Carl studied the list. A civilian employee at headquarters had compiled it, and he was personally and emotionally involved. How could they know he hadn’t been too selective? There were thousands of cases of violence in Denmark each year, after all.

‘Bring Johan down here, Assad,’ Carl said.

In the meantime he would contact the pet shop where Kimmie had worked. That might help him develop her profile, learn something of her dreams and values. Maybe he could arrange a meeting tomorrow morning. Then in the evening he had an appointment with the teacher at Rødovre High School. They were having an alumni party that same evening. ‘Lasasep’, they called it. The last Saturday in September, 29/9/2007. Real cosy, with dinner and dancing, he’d said.

‘Johan is on the way,’ Assad reported, as he mulled over the list on the whiteboard.

‘Kimmie was in Switzerland during that period,’ he said very quietly, a moment later.

‘Which period?’

‘From 1988 to 1992.’ He nodded to himself. ‘No one disappeared or was killed while Kimmie was in Switzerland,’ he said. ‘Not anyone on this list, in any case then.’

Johan didn’t look good. He’d once run around headquarters like a baby calf that had just discovered the paddock’s limitless size and abundance. Now he seemed more like the battery calf that had been penned in once and for all. With no room to move or grow.

‘Are you still going to the psychologist, Johan?’ Carl asked.

He was. ‘She’s good. I just don’t feel so well,’ he replied.

Carl glanced at the photo of the two siblings on the board. Maybe it wasn’t so strange.

‘How did you select the incidents on your list, Johan?’ Carl asked. ‘How do I know there aren’t hundreds and hundreds you didn’t include?’

‘I started by including all instances of reported violence between 1987 and 1988 that were committed on a Sunday, where the assault wasn’t reported by the victims themselves and the distance to Næstved was less than a hundred miles.’ He looked quizzically at Carl. It was important for him that they were one hundred per cent on the same page.

‘Listen. I’ve read a great deal about those kinds of boarding schools. The wants and needs of the individual mean next to nothing. The pupils are kept to a tight schedule where lessons and duties come first, and everything is mapped out. All week long. The goal is to establish discipline and a sense of community. Based on that I concluded that the violent crimes committed during the school year’s weekdays or before breakfast on the weekends or at any point after dinner weren’t worth looking into. In short, the gang had other activities to keep them occupied at those times. That’s how I selected the crimes. Sundays, after breakfast and before dinner. That’s when the assaults had to take place.’

‘They committed their crimes on Sundays in the middle of the day, you say?’

‘Yes, I believe so.’

‘And during that time span they could drive a maximum of a hundred or so miles, if they also had to find their victims and carry out their plan.’

‘During the school year, yes. Summer breaks were another matter.’ He looked down at the floor.

Carl checked his perpetual calendar. ‘But the murders in Rørvig were also committed on a Sunday. Was that just a coincidence, or was it the gang’s trademark?’

Johan seemed sad when he replied. ‘I think it was a coincidence. It was right before the school year began. Maybe they felt they hadn’t got enough out of their summer holiday, I don’t know. They were psychos, after all.’

After that, Johan explained he’d used his intuition to create the list covering subsequent years. Not that Carl thought it was inaccurate. But if they were going to act on intuition, he’d rather it be his own. So for the time being the investigation would focus exclusively on the years before Kimmie went to Switzerland.

After Johan had returned to his daily duties, Carl sat for a bit evaluating the list before calling the police in Nyborg. From them he learned that the twin brothers who’d been attacked on the football pitch in 1987 had emigrated to Canada many years ago. In a voice that might have belonged to an eighty-year-old, the duty officer informed him that they’d inherited a small sum of money and had established a farm-equipment supply business. At any rate, that was what they’d been told at the station. Nobody was familiar with the boys’ personal lives. It was, of course, a long time ago.

Carl then looked at the date of the elderly couple’s disappearance on the island of Langeland, and let his eyes wander across the case file Assad had requisitioned and put on his desk. It involved two schoolteachers from Kiel who’d sailed to Rudkøbing and then travelled from one bed and breakfast to the next before finally spending the night in Stoense.

The police report stated that they had been seen at the harbour in Rudkøbing the day they vanished, and in all probability had sailed out to sea and sunk. But there were some people who’d seen the couple in Lindelse Cove the same day, and later two young guys were observed in the harbour near where the couple’s boat had been moored. The witnesses stressed that they were nice-looking young men. Not the kind of local boys with Castrol or BP caps, but the kind with pressed shirts and neat haircuts. Some suggested they were the ones who’d sailed off in the boat, not the owners. But that was only local speculation.

The report did also mention some effects that had been found on the beach near Lindelse Cove. Though they couldn’t say for sure, relatives thought they might belong to the missing couple.

Carl looked through the whole list of effects for the first time: an empty thermal box with no distinctive labelling; a shawl; a pair of socks; and an earring consisting of two pieces. Amethyst and silver. With a little silver hook. To put through the earlobe and without any locking mechanism.

Not a terribly detailed description, as one might expect from a male police constable, but it sounded like an exact replica of the earring in the little plastic pocket in front of Carl, right next to the two Trivial Pursuit cards.

It was at this astonishing moment that Assad arrived, looking like the incarnation of someone who’d struck gold.

He pointed at the rubber band in the bag next to the earring.

‘I’ve just learned that this type of rubber band was used at the pool at Bellahøj so you could see how long you’d been in the water.’

Carl tried to rise to the surface. He was still far away in his thoughts. What could be as important as his truly incredible discovery concerning the earring?’

‘Those kinds of rubber bands were used everywhere, Assad. They still are.’

‘Yes,’ he said. ‘But in any case, when they found Kåre Bruno smashed on the tiles, he’d lost his.’

26

‘He’s waiting up at the front desk now, Carl,’ Assad said. ‘Would you like me here then, when he comes down?’

‘No.’ Carl shook his head. Assad had enough to do. ‘But bring us some coffee, will you? Just not too strong, please.’

With Assad whistling in the Saturday silence, when even the sanitation pipes thundered only at half strength, Carl quickly skimmed Who’s Who for information about the man he was about to meet.

Mannfred Sloth was his name. Forty years old. Former room-mate of Kåre Bruno, the deceased school prefect. Graduated in 1987. Royal Guardsman. Lieutenant in the reserves. MBA. CEO of five companies since his thirty-third birthday. Six board appointments, one of which was in a state-owned organization. Promoter and sponsor of several exhibitions of modern Portuguese art. Since 1994 married to Agustina Pessoa. Former Danish consul in Portugal and Mozambique.