Free Disgrace by Jussi Adler-Olsen Page A

mustiness and abandonment, the smell that inhabits old people’s bedrooms.
    Carl felt around for the light switch in the small entryway and found the electricity had been disconnected.
    ‘Here,’ Assad said, waving a halogen torch in Carl’s face.
    ‘Put that away, Assad. We don’t need it.’
    But Assad had already stepped back into the past, the cone of light dancing from side to side above woodensettle beds painted in old-fashioned colours and traditional blue enamel kitchenware.
    It wasn’t entirely dark in the cottage. Weak grey sunlight managed to penetrate the dusty windows, making the room look like a night scene from an old black-and-white film. A large stone fireplace. Swedish rag rugs criss-crossing broad wooden floorboards. And then there was the Trivial Pursuit game, still resting on the floor.
    ‘Just as it says in the report,’ Assad said, tapping the Trivial Pursuit box. At one time it had been navy blue, but now it was black. The board itself was not quite so filthy, but almost, as were the two pie game pieces still lying on it. In the heat of the struggle the pies had been knocked from their squares, but probably not significantly. The pink pie had four wedges, while the brown pie had none. Carl guessed that the pink pie was the girl’s. If so, she’d no doubt had a clearer head than her brother that day. Perhaps he’d drunk too much cognac. The autopsy report suggested as much.
    ‘It’s been here since 1987. Is the game really that old, Carl? I can’t believe it.’
    ‘Maybe it took a few years before it made its way to Syria. Can you actually buy it in Syria?’
    He noticed how quiet Assad had become, and then glanced at the two boxes filled with question cards. A single, loose card lay in front of each box. The final questions the siblings answered in life. It was rather sad, when you thought about it.
    Carl let his eyes wander across the floor.
    Obvious traces of the murders were still visible. Therewere dark stains where the girl had been found. It was clearly blood, as were the dark specks on the game board. In a few places he could see the crime-scene techs’ circles around fingerprints, though the numbers accompanying each circle had faded. And he could barely make out the powder used by the forensics team, but that was understandable.
    ‘They didn’t find anything,’ Carl said to himself.
    ‘What?’
    ‘They didn’t find any fingerprints that couldn’t be traced back to the siblings or their father and mother.’ He looked at the board again. ‘It’s strange that the game is still here. I would have thought the crime-scene techs would’ve taken it with them for closer examination.’
    ‘Yes.’ Assad nodded, tapping his forehead. ‘Well put, Carl. I remember it now. The game was actually presented in the prosecution of Bjarne Thøgersen, so they did take it with them then.’
    They both stared at the game.
    What was it doing here?
    Carl frowned. Then he pulled his mobile from his pocket and called headquarters.
    Lis didn’t sound terribly excited. ‘We’ve been expressly notified that we’re no longer at your disposal, Carl. Do you have any idea how busy we are? Have you heard about the police reforms? Or should I jog your memory? And now you’re stealing Rose from us.’
    That one they could damned well keep, if it was any help.
    ‘Hey now, hold on a minute. It’s me! Carl! Take it easy, OK?’
    ‘You’ve got your own little slave now, so why don’t you talk to her? One moment, please ...’
    He looked confusedly at his mobile and didn’t return it to his ear until he heard an easily recognizable voice on the other end.
    ‘How can I help you, boss?’
    Carl furrowed his brow again. ‘Oh, who is this? Rose Knudsen?’
    Her hoarse laughter could make anyone worry about the future.
    He asked her to find out if a blue Genus Edition of Trivial Pursuit was still among the articles taken from the Rørvig murder. And no, he didn’t have a clue where she should