‘True,’ Ottesen said. ‘But they’re very different cases. The murders in ’73 were of four very similar men with almost identical backgrounds. Our two victims are a police officer who was guarding a mummy and a fisherman who knew something about the murder of the police officer. Two very different men.’
‘Sounds like you know the ’73 case well?’
‘Of course I do. They were the most brutal murders Nuuk had ever seen, and the killer was never caught.’
‘Did the police have any idea who did it?’
‘They certainly had a suspect, who went missing the same night that the last murder took place, but whether he did it I’m not sure. Not everyone thought he was guilty—that much I do know.’ He put down the papers. ‘Listen, we need an investigative consultant at the police station. Are you interested?’
‘Isn’t that a job for a police officer?’
‘Normally, yes, but we’ve advertised the post for six months and haven’t had a single suitable applicant. It’s often like this up here, I’m afraid.’
‘Sorry,’ Matthew mumbled. ‘But I don’t think that’s a job for me.’
‘Never mind—it was just a suggestion. No harm in asking, is there? I think we could do with someone whose approach is different from ours.’
Matthew shook his head.
‘Well, think about it,’ Ottesen said, getting up from his chair. ‘And let me know if you find out anything about the ’73 murders. They baffled the police throughout all of Denmark at the time.’
‘I promise,’ Matthew said, looking at the papers on the coffee table. ‘But there’s not a lot to go on.’
‘No, I agree, there isn’t,’ Ottesen said, and waved goodbye through the glass door to Malik on the balcony. ‘I’d better be heading home,’ he called. ‘See you soon.’ He turned back to Matthew. ‘By the way, what’s your surname? I need it for my report about the man you found today, and I didn’t get all your details when we met down by the boat.’
Matthew hesitated. ‘Cave. My father was an American soldier based in Thule.’
Ottesen raised his eyebrows. ‘Matthew Cave. Right, catch you later. You take care, Matt Cave.’
The sun was in the sky above the sea and the mountains as he left, though twilight was falling. Nuuk still enjoyed many hours of daylight in August, but in just a few months the darkness would be so intense that the sun would come out only for a few hours each day.
‘So Ottesen’s headed home,’ Malik said when he came back inside.
Matthew nodded. ‘He wanted to hire me as a consultant.’
‘Hah, he’s always trying to hire people. Sounds like a boring job, doesn’t it?’
‘Probably.’ Matthew looked down at the bottle in his hand. ‘It’s seven per cent alcohol. This… Musk Ox beer.’
Malik had flopped onto the black recliner. ‘Did you know that the musk ox is a goat?’
‘A goat?’
‘Yes, it’s a big, fat goat hidden underneath the most incredible fur.’ He rolled onto his side. ‘What happened today in the Atlantic Port? When you hid in the car?’
‘Nothing. I just didn’t want to see the body.’ Matthew drained his beer and dropped his cigarette butt into the bottle. ‘I knew I wouldn’t be able to cope if it turned out to be a child.’
‘No, they say that’s the worst.’
The room fell silent.
‘How old was your child?’ Malik tried tentatively.
‘My wife was six months pregnant when the accident happened. They both died.’ Matthew slumped. ‘They asked me if I wanted to see my little girl, but she was dead, wasn’t she.’ It was as if the falling darkness had crawled inside the living room and was now enveloping him. ‘I had felt her moving in Tine’s belly. Her kicks. What use would it be to see her dead? That wouldn’t be the person I had been talking to and cared about.’ Matthew’s voice had grown weaker, until it was nothing but a whisper.
‘Do you know something?’ Malik said. ‘I think everything has a soul. I think we can be together both before and after life, if our bond is strong enough.’
Matthew pushed himself up off the sofa. ‘I’m going for a piss.’
THE WOMAN
15
Matthew was deep into a complex and chaotic nightmare when his mobile started ringing. Without opening his eyes he found his phone and pressed the screen to take the call. ‘Hello?’ he grunted, hoarse and distant, as he pushed aside the sweaty bedclothes.
‘Matthew, can you hear me? When might we have the honour of your company?’
The words snatched him brutally from the last remnants of sleep. His editor. The newspaper. Malik and the beers. His mouth tasted of stale alcohol and smoke. ‘I’m on my way. I… I overslept. What time is it?’
‘It’s only just gone nine, but I want you to stop by the hospital because I’ve got news about your iceman. Turns out he’s not an ancient mummy after all. Lots of things didn’t add up once he’d been rehydrated, like a piece of dried fish. The preliminary analysis shows that he’s only been dead about forty years.’
‘Shit,’ Matthew muttered. ‘That’s that story down the toilet.’
‘I’m afraid so, but it could turn out to be another kind of news, so let’s wait and see. Besides, we have the two murders to cover.’ The editor was quiet for a moment. ‘Could you stop by the police station as well? They’ve arrested somebody for the murder of both men.’
‘Are you serious?’
‘A young woman. A loner. Shaved head and tattoos. She’s just been released from prison. She did twelve years for manslaughter.’
Matthew’s hand with the mobile flopped onto the mattress.
‘Are you still there?’ his editor said. ‘Can you check it out?’
‘Yeah, sure. I’m leaving now.’
16
Just after midday Matthew and Malik walked up the steps to the Nuuk police station. Matthew hoped they would leave with more information than they had when they’d called in at the hospital earlier that day.
Their visit had lasted a couple of hours, but they had little to show for it. They had learned that the iceman had been dead for only forty years, rather than six hundred, but apart from that there wasn’t much news. The precise year of the mummy’s death had yet to be established, as had his age and nationality, but he was Caucasian, probably Nordic.
The man had been cut open and his guts removed; Matthew had already observed this for himself down at the Atlantic Port, because the salt water had loosened the animal fur in which he had been wrapped. In contrast to the four murdered men from 1973, this man’s intestines were missing completely, and he still had his skin, so even if there was a connection to the other murders, there were things that didn’t add up. The mummified man was also the only one whose body had been moved and hidden soon after death; in 1973 the victims had been left in situ after their violent deaths, as if for some grisly display.
Matthew grabbed a handle on one of the double doors and pulled it open. ‘I’m pretty sure we’re wasting our time here as well,’ he told Malik wearily. ‘They’re never going to tell us anything about a suspect they’ve just arrested for the murder of one of their own.’
‘We’ll get something, don’t you worry. I’ll just ask for Ulrik.’
Matthew nodded and wandered over to a noticeboard covered with leaflets and posters. He still wasn’t able to write about the murder of Officer Aqqalu, and the whole business with the iceman was so bizarre and confusing that it would take a miracle to get an actual story out of it—at least until he knew more about the dead man than he did now.