Free The Marco Effect: A Department Q Novel by Jussi Adler-Olsen Page A

hiding out in some abandoned farmhouse in Norrbotten.”
    “A reasonable assumption, only now he’s turned up in Denmark again, a year and a half after the event. Someone was going through CCTV footage and spotted him by chance on Østerbrogade last Tuesday. See for yourself.”
    Jacobsen handed Carl a surveillance disc labeled MAY 3, 2011 and a photo of the man. Anweiler’s face was as blank as they came: highforehead; fair, wispy hair; dark blue eyes; eyelids seemingly bereft of lashes, almost like a delicate child’s. It was the kind of face that could be transformed beyond recognition by simply adding a mole to a cheek.
    “CCTV? Where from exactly?”
    The chief gave a shrug. “There’s more where that came from.”
    “It sure won’t be easy, Marcus. But how in the world could anyone recognize someone so peculiar? He’s like a waxwork; he could look like anyone, or no one at all.”
    “Have a look at the footage, then you’ll know.”
    Carl shook his head. Marcus was clearly trying to put one over on him. “If this is the best you can give me, I’ll go out with Rose, but only for a day, Marcus. Just so you know. This looks like it could end up taking all my time.”
    “Your needs, your decision, Carl. Do as you see fit.”
    Again, that rather defeatist tone, so unlike Marcus Jacobsen.
    “Nice to have Lars Bjørn back, don’t you think?” Carl ventured, in order to add some positivity to the general air of disgruntlement.
    “Yes. And another thing, Carl. We’ve got a budget meeting tomorrow, and I want you to know that in the future there may be changes. Not immediately, but now that Bjørn’s been pulled back home we’re going to be redistributing responsibilities differently until things slot into place.”
    Carl didn’t get it. “Bjørn was
pulled
back?”
    “Yes, he was supposed to be in Kabul for another month and a half, but it was more practical this way.”
    “I’m not with you. ‘Until things slot into place,’ you say. ‘More practical’? What’s going on?”
    “Oh, I’m forgetting you were away in the Netherlands yesterday, so you weren’t at the executive meeting. Sorry, you won’t have heard yet, then. Did I ask you how things went in Rotterdam yesterday, Carl?”
    He gave a shrug. “Never mind that; tell me what’s going on, Marcus.”
    “Oh, nothing much. It’s just the wife and I have decided to retire before the government gets a chance to take our pensions off us.”
    “Pensions? Aren’t you too young for that?”
    “I’m afraid not. Friday’s my last day.” He gave a somewhat resigned smile. “Friday the thirteenth. It’ll be all right.”
    Carl’s eyes widened in disbelief: Friday was only three days away!
    It had to be some kind of fucking joke.
    —
    A plume of thundering invective came out of Carl’s mouth as he descended the stairs. The homicide department without Marcus Jacobsen was inconceivable. What was more, Lars Bjørn was now in position to take over the reins. It was completely untenable. He would rather cycle through the forests of Norway while being consumed by mosquitoes. A devastating double whammy, and it was only Tuesday.
    “What’s up with you? You look like a pickled cucumber,” said a dry voice from farther down the stairwell. It was Børge Bak, on his way up the stairs in his usual slothful fashion with stolen goods from the basement depot for some investigator who reckoned he’d had a good idea.
    “That makes two of us, then,” Carl riposted, more than ready to take two steps at a time to get rid of him.
    “I hear your trip to Holland wasn’t much of a success. That must have suited you.”
    Carl stopped abruptly. “What the fuck’s that supposed to mean?”
    “Well, that case was getting out of hand, wasn’t it? You could have ended up in hot water.”
    “Hot water?”
    “There’s rumors going round.”
    Carl frowned. If this fat-assed fool didn’t make himself scarce and take his ridiculous comb-over with him in