Marcus Jacobsen nodded. He was ready to do the hard work now. ‘You didn’t notify me of any of these matters, Lars. You just told me the police chief had given us the directive that Department Q was to shut down its investigation. Now I see that it was you who single-handedly advised the police chief to give us this order after you personally misinformed her. What did you tell her, anyway? That there weren’t any grounds to reopen the case? That Carl Mørck was messing with it just for fun?’

‘I was in her office with the department head from the Justice Ministry. He was the one who informed her.’

‘Is he also an old pupil from the same boarding school?’

Lars nodded, a pained expression on his face.

‘So in reality, Pram and the others in the gang could have set the whole process in motion, Lars, don’t you realize that? Ditlev Pram’s brother’s plea to you! The department head’s highly questionable lobbying!’

‘Yes, I’m aware of that.’

The homicide chief threw his pen down hard on his desk. He was positively furious. ‘You’re suspended from this moment forward. Please write an account that I can present to the minister. Remember to include the department head’s name.’

Lars Bjørn had never looked so pathetic. If it weren’t for the fact that Carl had always found him to be a haemorrhoid in his arse, he would almost have felt sorry for him.

‘I’ve got a suggestion, Marcus,’ Carl interrupted.

A tiny spark lit up Bjørn’s eyes. After all, there had always been such a good, antagonistic understanding between them.

‘Let’s drop the suspension. We need all the men we can get, don’t we? If we make an issue out of this, word will get out. The press and all that crap. You’ll have journalists screaming out there in the courtyard, Marcus. Besides, the people we’re investigating will be much more careful, and I don’t need that.’

Bjørn sat nodding mechanically at each of these statements. Poor sap.

‘I want Bjørn on the case. Just to lead some of the work in the next few days. Searches, surveillance, everyday legwork. We can’t do it all ourselves, and now we have something to work with, Marcus. Do you see? A little effort now and maybe we’ll solve some other murders as well.’ He tapped his finger on Johan Jacobsen’s list of assaults. ‘Damn it, I think it might just happen, Marcus.’

No one was injured by the blast at the rail yard near Ingerslevsgade, but Channel 2 News and their infuriating helicopters were already circling the location as if seventeen platoons of terrorists had just demonstrated their strength.

The news anchor was clearly in a state of excitement, although trying hard not to show it. The best news was always the kind that could be delivered with gravity and concern, sensational items especially, and the police were once again in the journalists’ hot seat.

Following the events on his TV in the basement, Carl was glad it had nothing to do with him.

Rose entered his office. ‘Lars Bjørn has activated the Copenhagen Police search team. I sent them a photo of Kimmie, and Assad has filled them in on everything he could from his surveillance. They’re also looking for Tine Karlsen. She’s caught in the eye of the hurricane, that’s for sure.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘The search team’s office is on Skelbækgade, you know? Isn’t that where Tine Karlsen usually turns tricks?’

He nodded, glancing at his notes and directives.

The list of tasks seemed endless. It was a question of prioritizing and working methodically.

‘Here are your tasks, Rose. Complete them in order.’

She took the paper and read aloud:

1. Find policemen who participated in the Rørvig investigation in 1987. Contact Holbæk Police and the Mobile Investigation Unit on Artillerivej.

2. Find classmates of the gang members. Get eyewitness accounts describing their behaviour.

3. Go back to Bispebjerg Hospital. Find a doctor or nurse who was working at the gynaecological ward while Kimmie was there.

4. Get details surrounding Kristian Wolf’s death.

5. Contact Berne University and get hold of any files they may have on Kimmie.

    Today, thanks!

He thought she’d take the very last word as being conciliatory. She didn’t.

‘Jesus! Apparently I should have come to work at four o’clock this morning instead of five thirty,’ she said quite loudly. ‘You’ve gone completely batty, man. Didn’t you just tell us we could go home an hour early?’

‘Yes, but that was a few hours ago.’

She spread her arms and dropped them again. ‘And … ?’

‘Now things are a bit different. Do you have anything you have to do this weekend?’

‘What?’

‘Rose, this is your opportunity to prove what you’re made of, and to learn what it’s like to do real investigative work. And think about how much time off in lieu you’ll have when it’s over.’

She snorted. If she wanted to hear jokes she would make them up herself.

The telephone rang just as Assad walked into the room. It was the homicide chief.

‘You were just about to get me four men from the airport, but then you didn’t?’ Carl fumed. ‘Is that what you’re telling me?’

The homicide chief confirmed it.

‘Do you really mean we can’t get anyone to help us trail the suspects? If it slips out that the investigation hasn’t been shut down after all, then where do you think Pram, Florin and Dybbøl Jensen will be by tomorrow? Not around here, I can tell you that. Maybe Brazil.’

He breathed deeply and shook his head. ‘I know damned well we don’t have any real proof of their involvement, but how about the circumstantial evidence, Marcus? It’s there, for God’s sake, don’t you agree?’

After the call, Carl sat in his office, eyes glued to the ceiling, and rattled off the best countrified curse words he’d learned off a kid from Frederikshavn at a Boy Scout jamboree in 1975. Not something Baden-Powell would have approved of.

‘What did Marcus say then, Carl?’ Assad asked. ‘Are we getting help then?’

‘What did he say? He said that first they just had to solve the Store Kannikestræde assault and then there’d be more resources to go around. And they have to get that explosion at the rail yard under control.’ Carl sighed. It was something he’d got pretty good at. If it wasn’t one thing it was another.

‘Sit down, Assad,’ he said. ‘We need to find out if Johan’s list is worth anything.’

He leaned towards the whiteboard and began copying out:

14/6/1987: Kåre Bruno, boarding-school pupil, falls from the ten-metre diving board and dies.

2/8/1987: The murders in Rørvig.

13/9/1987: Assault, Nyborg Beach. Five young men/one girl in the vicinity. The female victim in shock. Doesn’t make a statement.

8/11/1987: Twins, football pitch, town of Tappernøje. Two fingers cut off. Thoroughly beaten.

24/4/1988: Elderly couple disappears on Langeland. Various articles belonging to them turn up in Lindelse Cove.

When he had written down all twenty cases, he looked at Assad.

‘What’s the common denominator? What would you say, Assad?’

‘They all occurred on a Sunday.’

‘I thought so. Are you sure of that?’

‘Yes!’

Logical enough. Of course they must have started on Sundays. They certainly didn’t have any other possibilities as boarders. Boarding-school life was restrictive.

‘They must have got into the habit of carrying out the attacks on Sundays when they were at school, and then incorporated that as part of their ritual after they’d left,’ surmised Carl.

‘And they could drive from Næstved to the crime scenes in a couple of hours,’ Assad said. ‘There were no assaults in Jutland, for example.’

‘What else do you notice, Assad?’

‘During the period 1988 to 1992 none of the victims disappeared.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘As I say – that it was just violent assaults. Beatings and such. No one who was found dead or went missing.’