“Let me see that selfie, Assad.” Assad handed him the phone.
“It’s so strange,” he said, looking at the photo. “It’s only a few weeks old and now two of them are dead. The death of young people is something I’ll never get used to with this job.” Carl shook his head. “Such lovely sunny weather, and such beautiful young women having a great time together, and suddenly they’re not here anymore. It’s a good thing we can’t see our own future; that’s all I’m saying.”
“Jazmine is the one on the far right with the longest hair. Do you think it’s real?”
Carl doubted it, and Assad was right. They had to be on their guard because girls like them could be like chameleons. Blondes one minute, brunettes the next. Tall in heels and short in sandals. You couldn’t even rely on a consistent eye color these days.
“I’m sure I can recognize her no matter what.” Assad rubbed his eyes a couple of times. He had a good eye for the ladies—they would just have to hope he could keep at least one of them open.
Carl rang the cell phone number on the client list and waited a long time for an answer.
“Aren’t you aware that it isn’t even seven o’clock?” said an accusing and extremely annoyed female voice.
“I apologize, Mrs. J?rgensen. You’re speaking to Inspector Carl M?rck. I was hoping you could help me with information about your daughter’s whereabouts.”
“Oh, would you shut up!” she just said and hung up.
They waited fifteen minutes while keeping an eye on the main door, but it remained firmly closed.
“Out,” ordered Carl, making Assad’s legs twitch. He must have managed to fall asleep anyway.
They found Karen-Louise J?rgensen’s name on the buzzer and pushed and held it for a few minutes without any result. That set their alarm bells ringing.
“Go and keep an eye on the gate to the courtyard, and stay there until I give the word, Assad.”
Then Carl pressed a few of the other buzzers and was finally let in by someone who didn’t dare refuse when he said where he was from.
There were already a couple of women in dressing gowns on the stairs when Carl stood in front of the door with the name “J?rgensen” on it.
“Could I persuade you to ring the doorbell?” he asked an elderly grey-haired woman who was standing with one hand tightly holding the top of her dressing gown around her neck. “We’re very concerned about Mrs. J?rgensen’s daughter and need her help to find her. But it appears that her relationship with the police is somewhat strained, so it would be a great help.” He smiled as well as he could and showed the woman his badge to help his cause.
She gave him a friendly and understanding nod and tentatively pressed the doorbell to Mrs. J?rgensen’s apartment. “Karen-Louise,” she said quietly, with her cheek pressed against the door panel, in the gentlest voice Carl had ever heard. “It’s only me. Gerda from the fourth floor.”
For whatever reason, it worked. The woman in there must have ears like a bat, because a moment later there was a rattling and clicking sound and then the door was opened.
“He’s come to help you with Jazmine,” said the quiet woman with a smile that was by no means returned as Carl stepped forward and held up his badge.
“You idiots are incorrigible,” she said angrily, with an extra-reproachful look at the old woman. “Was it you who called my phone?”
Carl nodded.
“And pretended that my buzzer was a foghorn?”
“Yes, sorry about that. But we need to know where we can find Jazmine, Mrs. J?rgensen.”
“Oh, give it a rest with your Mrs. J?rgensen. Aren’t you listening? I do not know where Jazmine is.”
“If she’s in the apartment, I’d appreciate it if you told me now.”
“Are you simple? I would know where my daughter was if she was in this apartment, wouldn’t I?”
The old woman tugged at Carl’s sleeve. “It’s true. Jazmine hasn’t been here for—”
“Thank you, Gerda. You can go back to your own apartment now.” Mrs. J?rgensen looked at the other curious spectators leaning against the bannister. “And the same goes for the rest of you. Good-bye!”
She shook her head. “Well, come in if you’re coming. Those nosy old buggers can kiss my ass,” she said. Obviously Sydhavnen hadn’t completely lost the language of its working-class roots.
“What is it Jazmine’s done, since you’re all on my back?” she asked through the smoke of what was probably the first cigarette of the day.
Carl looked at her with respect. It was highly likely that this woman had carried this family single-handedly. Her hands were tough, and her face bore the signs of night shifts, cleaning, working at a cash register, or something similar. The lines on her face weren’t the result of smiling. They were wrinkles born of constant regret and frustration.
“We are worried that Jazmine might have been involved in a number of serious crimes, but I have to stress that we don’t know anything for certain. We might be wrong—it happens—but just to be on the safe side, and for Jazmine’s own good, we—”
“I don’t know where she is,” she said. “There were a couple of women who called for her at one point. One of them said she owed Jazmine money, so I told her she had moved to somewhere or other in Stenl?se. A place called Sandal . . . something or other. That’s all I know, and I haven’t mentioned it to anyone else.”
Carl couldn’t help it. The information made him gasp for breath so loudly that the woman looked surprised and lost her tough expression.
“What did I just say?” she asked, sounding puzzled.
“Just what we needed, Karen-Louise J?rgensen. Exactly what we needed.”
—
“Damn it, Carl. I know it was her I saw looking out through the curtains in the kitchen. I just know it. We should’ve let ourselves in.”
“Yes, I suppose we should’ve.” Carl nodded, wondering if they should turn on the siren. “But I’m afraid my instinct tells me it’s too late. That the bird has flown.”
“Carl, I have a really horrible feeling about this.”
“Me too.”
“Rose’s door was open, damn it. That’s not normal, and especially not for Rose. And now she’s vanished into thin air. And that Jazmine has been next door all this time. And so has Rigmor Zimmermann’s granddaughter, Denise, I bet.”
That comment made up Carl’s mind to activate the siren and step on the gas.
When they arrived, Carl drove right up onto the sidewalk. Assad was quicker than he was and already standing with the key in the keyhole when Carl reached the walkway, audibly out of breath.
He drew his pistol and poised himself as Assad pushed open the door.
“Police! Jazmine J?rgensen! Come out into the hallway with your hands in the air. You’ve got twenty seconds!” shouted Carl. After ten seconds, they both stormed into the apartment, ready to shoot first.