Bogman by R.I. Olufsen

morning. She seems fine.”
    “Did she tell you about this crazy encampment in Jutland? Demonstrating against a wind farm? If she gets arrested you have to promise you’ll get her unarrested.”
    “I can’t do that,” Torben said. “I can’t interfere. And it’s not my district.”
    “What’s the point of being a policeman if you can’t even help your own daughter?”
    Tobias was silent. He could have reminded Karren that he’d joined the police because he’d been a penniless student and she was pregnant. That he’d wanted to get a job on his merits and not as a gift from his father-in-law. He sighed.  
    “Well?” demanded Karren.
    “Agnes promised me she won’t do anything illegal.”
    “What about that crazy boyfriend with the tattoo?”
    Tattoo? Tobias hadn’t noticed a tattoo.
    “I don’t care if he gets arrested,” said Tobias.  
    “Or some of the other eco-lunatics?”
    “They’re not my problem, Karren. They’re not your problem either.”
    “Why does Agnes have to be an activist? Why can’t she be green silently, like the rest of us? Hans Frederik’s father is furious.”  
    “Silently green?” Tobias wanted to laugh. Karren drove a sports utility vehicle, a real gas guzzler. Hans Frederik shot pretty much anything that moved and he thought climate change was a left-wing plot.  
    “We have solar panels, we have a ground heat exchanger,” said Karren. “Agnes approves of those. She believes in alternative energy. So what’s wrong with a wind farm?”  
    “They’re cutting down a forest to build it. It’s a save the trees thing. Plus there’s some kind of otter that needs protecting.”  
    “It’s her future Agnes needs to protect.”
    Tobias made soothing noises. He promised to speak to Agnes about sticking to her studies. He thought he might ask her about Sami conservation groups as well.  

Monday: Week Two
    North Jutland Police District

    17.

    Chief Inspector Pernille Madsen and Inspector Peter Lundquist stared at four plastic bags laid out on a desk in the Forensic Science Laboratory.
    “Is that all?” said Pernille. “You’ve been in that flat for three days and that’s all you’ve found? It’s not much for the file.”  
    Magda Johanssen, who’d supervised the team which had searched the studio flat in which Jolene Karlssen had been assaulted, held up her gloved hands.  
    “We went over it twice. There wasn’t much to go on. They didn’t have sex. He didn’t jerk off. There’s no semen. Jolene’s panties have her saliva, vomit and blood. There was urine on the mattress. She wet herself. The poor woman was terrified. We swept the bedroom and the bathroom for prints. Nothing. Every surface had been wiped clean,” said Magda.  
    “He must have cleaned up before he followed Jolene into the alley,” said Peter Lundquist.
    “She thinks she was on the ground for no more than five minutes before he came after her,” said Pernille. “Five minutes to clean up? He’s done this before. He’s got it down to a fine art.”
    “Item one,” said Magda, holding up a bag containing a scrap of blue fabric and a button. “Jolene had this in her hand. He was wearing a blue shirt. If we can find the shirt, we can match the threads.”
    “Half the men in Sweden wear blue shirts,” said Peter Lundquist. “I’m wearing one myself.”
    “This is from a high quality shirt.” Magda held the bag up for inspection. “It’s very fine cotton and best quality thread. The button is pure bone, not plastic, and nicely finished around the edges.”  
    “Not like one of mine, then,” said Peter.  
    “Item two,” said Magda. “Jolene’s bra. I’ll send it to the national lab. If there’s anything on it, they’ll find it. But he was wearing plastic gloves, wasn’t he?”
    “According to Jolene,” said Pernille, “he wore clear, skin-tight, plastic gloves. She didn’t notice them at first. Pity. They’d have warned her she was dealing with a pervert. Who