Free A Conspiracy of Faith by Jussi Adler-Olsen Page A

voice.
    Thank Christ for that. Apparently, Ms. Sørensen was not entirely lacking in compassion.
    “Can you tell me how many victims have actually been identified in these recent arsons? In fact, how many arsons have we got now, altogether?”
    “The most recent, you mean? There are three, and we’ve barely established the identity of one of them.”
    “Barely?”
    “Well, we’ve got the first name from a medallion he was wearing, but apart from that we don’t actually know who he is. We might even be wrong on the first name.”
    “OK. Tell me again where the fires were.”
    “Haven’t you read the files?”
    “Only sort of.” He exhaled sharply. “One of them was in Rødovre in 1995, I know that. And you’ve got, what…?”
    “One last Saturday on Stockholmsgade, one the day after in Emdrup, and the last one so far in the Nordvest district.”
    “Stockholmsgade? Sounds upmarket. Do you happen to know which of the buildings was most damaged?”
    “Nordvest, I think. The address was Dortheavej.”
    “Has any link been established between these fires? What about the owners? Renovation work? Neighbors noticing lights on in the night? Terrorism?”
    “None, as far as I know. There’s loads of people on the case, though. You should ask one of them.”
    “Thanks, Lis. And I would, but it’s not my case, is it?”
    He added some resonance to his voice in the hope of making an impression, then dropped the folder back on the desk. Seems like they know what they’re doing, he thought to himself. But now there were voices in the corridor outside. Most likely those fucking sticklers from Health and Safety had come back to have another go at them.
    “Yes, his office is just there,” he heard Assad’s traitorous voice croak.
    Carl fixed his eyes on a fly buzzing around the room. If he timed it right, he might be able to swat it in the face of that obsequious worm from Health and Safety.
    He positioned himself behind the door with the Rødovre folder raised at the ready.
    But the face that appeared was one he had never seen before.
    “Hello,” the visitor said, extending a hand. “Yding’s the name. Inspector. Copenhagen West, Albertslund.”
    Carl nodded. “Yding? Would that be your first name or last?”
    The man smiled. Maybe he wasn’t sure himself.
    “I’m here about these latest arsons. It was me who assisted Antonsen in the Rødovre investigation in 1995. Marcus Jacobsen said he wanted to be briefed in person. He told me to have a word with you so you could introduce me to your assistant.”
    Carl heaved a sigh of relief. “You just met him. He’s the one climbing about on the ladder out there.”
    Yding narrowed his eyes. “The guy I just spoke to, you mean?”
    “Yeah. Won’t he do? He took his exams in New York, then all sorts of special training with Scotland Yard in DNA and image analysis.”
    Yding rose to the bait and nodded respectfully.
    “Assad, come here a minute, will you?” Carl yelled, taking a sudden swat with the Rødovre folder at the fly.
    He introduced Yding and Assad to each other.
    “Are you finished putting those photocopies up?” he asked.
    Assad’s eyelids drooped. Enough said.
    “Marcus Jacobsen tells me the original file on the Rødovre case is with you,” said Yding as he shook Assad’s hand. “He said you’d know where it was.”
    Assad pointed toward the folder in Carl’s hand at the same instant that Carl was about to have another go at the fly. “That’s it there,” he said. “Was that all?” He was most certainly not on form today. All that carry-on with Rose had put a damper on him.
    “The chief was just inquiring about a detail I couldn’t quite recall. Do you mind if I have a quick look through the file?”
    “Feel free,” said Carl. “We’re a bit busy here, so perhaps you’ll excuse us while you’re at it?”
    He dragged Assad across the corridor and sat down at his desk beneath a poster showing some sandy ruin. It read
Rasafa
,