’t lawful. And being a police officer, he should have known better. Besides, the whole investigation has taken a very unfortunate turn for Pedersen, and the worst-case scenario is that the girl might have been staying with her parents’ killer. So you see, we had absolutely no choice other than to pick her up. You have to understand that. I promise to have a word with Benno and Storm, so we can establish whether they acted in accordance with procedure.’

‘Thank you,’ she said, forcing herself to stay in control. ‘I would appreciate that.’

He nodded with a dry smile. ‘Is there anything else?’

She shook her head. ‘Yes… I’ll take the girl back to my place now. She needs a bath, clean clothes and some TLC. If you try to stop me, I’ll go straight to the papers with everything I know. And the same applies if you sack me.’

Mortensen drummed his fingers on a small brown notebook that lay on the desk in front of him. ‘You don’t scare easily,’ he said with a nod. ‘I like that.’

49

The smoke from Mortensen’s cigars was so thick that Jakob couldn’t remember the stench in the small office ever being worse. There were three half-smoked cigars in the ashtray and one dangling between Mortensen’s yellow fingers. Around the ashtray were stacks of files, loose sheets of paper, newspapers, a few pots with pens and an old, grey typewriter. Jakob’s notebook lay in the centre of the ash-stained green blotting pad. Mortensen’s fingers rested on the closed cover.

‘Pedersen, Pedersen,’ his boss sighed behind the grey and yellow fog. ‘What the hell am I supposed to make of all this?’ He aimed two probing eyes at Jakob.

Jakob shrugged.

‘Yes, I took the liberty of flicking through your notebook, seeing as it was lying around here at the office. I had started to realise that it might be worth having a look at it.’

He paused again to allow for objections, but Jakob remained silent.

‘It contains four names,’ Mortensen sighed. ‘You wrote down four names. Yes, I acknowledge that there are many other names on your lists, but you have identified these four men as being particularly evil. Four men who are now all dead.’ He turned his head slightly, without taking his eyes off Jakob. ‘We can agree on that, can’t we?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘That it’s your notebook, and that you appointed yourself judge, jury and executioner of these four men.’

‘That they are four men who repeatedly raped their own daughters—yes, on that we can agree.’

‘And you wrote the list, didn’t you?’

‘It’s in my notebook, yes.’ Jakob looked down and adjusted his shirt nervously. ‘But listen—’

‘And you stated publicly that you would be willing to kill Anguteeraq Poulsen,’ Mortensen cut him off. ‘And in secret and against my express orders, you took in his daughter the night before her parents’ murder—am I right?’

‘Her name is Paneeraq.’ Jakob looked up at Mortensen again. ‘What have you done to her?’

Mortensen rubbed his septum. ‘The air is so bloody dry up here.’

‘Where’s Paneeraq?’

‘She’s in safe hands now.’

‘Not if she’s in this building,’ Jakob snapped. ‘This whole town is rotten to the core.’

‘Pedersen…’ Mortensen summoned his attention. ‘She’s in safe hands, trust me. She has no family left, but I can promise you that she’s safe. I can’t tell you where she is, obviously, as we don’t want you running straight over there. You’ve become obsessed with this case.’ He cleared his throat and hawked violently. Drummed his fingers on the notebook a few times. ‘This reads like the work of a madman. Not a police officer.’ He looked up. ‘What the hell is this? Poetry and conspiracies all muddled together? What has got into you? Has the darkness finally pushed you over the edge? We have four flayed bodies, but you’re busy philosophising about the taste of the ice cap and conspiring against our leading civil servants.’

‘Those notes are private,’ Jakob said. ‘Surely the only madness is that I predicted who was going to die, and as I still believe the deaths are related to the sexual abuse of children, then I was also right about the four men being the worst offenders in this town.’ He flung out his arms. ‘I’ve nothing to do with the murders themselves, obviously. Do you want me to come up with an alibi for the nights of the murders—is that what you’re saying? Now that would be truly mad. And since when is it illegal to write poetry and to love nature, or is that the preserve of murderers? I don’t know what it’s like back in Horsens, but where I come from we still have free speech.’

‘I happen to be from Stensballe, not Horsens, not that it matters.’ Mortensen nudged the brown notebook. ‘And the jigsaw puzzle piece? What about that? A signature? You know how this works. No serial killer ever wants to get away with his crimes—deep down he’s desperate for the world to admire his work. Am I right?’

‘I agree, but that knowledge doesn’t turn you or me into a serial killer. And as far as the puzzle piece goes, I’ve no idea how it ended up on the deceased.’

‘The deceased? You mean Anguteeraq Poulsen? That’s true. Now, what did you say again? That you would bloody well kill him and gut him yourself?’

‘For God’s sake, sir. We had just left the apartment. The girl could barely walk. He… he had just… Karlo was angry too. Men like Anguteeraq Poulsen shouldn’t get away with destroying children. Surely you agree?’

‘Of course, Pedersen, but it’s something we have to let the law deal with. Our job is solely to collect the evidence, if there is any.’

‘Also to prevent crime, surely,’ Jakob objected angrily.

‘Yes, that’s correct, but did you see a crime in progress while you were there? Did anyone report anything? How about witnesses?’

‘I knew he had raped her! I could tell from all their faces. From their eyes. The way she walked and her body language towards her father. She hurt all over. They were covering it up.’

‘But has anyone reported it? Where’s the evidence? There might be another explanation, don’t you think?’

‘Everyone is too bloody scared to speak out,’ Jakob yelled. ‘And even if they do, who will help them? The kids are simply sent back to their families. For God’s sake, we need to protect those children.’

‘And who will protect men against false accusations, if we start acting purely on a hunch?’

‘Men? Protect men?’ Jakob stared at the chief of police in disbelief. ‘The men… they—’

‘Deserve to die?’ Mortensen completed Jakob’s sentence.

Jakob looked at the floor. ‘To hell with the men. We ought to be protecting the girls.’

‘Work with me here, Pedersen. You have this bizarre notebook where you’ve written down the names of four men—before they were killed. You have publicly expressed a desire to kill one of them. You removed that man’s daughter from her home shortly before he was killed. And a piece from your jigsaw puzzle was found on the dead man’s forehead.’ He exhaled heavily. ‘Can you see where I’m going with this, Pedersen? We have, as far as I’m aware, at no point had another suspect under consideration, but if you look objectively at the facts I’ve just listed, what would you call the man hiding behind them?’

‘I do have some suspects now,’ Jakob remarked dryly.

‘I would call such a man a suspect,’ Mortensen continued, pushing his own argument. ‘Wouldn’t you?’

Jakob shook his head. ‘I had a visit last night. Actually, “intruders” would be more accurate. Jørgen Emil Lyberth and Kjeld Abelsen. They forced their way into my house, along with a strong, ruddy-looking man from the Faroe Islands.’

Mortensen frowned and picked up a cigar stump. ‘Are you still going on about that? Didn’t I say I wanted to hear nothing more about it?’

‘With all due respect, sir, you need to let me speak, because all these events are connected.’

‘Very well—get it off your chest, then.’

‘Like I said, they entered my home last night, and they brought this big, red-haired man with them. They threatened me, told me to abandon my investigation into the children, and said I should charge an innocent man with the murders. They told me to arrest Thomas Olesen from Block 16 today. After the fourth murder, that is, but at the time they were probably the only ones who knew that a fourth murder had been committed.’

‘Pedersen, why would Jørgen Emil Lyberth and Kjeld Abelsen threaten you and have a random man go to jail for murders he has nothing to do with?’

‘Because they have something to do with the murders. The man with the red hair ripped up my shirt and pressed a knife against my chest, while Abelsen told me that I could easily end up gutted as well.’ ‘Tell me why, Pedersen. Why would Lyberth and Abelsen want all these men killed? Yes, and on top of that, why would they threaten you, a police officer, with your life, unless you agreed to close the case?’ He shook his head. ‘I simply don’t see the logic, my good man.’

‘I don’t know.’ Jakob heaved a sigh and his shoulders slumped. ‘I think they’re involved in the assaults on the children. Perhaps they take part. Perhaps they establish contact with the fathers, who then hire out their daughters to high-ranking politicians or civil servants from Denmark. Perhaps the four men got greedy and wanted more money for their silence. Paneeraq mentioned that Lyberth and Abelsen had previously been to her parents’ apartment together with an older Danish man, and that this man was addressed as “Minister”.’

‘And did she say exactly what had happened?’

Jakob shook his head slowly. ‘She’s only eleven years old.’

Mortensen slammed both palms against his desk and drummed his fingers. ‘I’m not about to accuse two prominent citizens and the Minister for Greenland of murder and sexual assault just on your say-so. We work with evidence here, and if I’ve understood you correctly, you have nothing to support your accusations. Nothing. I wouldn’t even go to the trouble of telephoning them.’

‘I have another witness.’ Jakob stumbled over his words. ‘A woman who saw, among others, Lyberth and the man from the Faroe Islands near Ari Rossing Lynge’s place on the night that Lynge was killed and Najak disappeared. She saw them out in the street and heard them argue upstairs. I believe… I have reason to believe that she heard the murder itself.’

‘So she saw these people through a window at night when it was dark and it was snowing, and heard something through the ceiling?’ Mortensen held up a hand in order to stop further protest. ‘It won’t stand up—not without evidence, Jakob. And even if your crazy theories are right, you’re still not in the clear. I have your notebook here, you’ve made threats in public, and you made sure that the girl was out of the apartment on the night of her parents’ murder. So… I’m suspending you for now. I need you to hand in your warrant card and your key to the police station immediately. I’ll try to get a handle on what’s going on today. There’s going to be one hell of an outcry from the powers that be.’

Jakob removed a key from his key ring, and tossed it and his warrant card onto the desk next to his notebook. ‘You can all go to hell.’

‘Thank you, thank you. We’ll get there eventually.’ Mortensen picked up Jakob’s warrant card. ‘Please go home and stay there until further notice. That’s all for now.’

Jakob stopped halfway to the door. He was seething with rage. ‘Najak may still be alive!’

‘We all hope that,’ Mortensen grunted, and looked up at him. ‘Anything else you want to tell me?’

‘There are some films where I think you can see her.’

‘Films? Here in Godthåb?’

Jakob nodded. ‘I think they were recorded at the location where she’s being held… by Abelsen or the Faroese.’

Mortensen shook his head and stood up with effort. ‘That’s the final straw, Pedersen. You bring me your films—if they really exist, that is—and then stay the hell away. You’re suspended no matter what, and it won’t help your case if you have evidence lying around at your house.’

Jakob stared at the floor.

‘Now get out of here,’ Mortensen shouted. ‘Get out of here before I tell your colleagues to walk you home and tear your house apart.’

50

The snow was several metres high along the roads, so few rocks managed to peek out from underneath the glittering carpet. The moonlight bounced back from it, making the earth look as if it were bathed in phosphorescence. The wind had suddenly died down so even the tiniest movement could be heard from afar. It was only six o’clock in the evening, but the sky over the city was already black and infinitely deep. Millions of stars sparkled over Jakob’s head, and even more crystals under his feet. The cold bit at his nostrils and throat; it felt like it was minus fifteen Celsius already. He inhaled deeply through his nose. It stung, and the hairs in his nostrils froze instantly.

The houses lay scattered along the road, and light shone from the small windows. Except for his own house, which was just as dark as the sky. The moment he had thrown his warrant card on Mortensen’s desk, he had known that his days in that house were numbered, but he didn’t mind. It was never his home. Two people had once lived there, and they had died together and left everything as it was. A mausoleum. He had merely borrowed it. Now it would be passed on to the next person. He was moving on.

From a distance of several houses, he had seen that his front door was ajar, and as he took the last few steps across the snow towards the building he realised that the door had been forced. It was ripped from its frame, and the wood around the lock was splintered.

He had known that the house would be empty. As the day had dragged him deeper and deeper into a bottomless void, he had realised that he wouldn’t be able to keep his promise to Paneeraq to come back and take care of her. She had been removed by force, and the thought of how that must have been for her was unbearable. He had no idea where the child was now, or if he would ever see her again.

Jakob pushed open the front door and entered the hall, where he picked up a small plastic bag from the floor—another reel of film. He closed the door as best he could, and continued into the living room.

The coffee table had been upended, and pretty much his whole rock collection lay scattered in a crescent shape on the grey rug beside it. He touched the table. There had never been a single scratch in its glossy wood, but now the veneer was crisscrossed with fine lines and dots. His hand continued across the rug and brushed a couple of rocks. Behind the coffee table a section of the rug pile had been squashed down, and in the middle of the flat area was a wet patch.

He hooked up the new film in the projector and fed it through the machine. The beam of light revealed dust motes dancing in the air. The square on the wall flickered. She was still in the container. Curled up in her corner. But even in the brief flashes of light, he soon realised that her condition had deteriorated. Her hair was unkempt. Dirtier. Matted. She wasn’t wearing any tights. No dress. No underwear. Only the jacket, which she had wrapped tightly around herself. Her body was trembling. Twitching. Light turned to darkness. Then it exploded again in life. Her bare legs were soiled. Filthy. The light and the dark no longer affected her closed eyelids. Her hands were pressed against her mouth and nose. There were trails of several layers of dried tears in the grime on her cheeks.

She sat like that, completely still. Jakob lost track of time. He just waited. There had been a new note with the film. Last warning, Jakob. Close the case. She dies tomorrow. Jakob stared at the girl in the darkness and the light. Suddenly a shadow appeared and slipped in front of everything. Without the camera moving. It was a tall, thin man. Black hair. Wearing a long, dark coat. He was pale and stern, although his face was seen only in profile for a brief moment. He threw a blanket over Najak, but she didn’t stir or open her eyes.

The film ran out. The camera hadn’t moved. Nor did it have to. The man who had appeared had answered all Jakob’s questions.

His temples were throbbing. ‘She’s only eleven years old,’ he screamed into the air. He stared at the projector and shook his head. Then he looked at the wall clock near the kitchen. It was just past eight o’clock. ‘Shit!’

He got up and put on his coat. There was no telephone in the house, so if he wanted anything done, he would have to go out. He picked up the projector and put it in the cardboard box in which it had arrived. He put the films down alongside it.

The cold bit his face hard. The wind had increased again; given the density of the darkness, a thick cloud cover must have crept over the headland. The frost and the whirling snow cut his face, so he struggled to see. His eyes were smarting and his cheeks hurt. He carried the box in both hands, and was constantly on the verge of stumbling because he couldn’t see the road.

Before he reached the police station, he tripped and fell to his knees three times, sinking into the snow. His fingers were numb even though he was wearing gloves. From time to time he carried the box with one hand only, so he could wiggle the fingers on his free hand and get his circulation going again. In summer the walk from his house to the police station took only a few minutes, but on this pitch-black winter’s night in a snowstorm, it took him more than a quarter of an hour.

The police station was just as dark as the night, but unlike the sky it stood out in clear contrast to the white snow, which covered everything around the long, dark-brown wooden building. Jakob took the last few steps up the stairs, set down the box and got his breath back. Then he tried the door. It didn’t even budge. He had hoped that someone would be there. Anyone. Even Mortensen. He tried a few more times, then started banging on the window frame.

He waited several minutes, but all he could hear was his own breathing. Then he picked up the box and walked down the steps. He waded through the deep snow and looked through some of the windows. The station was dark and empty.

His boots were filled with snow under his trousers. His gloves were covered in lumps of ice. He continued past Mortensen’s house, which lay close by, but it was just as dark as the police station. In the end he was forced to walk all the way back home. He would have to wait until tomorrow. Besides, they couldn’t start looking for the container until it got light.

Back in the house he took off his icy outdoor clothing and put the cardboard box away in the sideboard. Then he went to the kitchen and poured himself a brimming glass of Johnnie Walker Red Label. He opened a drawer and took out the big chef ’s knife. Another remnant from the days of the previous tenants. It was heavy and felt good in his hand. Its blade was almost as long as his forearm.

He picked up the glass with his left hand and sipped the cool whisky. He pulled a face and took another slug, then returned to the living room and the armchair, where he sank into the soft upholstery and placed the knife on the armrest. There was an icy draught from the damaged front door.

51

Jakob woke when his empty glass fell to the floor, but it was something else that had caused him to drop it in the first place. He coughed hard, inhaled deeply through his nose into his lungs, and felt the cold air clear the sleep from his thoughts.

The chair squeaked feebly beneath him. He straightened his stiff back and extended his legs along the floor until they were so taut that they started to quiver. Slowly he reached for the knife on the armrest, but his fingers found only wood. He fumbled along the armrest and continued down to the floor. Nothing.

The darkness moved and Jakob froze.

‘Can’t you find your knife, Dane?’

Jakob recognised the Faroese accent immediately, and heard contempt and hatred drip from every syllable.

‘I decided I’d better look after it for you. A little Dane like you can’t handle a big knife like that.’

Jakob sat up straighter in his chair and stared blindly about the room.

‘What’s that?’ the man from the Faroe Islands said. ‘You can’t see me? Let me help you.’

Jakob jumped when the man turned on the lights. The muscles in his arms and legs contracted.

‘There! Better now?’

Jakob rubbed his eyes.

‘You’re very quiet, Dane.’

The voice now came from behind him. Jakob turned around in the armchair and saw the red-faced man standing by the door to the bedroom. He was leaning against the doorframe, and had folded his arms across his chest, which was covered by a thick, patterned jumper in shades of white and brown. In one hand he held the chef’s knife, with the edge pointing away from him.

‘What are you doing here?’ Jakob demanded, slowly getting up from the armchair.

The Faroese dropped his arms by his sides, while the knife rotated once in his hand, so its edge was now pointing downwards. His thumb seemed to caress the top of the handle.

The man’s ginger hair flowed like his beard. His face was freckled. His shoulders broad. His arms seemed as strong as ship’s timber. Jakob didn’t doubt for one second that the man was stronger than him.

‘Yes—what am I doing here?’ The Faroese took a couple of calm but carefully measured steps forward. His eyes were locked on Jakob’s.

‘I imagine your friends sent you?’

‘Friends?’ The man looked at him with scorn. ‘I’ve no friends here.’

‘You’re right about that,’ Jakob said. ‘You’re just as finished as I am, given how much you know.’

The man let out two short laughs, which sounded more like grunts. ‘This concrete village doesn’t scare me.’ He shook his head. ‘And neither does a Danish lawyer whose balls have yet to drop, or a Greenlander whose balls never will.’

Jakob heaved a deep sigh. ‘Just tell me where you’re keeping Najak, and I’ll forget about everything else.’

‘You just don’t get it, do you? Your job was to keep your mouth shut and close the case. The girl is already dead. But there are three more girls, remember?’ He looked around the room. ‘Where have you hidden the films? I’ll find them sooner or later. If you tell me now, I’ll let you die quickly.’

‘You don’t want a child’s blood on your hands,’ Jakob said hoarsely.

‘All blood tastes the same, you pathetic little Dane.’

Jakob’s eyes scanned the room frantically. There was no escape. He took a step back towards the upended coffee table, and then another one, all the while keeping his eyes pinned on the Faroese, although without looking him directly in the eyes. When his foot touched the edge of the grey rug, he spun around and in the same movement snatched two big rocks from the floor, and then stood up again. The rocks, the size of a man’s fist, now weighed heavily in his hands. His fingers clutched their rough surface and found a grip in the small hollows.

‘What’s this?’ the Faroese said. ‘You want to play with rocks now?’ He pointed to the wound on Jakob’s forehead. ‘I thought you’d had enough of that.’

Jakob’s arms were slightly bent. Ready to attack. ‘Go back to your masters and tell them that I’m not one of their dogs.’

The man from the Faroe Islands grunted angrily. ‘I have no masters, Dane. Don’t you get it?’

‘Just piss off home to your masters,’ Jakob hissed, and bashed the two rocks together in front of his chest. ‘You’re nothing but a miserable lackey.’

The red-bearded man’s eyes burned with rage. ‘I’m from the Faroe Islands,’ he shouted, taking two long strides towards Jakob, brandishing the knife. ‘I’m my own master.’

Jakob took his movement as an attack, and lunged at the man. He swung his right arm, but the Faroese had stopped. Jakob’s hand with the heavy rock continued through the air, pulling him with it and exposing him to his opponent. He only had time to make a half-turn with his head before a hard blow collided with his temple.

52

Jakob’s head was pounding so fiercely that he could barely open his eyes. The light from the ceiling lamp cut him like the repeated slashing of a sharp blade. Mixed with the pain and the metallic taste that filled him to bursting, the light triggered a wave of choking nausea in him. He felt the air going in and out in gusts between his lips. He tried to swallow the viscous lumps of saliva in his throat. He gulped again. Pressed his lips together until they grew white.

He opened his eyes a little. Two narrow slits. Pupils sweeping across the floor. He recognised the floorboards. The grey rug. The furniture. One side of his face lay flat against the floor. It was one with the floor. His body felt heavy. As if it was stuck to the floor. Everything was spinning. His nausea surged and he had to tighten his throat and hold his breath in order not to give in to it.

Not far from his face, he could see a hand. It was alive. Or it seemed alive. It reacted when he thought. The fingers twitched. Not much, but enough. His eyes closed. His gaze contracted behind his eyelids into two black points surrounded by burning red. Then he looked again. Shifted his focus. In little gusts. Like his breathing. Blood was growing from the floor close to the hand. Behind the blood lay an ulo. Its blade was stained with dried and fresh blood. The handle was completely dark.

His thoughts were alive.

He could see and feel.

He was able to breathe.

His gaze followed the floor. Past the hand, the ulo and the blood. Until it reached the body. The body, which lay so far from his face that it couldn’t be his. His concentration failed him. His gaze zoomed helplessly in and out as he attempted to focus. The blood. The pale body. The red hair. The beard. The bloody lumps along the white skin.

He tried to work out if he was still in one piece. It felt like it. Stuck but intact.

The sound of something living pierced his thoughts. Footsteps. Shoes moving across the floor not far from him.

His gaze searched the floorboards again until it found the shoes and the two legs moving them around. He looked up. Two hands drying themselves on one of his tea towels. The face. The dark eyes.