You’ve heard the office gossip.’
‘I don’t listen to that shit.’
‘And I don’t talk about it either.’
He went quiet.
‘We can chat about everything else,’ Lund suggested. ‘Football. Opera. Camping.’ She laughed. ‘Birdwatching.’
‘Now you’re taking the piss.’
‘No I’m not. Anything else. It’s not that I don’t want to talk to you.’
‘So long as it’s about the case.’
He went quiet for a moment. She’d offended him and wasn’t sure how.
‘Next left?’
A sign appeared: Ryvangen Barracks. Lots of soldiers at the gate. They had rifles.
‘I’ll go with that,’ Lund said.
Ryvangen had been in the hands of the military for more than a century, a mixed collection of buildings, barracks, officers’ training grounds. It took ten minutes to get
through security. Lund used the time to think about Mindelunden, less than a kilometre away.
A busy railway line separated the barracks from the memorial ground, but it wasn’t impassable. Not to a soldier. A childhood memory told her the two were once linked, which was why the
Nazis who occupied these buildings used the former practice ranges to execute their prisoners.
Coincidence. Probably.
Once inside she felt she’d entered a different, foreign world. Groups of armed troops ran in formation through the rain. Camouflaged lorries and all-terrain military Mercedes G-Wagens
flitted everywhere. The buildings were mostly a bastardized version of Brick Gothic, dun-red, four-square, angular, imposing.
She was unsure of their jurisdiction here. The army had their own police force. To add to the confusion Lund didn’t know precisely where the Politigården’s writ ended and
PET’s began. But two murders had been committed, both in the city, not behind these high wires.
Homicide was her territory again. Anyone who trespassed on it had best beware.
They met in the office of Colonel Jarnvig, camp commander from what she could gather, early fifties, a tall, ascetic man, not happy they were there. With him was Major Christian Søgaard,
a cocky-looking blond officer with a grizzled hunter’s beard. Both wore camouflage uniforms, a few medals, epaulettes. They shook hands but it was Strange they looked at mainly. This was a
man’s world.
They sat opposite Jarnvig at his desk while Søgaard stood stiff behind as if to attention.
‘I know what this is about,’ the colonel said. ‘Myg Poulsen. I got a call.’
‘Who from?’ Lund asked straight out.
‘Aalborg,’ he said, as if that answered everything.
‘Who in Aalborg?’ she persisted.
‘Aalborg’s army headquarters,’ Strange explained. ‘Brix was going to tell them. Procedure . . .’
‘Procedure,’ Jarnvig repeated.
‘What was Poulsen’s connection to the barracks?’ Strange asked.
‘Lance Corporal Poulsen did service here for many years,’ Jarnvig replied. ‘He was a good man. A brave and dependable soldier. We’re deeply distressed by this
news.’
‘How long was he in?’
‘He came in as a conscript then signed up,’ Søgaard said. ‘Saw service abroad. The usual places.’
‘When did you last see him?’
‘Yesterday morning at roll call. He joined up again a month ago. He was due to go out to Helmand with the new team in a week.’
‘Isn’t that unusual?’ Lund asked. ‘To leave the army then come back?’
‘Not really,’ Søgaard answered with a shrug. ‘Some of them moan like hell when they’re in. Then when they’re out they realize it wasn’t so bad after
all.’
‘How was he killed?’ Jarnvig asked.
Strange was about to speak when Lund said, ‘We can’t go into the details.’
‘Would I be right to assume his death is connected to the terrorism alert? Is he one of the two victims they’re talking about?’
Jarnvig wasn’t going to let this go.
‘Possibly,’ she said. ‘Did anyone threaten him? Is that why he signed up again?’
‘He signed up because he wanted to come back,’ Søgaard said with a
‘I don’t listen to that shit.’
‘And I don’t talk about it either.’
He went quiet.
‘We can chat about everything else,’ Lund suggested. ‘Football. Opera. Camping.’ She laughed. ‘Birdwatching.’
‘Now you’re taking the piss.’
‘No I’m not. Anything else. It’s not that I don’t want to talk to you.’
‘So long as it’s about the case.’
He went quiet for a moment. She’d offended him and wasn’t sure how.
‘Next left?’
A sign appeared: Ryvangen Barracks. Lots of soldiers at the gate. They had rifles.
‘I’ll go with that,’ Lund said.
Ryvangen had been in the hands of the military for more than a century, a mixed collection of buildings, barracks, officers’ training grounds. It took ten minutes to get
through security. Lund used the time to think about Mindelunden, less than a kilometre away.
A busy railway line separated the barracks from the memorial ground, but it wasn’t impassable. Not to a soldier. A childhood memory told her the two were once linked, which was why the
Nazis who occupied these buildings used the former practice ranges to execute their prisoners.
Coincidence. Probably.
Once inside she felt she’d entered a different, foreign world. Groups of armed troops ran in formation through the rain. Camouflaged lorries and all-terrain military Mercedes G-Wagens
flitted everywhere. The buildings were mostly a bastardized version of Brick Gothic, dun-red, four-square, angular, imposing.
She was unsure of their jurisdiction here. The army had their own police force. To add to the confusion Lund didn’t know precisely where the Politigården’s writ ended and
PET’s began. But two murders had been committed, both in the city, not behind these high wires.
Homicide was her territory again. Anyone who trespassed on it had best beware.
They met in the office of Colonel Jarnvig, camp commander from what she could gather, early fifties, a tall, ascetic man, not happy they were there. With him was Major Christian Søgaard,
a cocky-looking blond officer with a grizzled hunter’s beard. Both wore camouflage uniforms, a few medals, epaulettes. They shook hands but it was Strange they looked at mainly. This was a
man’s world.
They sat opposite Jarnvig at his desk while Søgaard stood stiff behind as if to attention.
‘I know what this is about,’ the colonel said. ‘Myg Poulsen. I got a call.’
‘Who from?’ Lund asked straight out.
‘Aalborg,’ he said, as if that answered everything.
‘Who in Aalborg?’ she persisted.
‘Aalborg’s army headquarters,’ Strange explained. ‘Brix was going to tell them. Procedure . . .’
‘Procedure,’ Jarnvig repeated.
‘What was Poulsen’s connection to the barracks?’ Strange asked.
‘Lance Corporal Poulsen did service here for many years,’ Jarnvig replied. ‘He was a good man. A brave and dependable soldier. We’re deeply distressed by this
news.’
‘How long was he in?’
‘He came in as a conscript then signed up,’ Søgaard said. ‘Saw service abroad. The usual places.’
‘When did you last see him?’
‘Yesterday morning at roll call. He joined up again a month ago. He was due to go out to Helmand with the new team in a week.’
‘Isn’t that unusual?’ Lund asked. ‘To leave the army then come back?’
‘Not really,’ Søgaard answered with a shrug. ‘Some of them moan like hell when they’re in. Then when they’re out they realize it wasn’t so bad after
all.’
‘How was he killed?’ Jarnvig asked.
Strange was about to speak when Lund said, ‘We can’t go into the details.’
‘Would I be right to assume his death is connected to the terrorism alert? Is he one of the two victims they’re talking about?’
Jarnvig wasn’t going to let this go.
‘Possibly,’ she said. ‘Did anyone threaten him? Is that why he signed up again?’
‘He signed up because he wanted to come back,’ Søgaard said with a
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