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Authors: Jussi Adler-Olsen
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of Sprogø, when they were building the Great Belt Bridge between Zealand and Funen. They found a body out there, but that’s about as far as they got. The police in Slagelse handled the case. A bunch of slackers.’
‘Slackers?’ Assad nodded. ‘And this comes first for you?’
Carl looked at him, uncomprehending. ‘You’re asking me if this is the first case we’re going to work on? Is that what you mean?’
‘Yes. Is this it then?’
Carl frowned. Too many questions at once. ‘I need to study all of the files before I make up my mind.’
‘Is this very secret?’ Assad carefully placed the folder back on the stack.
‘The case documents? Yes, it’s likely that they contain information not meant for anyone else’s eyes.’
The dark man was silent for a moment. He looked like a boy whose request for an ice-cream cone had been refused, but knows that if he stands there long enough, there’s still a chance he might get one. They stared at each other for so long that Carl ended up feeling confused.
‘What?’ he asked. ‘Is there something specific you want?’
‘Since I am here and I promise to keep my lips sealed and locked and never say anything about what I read, can I look at the folders then?’
‘That’s not your job, Assad.’
‘No, but what is my job right now? I’ve came just to page forty-five in the book, and now my head wants something different.’
‘I see.’ Carl looked around to find some other challenges, if not for Assad’s head, then for his well-proportioned upper arms. He could see that there really wasn’t much for Assad to do. ‘Well, if you promise me on all you hold sacred that you won’t talk with anyone else but me about what you read, then go ahead.’ He pushed one of the stacks of folders a couple of inches towards Assad. ‘There are three piles here, so don’t get them mixed up. I’ve worked out an excellent system, which has taken me a long time to devise. And just remember: No talking to anyone else about these cases, Assad.’ He turned to his computer. ‘And one more thing, Assad. They’re my cases, and I’m really busy; you can see for yourself how many there are. So you shouldn’t expect me to discuss the cases with you. You’ve been hired to do the cleaning and make the coffee and drive me around. If you don’t have anything to do, it’s all right with me if you want to read the files. But that has nothing to do with your job. OK?’
‘OK, yes.’ He stood there a moment, staring at the centre pile of folders. ‘It is some special cases that lie by themselves. I can understand it. I will take the top three folders. I will not get them mixed all up. I will keep them in the folders by themself over in my room. When you need them, then just shout, I then bring them again.’
Carl watched Assad leave the office with three folders under his arm, and the Handbook for Crime Technicians at the ready. It had him really worried.
No more than an hour later Assad was once again standing next to Carl’s desk. In the meantime, Carl had been thinking about Hardy. Poor Hardy, who had asked his colleague to kill him. But how could Carl do that? These were not the sort of thoughts that would lead to anything constructive.
Assad placed one of the folders in front of Carl. ‘Here is the only case that I remember for myself. It happened exactly while I was taking Danish language lessons so we read about it in the newspapers. It was so very interesting. That was what I thought back then. Also now.’
He handed the document to Carl, who glanced at it. ‘So you came to Denmark in 2002?’
‘No, in ’98. But I took Danish lessons in 2002. Were you working on that case then?’
‘No, it was the Rapid Response Team’s case, before the reorganization within the police force.’
‘And the Rapid Response Team did it because it had to be fast?’
‘No, because it was …’ He studied Assad’s alert face with the dancing eyebrows. ‘Yes, that’s
‘Slackers?’ Assad nodded. ‘And this comes first for you?’
Carl looked at him, uncomprehending. ‘You’re asking me if this is the first case we’re going to work on? Is that what you mean?’
‘Yes. Is this it then?’
Carl frowned. Too many questions at once. ‘I need to study all of the files before I make up my mind.’
‘Is this very secret?’ Assad carefully placed the folder back on the stack.
‘The case documents? Yes, it’s likely that they contain information not meant for anyone else’s eyes.’
The dark man was silent for a moment. He looked like a boy whose request for an ice-cream cone had been refused, but knows that if he stands there long enough, there’s still a chance he might get one. They stared at each other for so long that Carl ended up feeling confused.
‘What?’ he asked. ‘Is there something specific you want?’
‘Since I am here and I promise to keep my lips sealed and locked and never say anything about what I read, can I look at the folders then?’
‘That’s not your job, Assad.’
‘No, but what is my job right now? I’ve came just to page forty-five in the book, and now my head wants something different.’
‘I see.’ Carl looked around to find some other challenges, if not for Assad’s head, then for his well-proportioned upper arms. He could see that there really wasn’t much for Assad to do. ‘Well, if you promise me on all you hold sacred that you won’t talk with anyone else but me about what you read, then go ahead.’ He pushed one of the stacks of folders a couple of inches towards Assad. ‘There are three piles here, so don’t get them mixed up. I’ve worked out an excellent system, which has taken me a long time to devise. And just remember: No talking to anyone else about these cases, Assad.’ He turned to his computer. ‘And one more thing, Assad. They’re my cases, and I’m really busy; you can see for yourself how many there are. So you shouldn’t expect me to discuss the cases with you. You’ve been hired to do the cleaning and make the coffee and drive me around. If you don’t have anything to do, it’s all right with me if you want to read the files. But that has nothing to do with your job. OK?’
‘OK, yes.’ He stood there a moment, staring at the centre pile of folders. ‘It is some special cases that lie by themselves. I can understand it. I will take the top three folders. I will not get them mixed all up. I will keep them in the folders by themself over in my room. When you need them, then just shout, I then bring them again.’
Carl watched Assad leave the office with three folders under his arm, and the Handbook for Crime Technicians at the ready. It had him really worried.
No more than an hour later Assad was once again standing next to Carl’s desk. In the meantime, Carl had been thinking about Hardy. Poor Hardy, who had asked his colleague to kill him. But how could Carl do that? These were not the sort of thoughts that would lead to anything constructive.
Assad placed one of the folders in front of Carl. ‘Here is the only case that I remember for myself. It happened exactly while I was taking Danish language lessons so we read about it in the newspapers. It was so very interesting. That was what I thought back then. Also now.’
He handed the document to Carl, who glanced at it. ‘So you came to Denmark in 2002?’
‘No, in ’98. But I took Danish lessons in 2002. Were you working on that case then?’
‘No, it was the Rapid Response Team’s case, before the reorganization within the police force.’
‘And the Rapid Response Team did it because it had to be fast?’
‘No, because it was …’ He studied Assad’s alert face with the dancing eyebrows. ‘Yes, that’s
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