That was why he was bleeding so much. He would have to take the time to remove the traces from the front seat of the Mercedes before he got rid of it.
He found the syringe and the anesthetic and sterilized the wounds. And then he injected himself.
He sat for a moment and looked around the living room. He really hoped they weren’t going to find Vibegården. This was the place where he felt most at home. Away from the world, away from its deceit and all its faithlessness.
Next he prepared the needle and suture. Within a minute, he was able to jab the needle into the flesh around his wounds without feeling a thing.
Another couple of scars for the plastic surgeon, he thought to himself, and laughed.
When he had finished, he inspected his work and laughed once again. It was hardly an expert job, but the bleeding had stopped.
He applied a compress with sticking plaster, then lay down on the sofa. When he was ready, he would go down to the boathouse and kill the children. The sooner he did it, the sooner he could be rid of the bodies. And before long he would be away again.
Ten minutes. Then he would go to the outbuilding and get the hammer.
49
Twenty minutes went by before they knew who had made the cash withdrawal and where he lived. The name was Claus Larsen, and it would take them less than five minutes to get to his house.
“What are you thinking, Carl?” Assad asked as Carl negotiated the roundabout on Kong Valdemars Vej.
“I’m thinking it’s a good thing we’ve got backup on our tail and that they remembered to bring their service pistols.”
“You think that will be necessary, then?”
He nodded.
They turned into the road. Even from a distance they could see a man, faintly illuminated by streetlamps, yelling up at a window.
It wasn’t the man they were looking for. He was younger, slimmer, and utterly desperate.
“Hurry! Help me! The house is on fire!” he screamed as they ran toward him.
Carl glanced back as his colleagues screeched to a halt in the car behind, already calling for assistance. The elderly couple standing in their dressing gowns across the way had most likely done the same.
“Is there anyone in the house?” Carl barked.
“Yes, I think so. There’s something definitely not right about this house.” The man was completely out of breath. “I’ve been stopping by the last few days, but no one answers the door, and when I call my girlfriend’s mobile, I hear it ringing upstairs, but she never takes the call.” He pointed up at the window in the roof, then put his hands to his head in despair.
“And why is it on fire now?” he cried.
Carl looked up at the flames that were now clearly visible in the upstairs window just above the front door.
“Have you seen a man enter the house within the last half hour or so?” he asked.
The man shook his head. He could hardly stand still. “I’m going to break the door down,” he shouted, frantic now. “OK?”
Carl glanced at his colleagues. They nodded.
He seemed strong and in good shape and plainly knew what he was doing as he took a short run-up, sprang feetfirst at the door, and delivered a sharp, forceful kick against the lock with his heel. Only to give out a painful groan followed by a stream of invective as he fell heavily to the ground, the door still totally intact.
“The lock’s too strong!” He turned in panic toward the patrol car behind him. “Help me, for God’s sake!” he yelled. “I think Mia’s in there!”
And then came an earsplitting crash. Carl spun toward the sound in time to see the hunched figure of Assad enter the house through the shattered front window.
Carl went after him, the young man on his heels. Assad had made a good job of it. Double glazing and window frame lay shattered on the floor, along with the spare wheel he had hurled through the pane.
They climbed inside.
“This way!” the man shouted, almost dragging Assad and Carl along with him into the hallway.
There wasn’t that much smoke on the stairs, but there was plenty once they reached the first floor. It was already impossible to see a hand in front of your face.
Carl pulled his shirt up to cover his mouth and told the others to do the same. Assad was already coughing behind him.
“Go back, Assad!” Carl barked. But Assad wasn’t listening.
From outside came the sound of approaching fire engines, but it was of no comfort to the young man as he felt his way along the wall.
“I think she’s in here. She says she always keeps her mobile with her,” he spluttered in the thick smoke.
“Listen, tell me if you can hear it.” He must have dialed a number on his phone, because a couple of seconds later they heard a faint ringing close by.
The man staggered forward, fumbling to find the door. And then they heard what sounded like a window on the other side of the wall exploding in the blaze.
One of the local colleagues from Roskilde made it up the stairs, spluttering violently. “I’ve got an extinguisher here, just a small one,” he stammered out. “Where’s the fire?”
The answer to his question immediately became apparent as the young man flung open the door of the room and flames leaped out at them. There was a loud hiss from the fire extinguisher. Its effect was minimal but enough for them to be able to see inside.
The sight that met them was not encouraging. The blaze had got a good hold on the ceiling and a mountain of cardboard boxes stacked inside.
“Mia!” the man yelled in anguish. “Mia, are you in there?”
And at that same moment a jet of water burst through the shattered roof window from outside, turning the air to steam.
Carl threw himself to the floor and felt a searing pain in his arm and shoulder as he instinctively covered his face.
They heard shouts from below, and then came the foam.
It was all over in seconds.
“Get all the windows open,” the officer from Roskilde coughed. Carl jumped to his feet and felt his way to a door, the other officer doing likewise.
As the smoke was sucked out of the upper level, the scene of the blaze was revealed. The young man stood in the doorway, on a sopping wet floor, feverishly heaving packing cases out onto the landing. Several were still aglow, but nothing could stop him.
And then Carl saw the lifeless body on the landing.
It was Assad.
“Out of the way!” he yelled, shoving one of the officers aside.
He vaulted down a couple of stairs and grabbed hold of Assad’s legs, dragging his body toward him and hauling him over his shoulder.
“Help him,” he snarled at a pair of rescuers as he came out onto the lawn. They responded quickly with an oxygen mask.
For God’s sake, help him, was the only thought in his mind, even as cries went up from upstairs.
He didn’t see the young woman when they brought her down. He noticed her only when they laid her on a stretcher next to Assad. She looked like her body was caught in a seizure, as though rigor mortis had already set in.
Then they brought out the young man. He was covered in soot, and much of his hair had been singed away, but his face seemed untouched.
He was crying.
Carl turned from Assad and went over to him. He looked like he might collapse any minute.
“You did all you could,” were the only words of comfort Carl could muster.
And then the young man began to sob and laugh all at once.
“She’s alive,” he stuttered and sank down to his knees. “I felt a pulse. Her heart’s beating.”
Behind them, Assad began to cough.
“What’s going on?” he shouted, arms suddenly flailing.
“Lie still,” a rescuer told him. “You’re suffering from smoke inhalation. It might be serious.”
“This is not smoke poisoning. I fell on the stairs and hit my head. I could not see the arse of an elephant in there.”