"Did her parents know about it?" Mik asked, also wanting to know if it was something that had been discussed in the rest of the family.

Louise was on the edge of her seat.

"Someone did," Ahmad finally responded.

It was obvious that he was not inclined to provide any more details.

"What boyfriend are we talking about?" Mik asked. "Was he Danish?"

Louise had leaned back and was watching Ahmad while she contemplated why he was telling them this, something that frankly would not help Ibrahim or Hamid's case, and she wondered why Ahmad was the one who was providing them with this information, considering how many people they'd talked to who had all denied that Samra had a boyfriend. Maybe the girl had confided in her uncle. Even though he was obviously male and a chauvinist to boot, he was younger than her parents and she had spent a fair amount of time at his house.

Samra's uncle nodded.

"Can you tell us who he is?"

Now Ahmad shook his head and apologized.

Louise caught Mik's eye and held it a second before standing up and excusing herself from the room.

Out in the hallway, she quickly headed for Skipper and Dean's office and found them each sitting with a big piece of chocolate cake in front of them. She stopped abruptly in the door, p.i.s.sed off for a second that they were just sitting there chilling out and having fun while she and Mik were slaving away on the investigation.

"It's Else," Skipper said, pointing at the cake, as if that explained how it had ended up on his plate.

"There's more," Dean said, smiling at her, although he seemed to sober up when he saw the serious expression on her face.

She quickly filled them in, telling them she and Mik had brought Samra's uncle in and that he had just told them his niece had had a Danish boyfriend.

"Or, at any rate, a friend," she corrected herself, looking at Dean. "Why do you think he's telling us that? He could just as easily have left that out. All he's accomplishing is he's reinforcing our suspicions of Ibrahim and Hamid, because now we suddenly have a concrete reason for them to have killed her.

"Why is he telling us this?" she repeated when Dean took another bite of his cake as he apparently considered the question.

"So there will be no doubt that the act occurred to restore the family's honor," he finally responded after he'd finished chewing. "He's not saying it to help us. It's a signal to the rest of the family and their social circle that the matter has been dealt with."

Louise pulled a heavy sweater over her head and strolled down toward Nygade to eat lunch at the small local brewery, where the beer was every bit as good as the Czech draft beer at Svejk back home in Frederiksberg. Mik was driving Ahmad back to Benlose, and after lunch she would pay the Moller family a visit.

She ordered a large beer and the herring plate, on which the head brewer had left his mark by including a beer-marinated pickled herring. Perhaps it wasn't the best idea to have a meal like this in the middle of the day, but honestly she didn't care. She needed it.

It irked her that Samra's uncle was only now starting to share what he knew. He hadn't said a word that would point in this direction the first time Mik had talked to him. Although, true, she didn't know if he'd been asked, but it certainly would have been nice if they'd known this before they started questioning people, because now they had to ascertain that Samra's friends either hadn't known about any relationship or were holding back and didn't want to get mixed up in anything.

She drank half of her large beer in one go. Then glanced quickly around the restaurant to see if anyone had noticed, but no one seemed interested in the beer-guzzling woman sitting by herself in the corner. Her herring had just arrived when her cell phone started ringing.

"h.e.l.lo," she said when she saw it was Camilla. It took a little while before she could understand what her friend was saying. The sobbing made her voice unclear, and her words came out in hiccups.

"He killed himself?" Louise asked once she'd finally pieced together a bit of sense from the stream of words in her ear. "Of course I'd go with you, but are you sure it's a good idea?" Louise asked.

She sat there holding her phone to her ear with one hand and drinking her beer with the other while the weeping Camilla explained that she couldn't decide what to do. Finally Louise repeated that she would go if Camilla decided to attend the funeral. That calmed her friend down and then, to distract her, Louise said they'd just brought Samra's uncle in and that he'd told them his niece had had a Danish boyfriend before she died.

"I think you're wasting your time by focusing so much on the family," Camilla said. "We're so full of prejudices about the way they behave and in reality we Danes aren't a d.a.m.n bit better ourselves."

It surprised Louise that she hadn't piqued Camilla's curiosity more. It just wasn't like her not to ask for more information about a detail like the one Louise had just given her.

"What do you mean?" Louise asked, signaling to the waiter that she'd like a small draft beer.

"You can read all about it in Morgenavisen," Camilla continued.

The beer arrived on her table and Louise asked for the check.

"Maybe you're the one who should hold back a little until you find out what our investigation turns up, so you don't waste your time on some dead end," Louise retorted, smiling at her phone. They had eventually found balance in their relationship, the police detective and the journalist, but that didn't stop them from giving each other a hard time when it was justified.

"Yes, well, let's just see which of us is on the right track," Camilla said, finally sounding a little less overwhelmed. "Are you going out to sit on that farmer's beer bench tonight?" she asked before they wrapped up the conversation.

Louise felt a little flutter in her stomach at the thought. "It's not out of the question," she said, happy that her friend couldn't see the red glow her cheeks had suddenly taken on.

35.

ONLY AFTER LOUISE HAD RUNG THE DOORBELL FOR THE SECOND time did she notice the silence. There was no barking from the yard or from inside the house, but the big four-wheel-drive was parked in the driveway, which confused her.

She rang again, then walked over and peered in the kitchen window. The house seemed empty. She walked around it once. The curtains were drawn in several of the windows. She stopped for a moment, leaning against the wall, to think. She could call them when she got back to the station. It wasn't because this couldn't wait. She wanted to see how they were doing, given the two arrests, and talk to them about the funeral, which was scheduled for Monday.

An unpleasant mood had taken hold of the town as the rumors had spread that Samra's father and brother had been taken into custody in the case, and in particular, the news that they were also being charged for Dicta's murder had ratcheted things up to a fever pitch. The police were prepared for a big turnout at Dicta's funeral and, along with the local detective inspector, Storm had agreed to send a handful of officers to keep the peace among the many teenagers who needed an outlet for their sorrow and anger. Anne and Henrik were informed of the situation, but had announced that everyone was welcome and said that afterward, there would be beer and soft drinks down at the youth hostel for anyone who wished to come.

Louise called them one last time. When they still didn't pick up, she climbed back into her car and drove back downtown; but instead of heading for the police station, she turned down Ahlgade and parked outside Henrik's chiropractic clinic.

She trotted quickly up the stairs and after she introduced herself, asked the receptionist if she knew where Henrik Moller was.

"Yeah, of course. He's here," she said with a smile.

Louise looked at her in confusion. "I had understood that he wasn't coming in until after the funeral," she said, speaking quietly because of the patients in the waiting room.

"That was the plan, but he came in this morning and has been taking patients all day. I didn't really have the heart to talk him out of it."

The receptionist's hair hung around her head in loose curls. She had warm, cheerful eyes, and when she spoke about her boss her voice contained equal parts concern and care.

"There is actually a break in his schedule when he's done with this current patient. Because I'm a.s.suming you would like to speak to him," she said, eyeing Louise inquisitively.

"Yes, please. I'll make it quick."

Louise sat down and grabbed a magazine, but had only just flipped to the first page when the receptionist called her name.

"I'm sorry to bother you. I hadn't realized you were back at work," Louise began once she was in Moller's office. She explained that she had actually just come to ask if his receptionist had any idea where he was.

"I hadn't planned on coming back so soon," he said, tipping his desk chair back. He rubbed his eyes and stretched his arms up in the air and folded them behind his head.

He looked tired.

"I just stopped by your place, but there wasn't anyone home," Louise continued.

He looked at her in surprise. "Anne wasn't there?"

Louise shook her head. "She didn't answer the door, anyway." Louise felt bad for a second. Maybe she shouldn't have gotten involved.

Henrik closed his eyes.

"I didn't go home last night," he admitted. He brought his arms down from behind his head and leaned forward, supporting himself on his elbows on his desk. "I actually haven't been home since we found out you arrested the father and brother. She talks and talks and talks and blames me. I didn't tell her I suspected that Dicta might have been up to something she hadn't told us about."

He rubbed his temples and let his eyes rest on the top of his desk.

"I can't stand talking about it all the time. It's not going to hurt any less just because you keep putting words to it. At least not for me, anyway," he said.

Louise watched him in silence and when he looked up at her, their eyes met.

"Suddenly I can't stand her," he said, still looking Louise in the eye. "She closes her eyes to the fact that our daughter had a life that she wasn't involved in. Which is ridiculous and naive. The girl was fifteen."

Louise didn't know what to say, so she didn't say anything.

"Since that morning you came and told us what had happened, she's been walking around pretending this doesn't concern her. Sure, of course the pain and grief affect her. But she won't hear a word about Ekstra Bladet, Samra's diary, or the trips to Copenhagen. She doesn't think that has anything to do with our daughter, and I just want to shake her."

Louise was stunned, not so much because he was so incredibly irritated at his wife. She'd seen that before. It also wasn't new to her that two parents could respond so differently to grief and that the response one of them had could really set the other one on edge. She just hadn't thought it would be a problem for Anne and Henrik.

"The day after you came to our place, we had a visit from a journalist from Morgenavisen, who wanted to write an article about Dicta. We spent several hours talking to her, and that triggered something. Suddenly it became very apparent how differently we had perceived our family life and especially our daughter."

Louise listened to these private reflections a bit uneasily. The man really should have been telling all this to a psychologist if he wanted to get anything out of it.

"Nor do I personally view it as the end of the world to see my daughter appear in Ekstra Bladet. She was a pretty girl, and we have no reason to be embarra.s.sed. But Anne thinks she must have been forced into that, drugged or something," he said with an awkward chuckle, and Louise smiled politely at his attempt to be funny.

"What about the funeral?" she asked.

He took a deep breath and said that he'd brought his dark suit with him when he left the house and wasn't planning to go home before the funeral. He explained that he had a small room and a kitchenette here at the clinic and that that was where he was living for the time being.

Louise gave up on talking to him about the police turnout at the funeral and instead asked if his wife might have been out walking her dogs since she probably hadn't gone anywhere without her car.

He looked at her with his zoned-out but friendly gaze and then shook his head.

"She put all the dogs into a kennel run by someone from the dog club. Even Charlie," he added. "That's how it is. She's putting life on hold while I'm trying to get it to keep moving. That's why we can't be together right now."

There still wasn't any answer when Louise went back to the Mollers' large home, but the bathroom window had been opened. After having walked around the house, Louise returned to the front door and left her finger on the bell for a while as she waited.

After ten minutes, something finally happened.

Louise instinctively took a step back when Anne opened the door. Dicta's mother was in a thick red bathrobe and her pageboy hairdo hung wetly down over her ears; her eyes looked small without makeup and bore obvious signs of having cried themselves out of tears. The change was so p.r.o.nounced that it was hard to believe that it had happened in such a short period of time. Louise wasn't sure she would have recognized her on the street.

"Hi, Anne," she said, stepping forward again.

Dicta's mother looked at her but didn't respond.

"Could I come in?" Louise asked, stepping forward, gripping Anne gently around the shoulders, and leading her into the laundry room. The flowers were still in their cellophane wrappers, the cards still unopened. There were cups, plates, and several empty wine bottles in the kitchen.

"I just went over to see Henrik. He thought you were probably still home even if you didn't answer the door when I was here earlier."

Louise was talking in an effort to bring some life to the room. She made herself at home and started a pot of coffee and followed Anne into the living room, where she sat down next to her on the sofa.

"How are you doing?" Louise asked. She tried to establish eye contact, but didn't succeed.

Anne made a face. "What do you think?"

"Yes, well, good point," Louise consented.

"My husband obviously thinks life goes on," Anne said tersely, and Louise realized she shouldn't have mentioned that she'd spoken to Henrik first.

"I don't think it does," Anne said.

"He's not doing that well himself, either," Louise said.

Finally something that got a response out of Anne. "Well, then, he's doing a f.u.c.king c.r.a.ppy job at showing it. It's like he has no reaction at all," she said in a more neutral tone.

Louise decided not to explain that that was also a type of reaction, and in the subsequent silence it seemed as if Anne Moller had slipped back into her own world. Her voice sounded frail when she spoke again.

"I only had one child, and she only had one life. I can't accept that it has all ended this way. And I don't want to hear any talk about moving on. I have no desire to move on. Not ever. It isn't fair. She's not even buried yet. No one can tell me to pull myself together. Why should I?"

"I noticed that your dogs aren't here," Louise said, to get the woman thinking about something else.

Anne nodded. "I'm boarding them. They don't understand that I feel violated every time they wag their tails or jump up happily to get me to play. They don't understand that we don't do those things anymore, so it was better to send them away."

"Maybe it would've been good for you to have some kind of distraction," Louise suggested.

"I don't want to be distracted. I'm doing everything I can to hold my thoughts together."

Her voice was starting to sound shrill.

Louise stood up. "Isn't there anyone you'd like to have here with you?" she asked as she went to get the coffee and poured it into a thermos before setting it with a clean cup in front of Anne in the living room.

Anne Moller absentmindedly shook her head.

"Or someone you could stay with for a few days?" Louise tried again, but Anne just shook her head.

After Louise said good-bye, she stood out on the street for a second looking around at all the fashionable homes. It made her sad that Anne was so alone with her grief.

When she got back to the police station, Storm came rushing in and pulled her out into the hall.

"You have to hear this," he said and led her into the room where the National Police interpreter was listening to the wiretap recording from the al-Abd family's landline.