The House That Jack Built Read Free Page A

said.
    â€œJesus,” Allan whispered behind them. Even the crime scene investigators stopped working.
    Lars raised his voice. “How did she end up here?”
    Allan looked down at his notepad. “Something heavy was dragged through the bushes. Bint found some fibres, possibly from a blanket. And there are footprints, size 11.5. There are also some tire tracks up by the dirt road.” He pointed his thumb over his shoulder.
    â€œGood,” Lars said. “Let’s get the dogs out here, see if they can find something.”
    â€œWelcome back, Lars.” Frelsén rubbed his hands together. Then he shouted, “Come on, it’s down here.” A couple of paramedics were making their way down the overgrown slope, a stretcher balanced between them.
    Lars closed his eyes. He wished he was back at Kato Vasiliki. Back at Nikki’s beach restaurant with nothing to do but drink frappés and pints of Amstel and stare across the water toward Patras.

Chapter 4
    I t was almost 7:00 p.m. by the time Lars stood in front of his apartment entrance at number 2 Folmer Bendtsens Plads. Just as he placed the key in the lock, he saw an S-train rumble out of Nørrebro Station. The newspaper placards in front of the neighbouring corner store flapped as the train passed. A loose newspaper page blew out onto the road. Clinking bottles could be heard from inside the Ring Café. A drunk was being hushed by his buddies. Lars pushed open the door to the staircase and, with a weary movement, lifted the bag of Thai takeout, and tramped up the stairs. First day of work after two months of vacation. He could barely drag himself up to the second floor.
    After the ambulance had driven away with the body, Lars sent Allan off to canvas the Amager hostel and the housing co-op. According to Frelsén, the body had been brought to the area shortly after midnight, so there was little likelihood anyone had seen anything. Still, questions had to be asked all the same. Sanne and Toke went to the red-light district in Vesterbro with a photo of the dead girl’s face and instructions to ask the girls working the streets there if they knew the victim. Hopefully someone would recognize her. If not, identifying the body would take some time. When Lars got back to the station, he had started going through all the missing persons reports from the past three months. With no luck.
    After too many cups of coffee and far too many reports, Lars was still alone at the station. Allan had not returned, nor had Sanne and Toke — Ulrik had been in to see him twice and they had exchanged a few monosyllabic words — so he’d gotten up to leave.
    As he opened the door to his flat, he was greeted by a stuffy, slightly musty air. He hadn’t been back at the apartment since he moved his stuff in the night before he flew to Athens, about two months ago.
    The apartment consisted of a small hallway, two rooms facing the street, and a bedroom and kitchen that faced the rear courtyard. The tiny bathroom was located on the left, just past the front door. The urban regeneration company had finally fitted showers in the apartments here. The water sprayed over everything, but at least he had his own shower.
    The first room contained the moving boxes with the stereo system, the LPs, a table, and a couple of chairs. He dropped the bag of food on the table, fell into a chair, and kicked off his sneakers. He threw his jacket in the corner behind him, then lit a King’s and put his feet up.
    Ah.
    As the nicotine surged through his body and shot up into his brain, he looked around the apartment. Textured wallpaper, 1980s style. The walls and ceiling had probably been white once, but after almost thirty years and an untold number of cigarettes, they had turned an indeterminable yellowish hue. Something should be done about that . With the cigarette dangling in the corner of his mouth, he got up, put his hands in his pockets, and walked into the