Ten minutes passed before the woman opened her eyes. The oxygen and the IV therapy administered by the paramedic worked wonders.
In the meantime, the firemen were damping down the remains of the blaze, and Assad, Carl, and the local police from Roskilde had already gone through the house, finding no immediate signs of documents relating to any René Henriksen or Claus Larsen. And nothing about any property close to water.
The only thing they found were the deeds to the house they were in, and they were in the name of another person altogether.
Benjamin Larsen.
They checked to see if any Mercedes might be registered at the address. Negative again.
The guy had so many exit strategies it was beyond belief.
In the front room was a pair of framed wedding photos, the bride all smiles, bouquet in hand, her groom at once stylish and expressionless. So the woman on the stretcher was his wife. Their names were on the door: Mia and Claus Larsen.
Poor Mia.
“It was a good thing you were here, otherwise all this could have been much worse,” he told the young man, who had climbed into the ambulance and was now holding Mia’s hand. “What’s your relationship to this woman? And who are you?” Carl asked.
He said his name was Kenneth. That was all. Everything else would have to wait.
“You’ll need to move over a bit, Kenneth. I need to ask Mrs. Larsen some questions of the utmost urgency.” He glanced inquiringly at the paramedic, who flashed a pair of fingers in the air by way of response.
Two minutes. That was all he could have.
Carl took a deep breath. This might be their last chance.
“Mia,” he began, “I’m a policeman. You’re in safe hands now, so there’s no need to be frightened. We’re looking for your husband. Is he the one who did this?”
She nodded silently.
“We need to know if your husband owns a property, or has access to one, in close proximity to water. A weekend retreat, perhaps. Would that ring a bell?”
She pressed her lips together. “Maybe,” she said faintly.
“Where, Mia?” he asked, trying his best to control his voice.
“I don’t know. The boxes.” She nodded slightly in the direction of the house.
This was going to be impossible.
Carl turned to the Roskilde guys and told them what to look for. A property with a boathouse somewhere along the fjord. If they found a prospectus or anything like it in the packing cases Kenneth had heaved out onto the landing, they were to get hold of him without delay. For the moment, they could forget about the boxes left behind in the room. They had almost certainly been destroyed.
“Do you know your husband by any name other than Claus Larsen, Mia?” he asked.
She shook her head.
And then she lifted her arm very slowly. The exertion of it made her tremble. She put her hand gently to Carl’s cheek.
“Please find Benjamin. Please.” And with that, her hand fell back and she closed her eyes in exhaustion.
Carl gave the young man an inquiring look.
“Benjamin’s their son,” he said. “Mia’s only child. He’s just eighteen months old.”
Carl sighed and gave the woman’s arm a cautious squeeze.
What suffering her husband had caused in the world. And who would stop him now?
He straightened up and allowed a quick check of his singed arm and shoulder. It would hurt like hell for the next couple of days, the paramedic said.
Too bad.
“Are you OK, Assad?” he asked. The firemen were already rolling up their hoses as the ambulance drove off down the road.
His assistant rolled his eyes. Apart from a bit of a headache and soot all over him, he was fine.
“He’s got away, Assad.”
Assad nodded.
“What can we do now?”
Carl gave a shrug. “It may be dark, but I think we need to get out to the fjord and check the places Yrsa put a ring around.”
“Do we have the photos with us?”
Carl nodded and retrieved a plastic folder from the backseat. Fifteen aerial photos. Rings all over them.
“Why do you think Klaes Thomasen never called us back?” Assad pondered as they got into the car. “He said he would speak to the forest man.”
“The forest officer. Yeah, he did. Maybe he couldn’t get hold of him.”
“Do you want me to call Klaes and ask, Carl?”
Carl nodded and handed Assad his mobile.
It took a while for Thomasen to answer. When he did, Assad’s frown plainly indicated something was wrong. He snapped the phone shut and turned to Carl with a troubled look on his face.
“Klaes Thomasen was surprised. He said he told Yrsa yesterday that the forest officer from Nordskoven had confirmed there was once a boathouse at the end of the track leading to the gamekeeper’s cottage.” He paused for a second, as though puzzled by the word, then continued. “He told Yrsa to pass the message on. I think that was when you gave her the flowers, Carl. She must have forgotten.”
Forgotten? Was that what he said? How the hell could she have forgotten? This was crucial information. Was the woman completely brainless, or what?
He stopped his inner rantings. They wouldn’t help.
“Where is this boathouse, Assad?”
Assad drew the map up to the dashboard and pointed. The property had been encircled twice. Vibegården. On Dyrnæsvej, Nordskoven. The same place Yrsa had picked out for them. It was almost too much to bear.
But how could they have known she had hit the bull’s-eye? And how could they have anticipated that the situation would now be so very urgent? That a new kidnapping was in progress?
He shook his head. But a new kidnapping was in progress, and the outcome didn’t bear thinking about.
Everything indicated that two children were now in the same situation Poul and Tryggve Holt had found themselves in thirteen years before. Two children in the most acute danger. At this very moment.
50
Reaching Jægerspris, they turned right at a red pavilion that read SCULPTURES AND PAINTINGS, and before long they were in the woods.
They carried on along asphalt made wet by rain until a sign appeared reading MOTOR VEHICLES PROHIBITED. An address down the track here would be perfect for anyone not wishing to be disturbed.
They drove slowly on. The GPS told them there was still a fair way to go down to the house, but their headlights lit up the way ahead. If they came to a clearing, they would have to turn them off and carry on in the dark. In a few weeks, there would be leaves on the trees, but for the time being, nature afforded rather less in the way of cover.
“We’re coming now to a track called Badevej, Carl. You must turn off the headlights. Once we are past, the woods open out.”
Carl gestured toward the glove compartment, and Assad took out the torch.
Then he killed the lights.
They continued on in the beam from the torch. It was just enough to show them where they were going.
They became aware of marshland down to the fjord. Cattle, too, at rest in the grass. And then a little substation on their left-hand side. They heard its faint hum as they passed.
“Was that what they heard, do you think?” Assad wondered.
Carl shook his head. No, it was too faint. Gone already.
“There, Carl.” Assad pointed to a dark outline. A second later, they saw it was a windbreak extending from the track down to the water’s edge. Vibegården lay just beyond.
They pulled in to the side, got out, and stood for a moment, taking stock.
“What are you thinking, Carl?” Assad asked.
“I’m thinking about what we’re going to find. And about that service pistol I left in the locker back at HQ.”
Beyond the windbreak was a paddock, and behind that another cluster of trees extending down to the fjord. Not a big property, by any means. But the location could hardly have been better. Here were the makings of a happy life. Or the perfectly concealed crime.