They drank more beer. Henrik leaned back and said: “Ahhh.”
Then Søren told him a story about a little boy who went on vacation to the North Sea coast and got trapped in the car with his dead parents.
They got drunk. Not very, but enough for Søren to relax. Just after midnight he called for two cabs. One to take him home and another to drive his car back. When the cabs beeped their horns and Søren was about to leave, he went to shake Henrik’s hand, but Henrik would have none of it. He hugged him. For longer and harder than the other day.
When Søren got home, he went to bed and slept soundly for thirty minutes, exactly, before his cell rang. He was deep into a weird dream about dogs with thick, glossy coats. He was looking after them, or he owned them, and he could control them by winking. He was the only man in the universe who could do that. Dazed, he sat up in bed, clammy with sweat though there was frost on the outside of the window. The ringing stopped, but when he swung his feet over the edge of his bed, it started again. It was charging under his clothes, which he had left in a pile, and when he finally found it, it had switched to voice mail. He entered the pin code but before he had time to do anything else, it started ringing again.
“Hello,” he said in a rusty voice.
It was Anna.
“Why don’t you answer your phone? What’s the point of having a policeman’s cell number if he isn’t there when you need him?” Anna shouted. Søren wondered if her teeth were clattering as well. He looked at his alarm clock. It was 1:55 a.m.
“I was asleep,” he said. “What’s happened?” He was awake now. He switched on the light and fumbled for his clothes.
“I’ve just received a text message from Johannes,” she informed him.
Søren said, “Hang on.” He quickly got dressed then he picked up his phone again.
“Where are you?” he wanted to know.
“Right across from Bellahøj police station, as it happens. I was in Herlev and I decided to walk home. I received the text just as I passed the Lyngby highway exit and it was quite dark, so I ran. Now I’m here. It’s cold, I’m sweaty, and I’m going home.”
He was puzzled.
“What were you doing in Herlev?” he asked.
There was silence down the other end.
“I’m calling to say I got a text message from a dead man,” she said at last, “and perhaps you need to ratchet up your investigation a notch before his cell is switched off again. It’s probably too late already, given what a heavy sleeper you are. It’s been a long day. Good night.”
“Stop, Anna!”
Søren was cut off.
“Damn!”
He called her. It went to voice mail.
It was 2:05 in the morning and he was wide awake.
“Damn!” he said again.
He called the station and spoke to the duty officer who had been just about to call him. Johannes Trøjborg’s missing cell, which they had been keeping an eye on since last Wednesday, had just been active. The activity was traced to the corner of Schlegels Allé and Vesterbrogade, and the phone was moving down Vesterbrogade toward the city center. One minute and twenty seconds after sending the message, it was switched off. Søren hung up and very slowly ate five apples. It felt like they started fermenting in his stomach right away, something was certainly brewing. He called Anna’s number ten times, but got no reply. He stared into the forest; the moon hung huge and round over the ragged line of the treetops. He touched the window and could feel the cold through the glass like a faint electric current. Was he protecting Anna because he was attracted to her? Was Henrik right? Had Anna killed Helland? Out of hate? Had she killed Johannes? But why? Had they been too quick to discount Professor Freeman? Had he sat in a church with a killer today and let him go? Was it Mrs. Helland, was it obvious to everyone except him? And Dr. Tybjerg. Where did he fit into the picture? And where was he? Dead? Or had he gone underground because he was guilty?
Søren showered. As he stood, heavy and naked, on the cold bathroom floor, he suddenly felt things were about to change. There were no more obstacles in his path. He got dressed and made coffee. He spent two hours making notes, drawing stick people on pieces of paper and moving them around on the floor. Then he lay down on the sofa and slept for a couple of hours. At eight o’clock he got up and made oatmeal. While it simmered, he splashed water on his face. He thought about Susanne Winther. The terror in her voice when she thought something might have happened to Magnus, her little son. He had loved his daughter just as much, though he had only seen her a few times while she was a baby, the size of a bean. What had Søren said the night Bo called from Thailand? Had his eyes widened and had he whispered: “Is Maja all right?” No. He had screamed: “Pull yourself together, you fucking freak!”