of blood racing through his veins. That was why he had started leafing through the folders.
A couple of the cases he already knew inside and out, but most of them were from other police districts, and a couple were from before he joined the criminal investigation department. What all of them had in common was that they’d required a massive number of man-hours and had sparked enormous attention in the media. Several of the cases had involved citizens who were well-known public figures. But all of the cases had stranded at the stage where the leads had petered out.
If he sorted them into rough categories, there were three types of cases.
The first and largest category included ordinary homicides of all types in which plausible motives were found, but the perpetrator remained unknown.
The next type of case also involved homicides, but of a more complex nature. It was sometimes difficult to pinpoint a motive, and there could be more than one victim. A conviction may have been handed down, but only with regard to accessories to the crime; the ringleaders or primary perpetrators were never identified. The murder itself may have had a certain random quality to it, and in some instances the act could be designated a crime of passion. The solving of these types of cases could sometimes be aided by lucky coincidences. Witnesses who just happened to be passing by; vehicles that were used in the commission of some other crime; information acquired through other unrelated circumstances, and so on. They were cases that could prove difficult for the investigators unless accompanied by a certain amount of luck.
And then there was the third category, which was a hotchpotch of homicides or presumed homicides linked to kidnappings, rapes, arson, robberies with deadly consequences, certain types of financial crimes, and a number of cases with political undertones. They were all cases the police had failed to solve, and in certain instances the very concept of justice had suffered a serious blow. An infant that had vanished from a pram; a resident of a retirement community who was found strangled in his flat. A factory owner who was discovered murdered in a cemetery in Karup, or the case of the female diplomat at the zoo. Even though Carl hated to admit it, Piv Vestergård’s officiousness, did have a certain value, even if it had been prompted by a desire to win votes. Because every one of these cases was bound to incense any cop worth his salt.
He lit another cigarette and glanced at Assad sitting across from him. A calm man, he thought. If Assad could keep himself occupied the way he was doing at the moment, maybe the situation would work out after all.
Carl put the three stacks of case files on the desk in front of him and looked at his watch. Another half-hour with his arms crossed and his eyes closed. Then they could both go home.
‘What are these kinds of cases then, that you have there?’
Carl peered up at Assad’s dark eyebrows through the slits of his eyelids, which refused to open any further. The man was bending over the desk, holding the Handbook for Crime Technicians in one hand. He’d stuck his finger inside as a bookmark, indicating that he’d made quite a bit of headway in his reading. Or maybe he was just looking at the pictures; that was what a lot of people did.
‘You know what, Assad? You’ve interrupted my train of thought.’ Carl suppressed a yawn. ‘Oh well, what’s done is done. OK, so these are the cases that we’re going to be working on. Old cases that other people have given up on. You get it?’
Assad raised his eyebrows. ‘It is very interesting,’ he said, picking up the folder on top. ‘Nobody knows anything about who did what, and like that?’
Carl stretched the muscles in his neck and looked at his watch. It wasn’t even three o’clock. Then he took the folder from Assad and studied it. ‘I’m not familiar with this case. It has something to do with the excavation on the island
A couple of the cases he already knew inside and out, but most of them were from other police districts, and a couple were from before he joined the criminal investigation department. What all of them had in common was that they’d required a massive number of man-hours and had sparked enormous attention in the media. Several of the cases had involved citizens who were well-known public figures. But all of the cases had stranded at the stage where the leads had petered out.
If he sorted them into rough categories, there were three types of cases.
The first and largest category included ordinary homicides of all types in which plausible motives were found, but the perpetrator remained unknown.
The next type of case also involved homicides, but of a more complex nature. It was sometimes difficult to pinpoint a motive, and there could be more than one victim. A conviction may have been handed down, but only with regard to accessories to the crime; the ringleaders or primary perpetrators were never identified. The murder itself may have had a certain random quality to it, and in some instances the act could be designated a crime of passion. The solving of these types of cases could sometimes be aided by lucky coincidences. Witnesses who just happened to be passing by; vehicles that were used in the commission of some other crime; information acquired through other unrelated circumstances, and so on. They were cases that could prove difficult for the investigators unless accompanied by a certain amount of luck.
And then there was the third category, which was a hotchpotch of homicides or presumed homicides linked to kidnappings, rapes, arson, robberies with deadly consequences, certain types of financial crimes, and a number of cases with political undertones. They were all cases the police had failed to solve, and in certain instances the very concept of justice had suffered a serious blow. An infant that had vanished from a pram; a resident of a retirement community who was found strangled in his flat. A factory owner who was discovered murdered in a cemetery in Karup, or the case of the female diplomat at the zoo. Even though Carl hated to admit it, Piv Vestergård’s officiousness, did have a certain value, even if it had been prompted by a desire to win votes. Because every one of these cases was bound to incense any cop worth his salt.
He lit another cigarette and glanced at Assad sitting across from him. A calm man, he thought. If Assad could keep himself occupied the way he was doing at the moment, maybe the situation would work out after all.
Carl put the three stacks of case files on the desk in front of him and looked at his watch. Another half-hour with his arms crossed and his eyes closed. Then they could both go home.
‘What are these kinds of cases then, that you have there?’
Carl peered up at Assad’s dark eyebrows through the slits of his eyelids, which refused to open any further. The man was bending over the desk, holding the Handbook for Crime Technicians in one hand. He’d stuck his finger inside as a bookmark, indicating that he’d made quite a bit of headway in his reading. Or maybe he was just looking at the pictures; that was what a lot of people did.
‘You know what, Assad? You’ve interrupted my train of thought.’ Carl suppressed a yawn. ‘Oh well, what’s done is done. OK, so these are the cases that we’re going to be working on. Old cases that other people have given up on. You get it?’
Assad raised his eyebrows. ‘It is very interesting,’ he said, picking up the folder on top. ‘Nobody knows anything about who did what, and like that?’
Carl stretched the muscles in his neck and looked at his watch. It wasn’t even three o’clock. Then he took the folder from Assad and studied it. ‘I’m not familiar with this case. It has something to do with the excavation on the island
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