In the sunlight he was a pale man. Not without pigmentation, but anaemic-looking. Bleached and worn down by all the villainy he’d had to defend over the years. Carl had seen it time and again. No one could look paler than a policeman with unsolved crimes in his baggage or a solicitor with all too many solved ones.

‘Stood out, you say? They all did, I guess. Fine, young people, I’d call them. Their activities since then have proved that, wouldn’t you say?’

‘Well,’ Carl said, ‘I’m not that much of an expert. But one shoots himself in the private parts, another makes a living stuffing women with Botox and silicone, a third lets undernourished young girls prance back and forth while people stare at them, a fourth is sitting in prison, a fifth specializes in making rich people richer by preying on the ignorance of small investors, and the sixth has been living on the street for just over eleven years. So, really, I’m not sure how to respond.’

‘I don’t think you should make such statements in public,’ Krum said, already prepared to file a lawsuit.

‘In public?’ Carl said, glancing round at the teak and glossy fibreglass and chrome. ‘Is there anything less public than this?’ He spread his arms and smiled. A compliment, many would say.

‘What about Kimmie Lassen?’ Carl continued. ‘Didn’t she stand out? Isn’t it true that she was a central figure in the gang’s activities? Isn’t it the case that Florin, Dybbøl Jensen and Pram might have a certain interest in seeing her quietly disappear from the face of the earth?’

Vertical wrinkles appeared on Bent Krum’s head. Not especially attractive. ‘I’d like to remind you that she already has disappeared. Of her own free will, it should be noted!’

Carl turned to Assad. ‘Did you get that, Assad?’

He raised his pencil in confirmation.

‘Thank you,’ Carl said. ‘That was all.’

They stood up.

‘I beg your pardon?’ Krum said. ‘Got what? What just happened there?’

‘Well, you said the gang had an interest in Kimmie Lassen disappearing.’

‘No, that’s not at all what I said.’

‘Did he not, Assad?’

The little man nodded vigorously. He certainly was loyal.

‘We have all kinds of indications that suggest it was the gang that killed the siblings in Rørvig,’ Carl said. ‘And I’m not just talking about Bjarne Thøgersen. So we’ll probably meet again, Mr Krum. You’ll also be meeting a number of people that maybe you’ve heard of, and maybe not. In any case, they’re all interesting people with good memories. Like Kåre Bruno’s friend, Mannfred Sloth, for example.’

Krum didn’t react.

‘And a teacher at the boarding school by the name of Klavs Jeppesen. Not to mention Kyle Basset, whom I interviewed yesterday in Madrid.’

Now Krum reacted. ‘Just a moment,’ he said, grabbing Carl’s arm.

Carl looked disapprovingly at the hand, and Krum swiftly removed it.

‘Yes, Mr Krum,’ he said. ‘We’re aware that you have a considerable stake in the gang’s well-being. For one thing, you’re the chairman of the board of Caracas, Pram’s private hospital. That alone may be the main reason you can sit here in such gorgeous surroundings.’ He gestured at the pier’s many restaurants and further out across the Sound.

There was no doubt that in a moment Bent Krum would be making a few frantic calls.

But then the gang members would be nicely prepared by the time Carl came to visit. Maybe even tenderized.

Assad and Carl walked into Caracas like a couple of narcissists interested in exploring the place before they got a little fat sucked out here and there. The receptionist stopped them, of course, but Carl pushed determinedly on towards what resembled administrative offices.

‘Where is Ditlev Pram?’ he asked a secretary, when he finally found the sign that read: DITLEV PRAM, CEO.

She already had the phone in her hand to call security when he flashed his police badge and gave her a smile that even Carl’s down-to-earth mother would have found irresistible. ‘Excuse us for barging in, but we have to speak with Ditlev Pram. If you can get him to come here, he’ll be pleased and so will we.’

She didn’t fall for it.

‘Unfortunately he’s out today,’ she said authoritatively. ‘But can I set up an appointment for you? How about the 22nd of October, at 2.15? Does that work for you?’

So it wasn’t Pram they’d be talking to on this trip. A damned shame.

‘Thanks. We’ll call,’ Carl said, pulling Assad with him.

She was going to warn Pram, no doubt about it. She’d already stepped out on to the terrace with her mobile. Sharp secretary.

‘We were sent down here,’ Carl said, pointing towards the prep and recovery ward as they passed the receptionist again.

Watchful eyes followed them, and they returned each glance with a friendly nod.

After they’d passed the surgical wing, they stood a moment and kept an eye out in case Pram showed up. Then they headed past a number of private rooms, from most of which classical music came streaming out, and reached the utility wing where less well-preserved people were wearing less prestigious uniforms.

They nodded at the cooks and finally wound up in the laundry, where a lot of very Asian-looking women seemed utterly terrified to see them.

If Pram found out that he had been down here, Carl ventured to guess that these women would disappear within the hour.

On the trip back Assad was very quiet. Only when they reached Klampenborg did he turn to Carl. ‘Where would you go if you were Kimmie Lassen?’

Carl shrugged. Who could tell? After all, she was pretty unpredictable. Apparently she had truly mastered the art of improvising her way through life. She could be anywhere.

‘We both agree that she would have a great interest in Aalbæk not looking for her any more. I mean, she and the rest of the group weren’t exactly the best of chumps.’

‘Best of chums, Assad. Chums.’

‘The homicide division says that Aalbæk was at something called Damhuskroen Saturday evening. Did I tell you that?’

‘No, but I’ve heard it.’

‘And he left with a woman, yes?’

‘That, I hadn’t heard.’

‘Which means, Carl, if she killed that Aalbæk, they are probably not so happy, the others in the gang.’

That was probably putting it mildly.

‘So there’s a war between them now.’

Carl nodded wearily. The last twenty-four hours were beginning to settle not only into his head, but also his entire nervous system. Suddenly the accelerator seemed impossibly difficult to press down.

‘Don’t you think she would go back to the house where you found the box so she could get hold of the evidence against the others then?’

Carl nodded slowly. That was definitely one possibility. Another was that he pull over and take a nap.

‘Shouldn’t we then drive over there?’ was Assad’s conclusion.

They found the house dark and locked up. Rang the doorbell a few times. Found the telephone number and called. They heard ringing inside, but no one picked up. It seemed rather pointless. In any event Carl couldn’t muster the energy to do anything more about it. For God’s sake, elderly women were allowed to have a life outside their home’s four walls.

‘Come on, let’s go,’ Carl said. ‘You drive so I can take a nap.’

Rose was gathering her things when Carl and Assad arrived at headquarters. She wanted to go home, so they wouldn’t be seeing her for another two days. She was tired, having worked hard Friday night, Saturday and part of Sunday. They weren’t getting any more for that nickel.

Carl felt exactly the same way.

‘By the way,’ she said. ‘I got hold of the university in Berne, and they found Kirsten-Marie Lassen’s file.’

So apparently Rose had made it through her entire list, Carl thought.

‘She was a good student, down there in Switzerland. There were no problems, they said. Aside from her losing her boyfriend in a skiing accident, it was a highly successful stay, according to her records.’