Disgrace Read Online Free Page B

many contradictory impulses.

6
    ‘Lis, do you know how this case ended up on my desk?’
    She glanced at Carl’s file as she adjusted her new, stylishly messy hair. Her frown suggested she didn’t.
    Carl gave the file to Mrs Sørensen. ‘Do you know, then?’
    It took the woman five seconds to scan the first page. ‘I’m afraid not,’ she replied, eyes triumphant. She liked to see Carl struggle. Moments such as these were among her finest.
    Deputy Commissioner Lars Bjørn didn’t know, either, nor did any of the investigative officers. Apparently the file had somehow placed itself on his desk.
    ‘I’ve called Holbæk Police!’ Assad shouted from his shoebox-sized office. ‘As far as they know, the file is in their archives as it is supposed to be. But they’ll check when they have the time.’
    Carl raised his legs and planted his size 11 shoes in the centre of the table. ‘What do they say in Nykøbing Sjælland?’
    ‘Just a second, I’ll call them.’ While tapping in the number, Assad whistled a few notes of one of his native country’s melancholic songs. It sounded as though he were whistling backwards.
    Not good.
    Carl studied the noticeboard on the wall. Four newspaper headlines echoed one another: the Merete Lynggaard case had been expertly solved. Department Q, the newly established department for cases of special focus, led by Detective Superintendent Carl Mørck, was described as an absolute success.
    He stared at his tired hands that hardly had the stamina to hold a lousy one-inch file, the origins of which were unclear. The word ‘success’, at this moment, gave him a hollow feeling. He sighed and continued reading the file. Two young people murdered, a very brutal double murder, with several children of prominent families as suspects, and nine years later one of these kids suddenly turns himself in, admitting his guilt. He was the only one of the gang who didn’t actually come from a wealthy family. In less than three years, this Thøgersen would be released. He would be rich as hell, too, having earned a fortune on the stock market during his incarceration. Were people in prison even allowed to invest like that? It was a damned scary thought.
    He read copies of the interrogation reports thoroughly and then, for the third time, skimmed the documents in the case against Bjarne Thøgersen. The killer apparently hadn’t known his victims. Even though the convicted man claimed he had met them several times, there was no corroborating evidence to prove it. Indeed, the reports suggested otherwise.
    Carl glanced again at the cover of the file. ‘Holbæk Police’, it said. Why didn’t it say ‘Nykøbing’? Why didn’t the Mobile Investigation Unit work with the Nykøbing Police? Were the officers in Nykøbing too close to thecase? Could that be the explanation? Or were they just incompetent?
    ‘Hey, Assad!’ he shouted across the brightly lit hallway. ‘Call the department in Nykøbing and ask if anyone there knew the victims.’
    There was no response from Assad’s cubbyhole, just his murmuring on the telephone.
    Carl stood and walked across the corridor. ‘Assad, ask if anyone at the station –’
    Assad stopped him with a hand movement. He was already in full swing. ‘Yes, yes, yes,’ he said, followed by another series of yeses in the same vein.
    Carl exhaled heavily, and scanned the room. More framed photographs had appeared on Assad’s shelf. A picture of two elderly women now competed with the other family snapshots. One of the women had a trace of a moustache, the other was podgy, with hair so thick it resembled a scooter helmet. Assad’s aunts, if he were to hazard a guess.
    When Assad hung up, Carl pointed at the photos.
    ‘Those are my aunts from Hamah. The one with the hair is dead now.’
    Carl nodded. The way she looked, any other answer would have surprised him. ‘What’d they say in Nykøbing?’
    ‘They didn’t send us the file, either, Carl. For good reasons