‘Thomas Olesen from Block 16,’ Abelsen went on, still eyeballing Jakob. ‘There’s your killer. Pick him up tomorrow after the morning briefing.’
‘Thomas Olesen,’ Jakob exclaimed. ‘But he’s just a lonely drunk.’
‘Charge him with the murders and close the investigation tomorrow morning. Thomas Olesen?’ Abelsen snorted with contempt. ‘Who is going to miss him? He drinks, he gets into fights all the time, he’s known for being the first to pull his knife, and he can gut a seal like no one else. Bring him in and close the case so the rest of us can get on with our lives.’
‘I’m a police officer,’ Jakob said, his gaze jumping between the two men. ‘I’m not a mercenary or an executioner. What on earth do you think you’re doing? I’m going to have to talk to Mortensen about this.’
‘You charge Olesen with the murders tomorrow morning or suffer the consequences.’ Abelsen turned his upper body slightly, and nodded towards the Faroese man. ‘Either we make you the next victim or we charge you with the murders.’
‘Well, you clearly can’t do that,’ Jakob said, aware that his voice was quivering. His gaze shifted from Kjeld Abelsen’s eyes to his narrow lips, which looked even whiter and deader than usual. If he was right in his suspicions, these men might kill Najak. He clenched his fists, digging his nails into his skin while staring stiffly at the men, one after the other.
‘Jakob, he’s just an alcoholic hunter. He doesn’t matter.’
‘Everyone matters. We can’t just jail an innocent man so you can get political breathing space. I won’t be a part of it, and I’m not going to let it happen.’
‘Okay.’ Abelsen beckoned to the Faroese. ‘You’re finished, Jakob Pedersen. You’re a danger to Greenland.’
The broad Faroese with the piercing blue eyes reached Jakob in seconds. He grabbed Jakob’s neck with one hand and his right wrist with the other. Jakob was so stunned by the man’s strength and speed that he did nothing to defend himself.
The man released Jakob’s neck and ripped open his shirt, exposing his chest and stomach, while with his other hand he took out a knife. Before Jakob had time to think, the knife was pressing against his ribcage.
He breathed in short, shallow gasps. It was too late to fight back. His thoughts were chaotic. Najak, who was being held a prisoner. Paneeraq, who, more than anything in the world, mustn’t make the slightest sound. Not one. This wasn’t about politics or breathing space.
The room closed in on him. He could feel the three men. The knife against his skin. The furniture. Karlo sitting by the jigsaw puzzle. Karlo was missing from the living room now. The snow outside. The drumming dancer. The beat of the drum merged with the beating of his heart, only centimetres from the tip of the blade.
‘I’m a police officer,’ he croaked. ‘You can’t—’
‘It’s up to you,’ Abelsen cut him off. ‘You decide who lives and who dies.’
TRACES OF BLOOD
39
During the night Matthew had checked his mobile repeatedly, but there was nothing from Tupaarnaq. His thoughts kept returning to Lyberth’s part in everything, though the blood-soaked images Tupaarnaq had planted in his mind were a distraction.
It was light outside. He turned over in bed and reached for Jakob’s leather notebook, which was lying on the bedside table. Something in between the lines had got Lyberth killed, and now Tupaarnaq had been caught up in it, probably because she was an obvious scapegoat. She had nothing to do with the murder, Matthew was sure of it. The motive was to be found in Jakob’s notebook. Not directly, but because in it he had described something that someone had been prepared to kill to keep secret. Forty years ago as well as today.
He looked at the list of the girls. The lost girls. Maybe he could find them? Go back in time and discover the fates of the people Jakob had written about. The four men were all dead, but what about the girls? Next to the first victim’s daughter, Najak Rossing Lynge, Jakob had drawn a small cross and a question mark, but Matthew couldn’t be sure that she was dead. And then there was a near blank page about some films Jakob hadn’t felt able to write about. The notebook’s unanswered questions had lingered on in time after Jakob’s disappearance, but it should be possible to track down the girls. Especially Paneeraq Poulsen, whom Jakob had brought to his house.
Matthew didn’t have Ottesen’s mobile number, so he texted Malik asking him to ask Ottesen if any eight-millimetre films relating to the murders in 1973 had ever been found.
He checked his watch. Leiff must be at work now.
‘Hi, Matthew—what are you up to?’ Leiff sounded cheerful, as always. ‘You missed the morning briefing… again.’
‘No, I… Leiff, I was wondering, could you help me find some people who lived in Nuuk in 1973?’
‘You’re thinking about the people from the case I told you about, the four murders?’
‘Yes, that’s it.’
There was silence for a few seconds. ‘We’ll probably have to rummage through the Town Hall archives for that.’
‘Okay. Is that possible? I mean, right away.’
Leiff cleared his throat. ‘Yes,’ he began tentatively. ‘In theory, yes, but their archives from the seventies are even more chaotic than the ones here at the paper.’ His voice brightened up. ‘But listen, my wife works at the Town Hall, and she looked up some of them last week when we first asked about the murders. I’ll check with her. I’m sure she knows her way around every nook and cranny.’
40
Leiff and Matthew walked the short stretch from Sermitsiaq’s offices to the Town Hall. The rectangular building grew rust-brown, green and concrete-grey from one of the city centre’s T-junctions.
The sun shone warm and bright, as it had done yesterday, and there was nothing to suggest that autumn was coming. The arc of an almost cloudless firmament rested across the mountains except for a few flimsy, white tufts that stretched across the top of Mount Ukkusissat like snakeskins.
Matthew was dreading the phone call he would inevitably get once Lyberth’s body was discovered. If it hadn’t been found by tonight, he would have to do something. Lyberth couldn’t just lie there, rotting. It was unacceptable. The man had a family waiting for him, and the fact that Lyberth was lying there hidden away, crucified and gutted, wouldn’t make it any easier for them. Matthew was also very worried about Tupaarnaq by now. Perhaps she had gone back to her apartment. Or maybe far away. He looked down at his feet and kicked a pebble out of the way.
‘We’ll take the door to the right,’ Leiff said. ‘The main door is closed until noon.’
Matthew pressed his hand against his chest and breathed lightly a couple of times as he followed Leiff up towards the tall concrete building, whose height and pale colour were in stark contrast to the dark-brown and green extension.
‘Are you all right?’ Leiff said, looking at the hand Matthew was pressing against his chest. ‘You don’t seem yourself.’
Above them, Greenland’s flag flapped alongside Denmark’s, two red and white sails against the deep blue sky.
‘I’m all right,’ Matthew said, lowering his hand. ‘I think I got too much fresh air yesterday… I’m all right.’
Leiff put his hand on Matthew’s shoulder. ‘I’ve lived here for sixty years,’ he said, his voice mild and warm. ‘Every year new Danes arrive, their heads full of themselves and their romantic dreams about Nuuk and nature. Six months later more than half of them are back in Denmark—for good.’ He patted Matthew’s shoulder. ‘Danes who actually care enough to dig up a cold case and attack deep-rooted problems are few and far between… I’m always here for you, if you want something.’