Free Farewell to Freedom by Sara Blædel Page B

we indicated yesterday, the towel is sold at Føtex, so we have little expectation of identifying the mother that way,” the superintendent said, answering the reporter’s question with a discouraged smile before he changed topics.
    Camilla watched her son dish chicken and rice onto his plate, his eyes glued to the screen, hanging on every word as the deputy superintendent explained that they had been assuming the baby was born inside the church itself because they believed it was a relatively short time between the birth and the baby’s discovery. But without technical evidence to support this theory, they couldn’t be sure, so the police were eager to hear from any witnesses who had seen or heard anything around Stenhøj Church in the early morning hours that day.
    â€œWell, they didn’t say anything about that when I talked to them this afternoon!” Camilla exclaimed in irritation.
    â€œAren’t they going to show a picture of the baby?” Jonas asked, looking at his dad. “So her parents can see how cute she is?”
    A second later a large picture filled the screen. Sound asleep, she was lying on a white pillow with all her dark hair surrounding her tiny head like a wreath.
    Camilla felt her eyes mist over and hurriedly looked away when the photographer zoomed out a little so the viewers could see that the girl was lying in the arms of a nurse, who was saying that the abandoned baby was doing well but missed her mother.
    Camilla was annoyed the police hadn’t said that they were going to run the baby’s picture on the news. Now she was going to have to go back to the paper and make sure that they had a picture from the hospital to print alongside her article in the next day’s paper. And she was also going to have to rework the article to mention the police now thought the baby may not have been born in the church where she was found. If Camilla didn’t get these latest developments in, she would be way behind the other press coverage when the paper hit the streets.
    Just then the doorbell rang.
    â€œOh yeah,” Henrik said, standing up. “I should have anticipated visitors, what with the church on the news and all.”
    He went to answer the door, and a second later he came back with a tall young woman with dark hair in a pageboy cut and a lot of mascara. She was pale and seemed a little nervous.
    In her late twenties, Camilla guessed, starting to clear the table while the boys got up, thanked the pastor for the meal, put their plates in the sink, and disappeared back upstairs to their computer game.
    She heard Henrik ask the woman inside and inquire what he could do for her. Camilla was assuming the visit had to do with Baby Girl, as the press had started calling the abandoned newborn, but the woman had come looking for work, obviously under the impression the pastor was looking for a housekeeper.
    â€œNo,” Henrik said in English, “there must be a misunderstanding.” He held out his hands apologetically. “I don’t know who gave you that impression. But I will be happy to let you know if I hear of someone looking for one,” he offered.
    The woman quickly shook her head and explained she had been referred to him by a friend of her family.
    She pulled out a slip of paper that, sure enough, had Henrik Holm’s name and address printed neatly on it.
    The pastor sat down with the slip of paper in his hand. It didn’t say anything else, and the woman didn’t offer the name of the friend who had sent her to him.
    â€œI don’t know who gave you my name, and I’m very sorry not to be able to help. It’s just my son and I living here, and I can manage the housekeeping on my own. But please give me your phone number. If you stop by again next week, I’ll ask around to see if I know anyone who’s looking for help with their housework.”
    She shook her head again and looked disappointed as he stood