germs, but … she had to get it under control.
She saw the minute hand move down to 18:21. Tomorrow it was Fastelavn Sunday. Not content with merely importing American Halloween customs, Denmark still stuck stubbornly to her own homegrown equivalent as well, so now there were twice as many costumes to be produced by long-suffering parents. Except this year, Nina wasn’t long-suffering, she reminded herself; Morten would have seen to Anton’s outfit for the school carnival. But she would still get to see Anton, and maybe even Ida too, if it wasn’t beneath the dignity of a fourteen-year-old to participate.
“I’m just trying to get a clear picture,” said Søren the PET-man on the phone. “You called emergency services, but you also went out there yourself?”
“Yes. I wasn’t sure … sometimes people get flashbacks. Or hallucinations. Natasha was pretty incoherent on the phone; I didn’t know how serious the situation was.”
“So you were, in fact, present just after the EMS got there?”
“Yes.”
It came rushing back: the heat that felt more like August than September, the dark hedges, the house with the front door wide open and all the lights on. The police hadn’t come yet—just the ambulance. Itwas parked in the driveway, its back doors open. The EMS people were already rolling in the gurney, and she could hear the bastard shouting hoarsely.
“She stabbed me! She goddamned stabbed me!”
Natasha just sat in the middle of the lawn with her skinny bare legs pulled up toward her chest, gazing up at the moon as if the activity around her had nothing to do with her. She barely looked at Nina, even when Nina touched her shoulder and asked if she was okay.
“Take care of her,” was all she said, and she didn’t need to explain who she meant. “You take care of her.”
“Where is she?”
“Neighbor. Neighbor Anna. Nice lady. She is safe there.”
That was part of what had later been used against her at the trial—that she had carefully arranged for Rina not to be in the house that night. A premeditated, well-planned act, the prosecutor had said.
“Did you get any sense that there might have been other people present at the house? Besides Natasha and Michael Vestergaard?”
Nina had never been asked that question during the entire unbearably long police and court procedure afterward. “No. I’m pretty sure they were alone.”
“And Michael Vestergaard hadn’t suffered any injuries other than the cut in his throat?”
“No. What kind of injuries do you mean?”
“To his hands, for example.”
“No. Why?”
“Sometimes people get defensive cuts,” Søren said. “If they have time to try to fight off their assailant.”
“I think it came as a complete surprise to him that she could turn on him like that,” Nina said, with a sense that he knew very well there were no defensive cuts. That must be in the report, along witheverything else. What was he getting at?
“But you knew Natasha well enough that you were the one she called,” he said. “Why do you think she did that?”
“Because of Rina. She wanted me to take care of Rina.”
“Did Natasha ever say anything about why she had fled from Ukraine?”
“No, we almost never talked about her past. She clammed up if you tried.”
“I see.”
“That’s not very unusual,” said Nina defensively. “I think that’s true for at least seventy-five percent of the people here.”
Her gaze wandered automatically around the half-empty passage in which she stood. Sometime back in the ’90s, most of one wall in the barrack’s passageways had been replaced with huge windows in a well-intentioned effort to transform the dim, nicotine-stinking smoking zone into lounge areas with green plants, lights, a view and a certain modernity. That just meant that many of the camp’s inhabitants stopped using the rooms completely or huddled in the darkest corners where there was most cover. This was especially true of the people
She saw the minute hand move down to 18:21. Tomorrow it was Fastelavn Sunday. Not content with merely importing American Halloween customs, Denmark still stuck stubbornly to her own homegrown equivalent as well, so now there were twice as many costumes to be produced by long-suffering parents. Except this year, Nina wasn’t long-suffering, she reminded herself; Morten would have seen to Anton’s outfit for the school carnival. But she would still get to see Anton, and maybe even Ida too, if it wasn’t beneath the dignity of a fourteen-year-old to participate.
“I’m just trying to get a clear picture,” said Søren the PET-man on the phone. “You called emergency services, but you also went out there yourself?”
“Yes. I wasn’t sure … sometimes people get flashbacks. Or hallucinations. Natasha was pretty incoherent on the phone; I didn’t know how serious the situation was.”
“So you were, in fact, present just after the EMS got there?”
“Yes.”
It came rushing back: the heat that felt more like August than September, the dark hedges, the house with the front door wide open and all the lights on. The police hadn’t come yet—just the ambulance. Itwas parked in the driveway, its back doors open. The EMS people were already rolling in the gurney, and she could hear the bastard shouting hoarsely.
“She stabbed me! She goddamned stabbed me!”
Natasha just sat in the middle of the lawn with her skinny bare legs pulled up toward her chest, gazing up at the moon as if the activity around her had nothing to do with her. She barely looked at Nina, even when Nina touched her shoulder and asked if she was okay.
“Take care of her,” was all she said, and she didn’t need to explain who she meant. “You take care of her.”
“Where is she?”
“Neighbor. Neighbor Anna. Nice lady. She is safe there.”
That was part of what had later been used against her at the trial—that she had carefully arranged for Rina not to be in the house that night. A premeditated, well-planned act, the prosecutor had said.
“Did you get any sense that there might have been other people present at the house? Besides Natasha and Michael Vestergaard?”
Nina had never been asked that question during the entire unbearably long police and court procedure afterward. “No. I’m pretty sure they were alone.”
“And Michael Vestergaard hadn’t suffered any injuries other than the cut in his throat?”
“No. What kind of injuries do you mean?”
“To his hands, for example.”
“No. Why?”
“Sometimes people get defensive cuts,” Søren said. “If they have time to try to fight off their assailant.”
“I think it came as a complete surprise to him that she could turn on him like that,” Nina said, with a sense that he knew very well there were no defensive cuts. That must be in the report, along witheverything else. What was he getting at?
“But you knew Natasha well enough that you were the one she called,” he said. “Why do you think she did that?”
“Because of Rina. She wanted me to take care of Rina.”
“Did Natasha ever say anything about why she had fled from Ukraine?”
“No, we almost never talked about her past. She clammed up if you tried.”
“I see.”
“That’s not very unusual,” said Nina defensively. “I think that’s true for at least seventy-five percent of the people here.”
Her gaze wandered automatically around the half-empty passage in which she stood. Sometime back in the ’90s, most of one wall in the barrack’s passageways had been replaced with huge windows in a well-intentioned effort to transform the dim, nicotine-stinking smoking zone into lounge areas with green plants, lights, a view and a certain modernity. That just meant that many of the camp’s inhabitants stopped using the rooms completely or huddled in the darkest corners where there was most cover. This was especially true of the people
Similar Books
