When she grew, the tone changed. Now the teddy bear would say that she should never, ever let anyone hit her. If anyone was going to do the hitting, it should be her. She mustn’t tolerate being mistreated.

And now Teddy was gone. The only thing in her life that called forth small glimpses of happy, childhood moments.

She turned to the bundle, stroked it softly and, overcome with remorse at not being able to keep her promise, said: ‘You can’t have your teddy bear now, little angel. I’m so sorry.’

34

As usual, Ulrik was the one who was best informed of the latest news, but then he hadn’t spent the weekend practising with his crossbow, as Ditlev had. That was the difference between them, and always had been. Ulrik, when possible, preferred to take a more laid-back approach to life.

When his mobile rang, Ditlev stood facing the Sound, shooting series of bolts at a target. At first he’d shot some right past the target and into the water, but in the last two days hardly any had been launched without hitting their mark. It was Monday and he’d just amused himself by arranging five bolts in the shape of a cross in the target’s centre when Ulrik’s panicked voice put an end to his fun.

‘Kimmie killed Aalbæk,’ he said. ‘I heard about it on the news, and I just know it was her.’

For a split second this information occupied Ditlev’s entire being. It felt like a premonition of death.

He listened intently to Ulrik’s short and rather disjointed account of Aalbæk’s fatal fall and the details surrounding his death.

As far as Ulrik could glean from the media’s interpretation of the vague police reports, it was impossible to definitively call it a suicide. Which meant it was equally impossible to rule out murder.

It was very sobering news.

‘The three of us have to meet, do you hear?’ Ulrik whispered, as if Kimmie had already scented him out. ‘If we don’t stick together she’ll pick us off one by one.’

Ditlev looked at the crossbow dangling from the strap around his wrist. Ulrik was right. From now on things would have to change.

‘OK,’ he said. ‘For now, we’ll do as we’ve planned. We’ll meet for the hunt early tomorrow morning at Torsten’s, and afterwards we’ll talk things over. Remember, this is only the second time in over ten years that she’s struck. We still have time, Ulrik. That’s my gut feeling.’

He gazed out across the water, his eyes slipping out of focus. There was no ignoring it now. It was either her or them.

‘Listen, Ulrik,’ Ditlev said. ‘I’m phoning Torsten to let him know. In the meantime, call around and find out what you can. Call Kimmie’s stepmother, for example, and tell her what’s going on, OK? Ask people to let you know if they hear anything. Anything at all.’

‘And Ulrik,’ he said before they hung up. ‘Stay indoors as much as possible until we see each other, OK?’

He didn’t even manage to put his mobile back in his pocket before it rang again.

‘It’s Herbert,’ said the voice without inflection.

Ditlev’s older brother never used to call. Back when the police investigated the murders in Rørvig, Herbert saw through his kid brother at first glance, but he never said anything. Never voiced his suspicion, nor did he get involved. But it didn’t foster any love between them. Not that there had been any in the first place. Feelings didn’t suit the Pram family’s style.

And yet Herbert had been there when it counted. Probably because his relentless fear of scandal trumped all else. The fear that everything he stood for would be sullied had suddenly become too overwhelming.

That was why Herbert had been the perfect tool when Ditlev was considering how to get Department Q’s investigation put on standby.

And that’s why Herbert was calling now.

‘I’m calling to tell you that Department Q’s investigation is in full swing again. I can’t give you any more details because my contact at police headquarters has withdrawn his antennae, but in any case Carl Mørck, the department head, now knows I tried to influence his work. I’m sorry, Ditlev. Keep a low profile.’

Now Ditlev, too, felt the panic rising.

He caught Torsten Florin just as the fashion mogul was backing out of his parking spot at Brand Nation. He’d just heard the news about Aalbæk and, like Ditlev and Ulrik, thought it must be Kimmie’s doing. But he hadn’t heard that Department Q and Carl Mørck were operational again.

‘Fuck! It keeps getting worse and worse,’ the irritated voice on the other end of the line shouted.

‘Do you want to cancel the hunt?’ Ditlev asked.

The long silence spoke its own language.

‘There’s no point. The fox is going to die on its own anway,’ Torsten finally said. Ditlev could just imagine. Torsten had no doubt spent the entire weekend relishing the demented fox’s torments. ‘You should have seen it this morning,’ he said. ‘Completely insane. But let me think about it a moment.’

Ditlev knew Torsten. At this moment he was fighting an inner battle between his murderous impulses and the basic reasonableness with which he’d managed his professional life and growing empire since the age of twenty. In a moment he would be whispering a quiet prayer. That was another side of him. If he couldn’t solve the problem himself, there was always some god or other he could call upon.

Ditlev put his mobile’s headphones on, tensed the crossbow’s string and pulled a new bolt from the quiver. Then he loaded the weapon and aimed at one of the wharf piles that still remained from the old pier. The bird had just landed and was busy cleaning the sea fog from its feathers. Ditlev measured the distance and the wind and released the bolt ever so gently – as if it were a baby’s cheek he was stroking with his finger.

The bird never saw it coming. Pierced by the arrow, it simply lurched backwards into the water and floated there as Torsten prayed almost soundlessly on the other end of the line.

It was this amazing shot that led Ditlev to his decision.

‘We’ll do it, Torsten,’ he said. ‘Get all the Somalis together tonight and instruct them to keep a watchful eye out for Kimmie from now on. Put them on guard, Torsten. Show them a photo of her. Promise them a huge bonus if they see anything.’

‘OK,’ Torsten said after a moment’s consideration. ‘What about the rest of the hunting party? We can’t have Krum and all those dunces running around.’

‘What are you talking about? It doesn’t matter who’s with us. If she appears in the vicinity, we just need witnesses when the bolts go through her.’

Ditlev patted his crossbow and looked out at the small white blob that was slowly being pulled down into the waves.

‘Yes,’ he went on softly, ‘Kimmie’s more than welcome to show up. Don’t you agree, Torsten?’

He couldn’t hear the response over his secretary’s shouting from Caracas’s terrace. As far as Ditlev could see at that distance, she was waving her hands and raising them to her ears.

‘I think there’s someone trying to get hold of me, Torsten. I’m hanging up now. See you early tomorrow morning, OK? Take care.’

They hung up at the same time, and a second later his mobile rang again.

‘Did you turn off the call-waiting function again, Ditlev?’

It was his secretary. Now she was standing motionless on the hospital terrace.

‘You shouldn’t do that, it means I can’t get in touch with you. We have a bit of a problem up here. A man calling himself Deputy Detective Superintendent Mørck has just turned up and is sniffing around. What do you want us to do, Ditlev? Will you talk to him, or what? He hasn’t shown us a warrant, and I don’t think he has one, either.’

Ditlev felt the salty mist settle on his face. Apart from that, he felt nothing. Over twenty years had passed since the first assault, and during all those years a tickling unease and latent anxiety had served as his ever-growing source of energy.