The Forgotten Girls Read Free

then they said good-bye to Flemming, who had moved to the computer in the corner to dictate the details to his report.
    They left the autopsy room with a nod at the two forensic technicians, who had to close up the body before it was taken back to the cold-storage room in the basement.

3
    A NGRY , L OUISE PHONED Ragner Rønholt, her fingers punching the keys. “There was no Eik Nordstrøm when I got to the Department of Forensic Medicine,” she began when Rønholt answered. “I don’t know how you usually do things but it’s a complete waste of the medical examiner’s time when the police aren’t there from the beginning. He had to repeat to me what they’d found out from the external part of the autopsy.”
    “Oh, what the hell,” Rønholt grumbled. “He didn’t show up?”
    “At least not where the rest of us were,” Louise answered, adding that she was heading back now.
    “Hold on a minute,” her boss said. “Just stay there. I’ll call you right back.”
    After he hung up, she took the stairs down to the foyer and stood for a bit, waiting for his call. Finally she lost patience and walked across the street to the car.
    She had just slid into the driver’s seat when Rønholt’s name started flashing on her phone.
    “Did you leave?”
    “I’m about to,” she answered, making no attempt to hide her annoyance that he had kept her waiting.
    “Could you do me a favor and pick up Eik at Ulla’s out in Sydhavnen?” he asked. “Looks like he’s having a bit of trouble getting back into the swing of things after his vacation.”
    Louise sighed and asked for the address. She ignored Rønholt’s thanks as she entered the street name in her GPS.
    She hadn’t signed on for this. She was not some eager-to-please rookie; nor was she comfortable being asked to retrieve her drunken partner from some seedy pub.
    Number 67. Louise couldn’t find the place, only 65 and 69. Between them was a run-down closed bar, the door hidden behind rusty grating.
    Just as she started walking back to her car, a beer truck pulled up at the curb, horn honking. Louise turned to watch the driver, who had already jumped out of the driver’s cab and started lowering the wide tailgate.
    She could have sworn that the bar with the peeling Carlsberg ad in the window had been sapped of life for years, but now a stocky, heavyset woman with jet-black hair appeared in the door, struggling to unlock the two padlocks on the rusty grating.
    “Excuse me,” Louise began once the woman had removed them. “Do you know if number sixty-seven is in the backyard?”
    The woman hauled the grating inside the door, stepping aside as the truckers started hauling in boxes.
    “This is sixty-seven,” she answered, a stale smell of old smoke and spilled beer drifting out from behind her.
    “I’m here to pick up Eik Nordstrøm at Ulla’s. Do you know her?”
    The middle-aged woman looked at Louise for a moment then gestured toward the room behind her.
    “I’m Ulla. Ulla’s is my bar, and he’s in there.”
    The men were replacing the beer casks as Louise was ushered toward the back of the room, where two gaming machines hung on the wall. The carpet under her feet was sticky in several places, and full ashtrays were still sitting on the tables. Ulla was working on cleaning up after the night’s drinking.
    Nordstrøm was sprawled across four chairs that had been pushed together in a row against the wall. Someone had covered him with a small fleece blanket. He was snoring softly with his mouth open, and his greasy, longish hair covered his forehead and fell on his nose.
    “Someone’s here for you, hon,” Ulla called, placing her hand on his black leather jacket as she started to shake him.
    Louise took a few steps back, cursing Rønholt. “Never mind.”
    She was about to leave when Ulla stopped her. “Just give him two minutes and he’ll be ready.”
    Louise stood and watched as Ulla walked behind the counter and got out a shot glass and a