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Chapters (99)
  1. MOTIVE X
  2. The Fabian Risk Thrillers
  3. MOTIVE X
  4. Copyright Page
  5. Contents
  6. Prologue
  7. PART I
  8. 1
  9. 2
  10. 3
  11. 4
  12. 5
  13. 6
  14. 7
  15. 8
  16. 9
  17. 10
  18. 11
  19. 12
  20. 13
  21. 14
  22. 15
  23. 16
  24. 17
  25. 18
  26. 19
  27. 20
  28. 21
  29. 22
  30. 23
  31. 24
  32. 25
  33. 26
  34. 27
  35. 28
  36. 29
  37. 30
  38. 31
  39. 32
  40. 33
  41. 34
  42. 35
  43. 36
  44. 37
  45. 38
  46. 39
  47. PART II
  48. 40
  49. 41
  50. 42
  51. 43
  52. 44
  53. 45
  54. 46
  55. 47
  56. 48
  57. 49
  58. 50
  59. 51
  60. 52
  61. 53
  62. 54
  63. 55
  64. 56
  65. 57
  66. 58
  67. 59
  68. 60
  69. 61
  70. 62
  71. 63
  72. 64
  73. 65
  74. 66
  75. 67
  76. 68
  77. 69
  78. 70
  79. 71
  80. 72
  81. 73
  82. 74
  83. 75
  84. 76
  85. 77
  86. 78
  87. 79
  88. 80
  89. 81
  90. 82
  91. 83
  92. 84
  93. 85
  94. 86
  95. 87
  96. 88
  97. About the author and translator
  98. Acknowledgements
  99. An Invitation from the Publisher

Just a month ago, he’d used his position as head of the Copenhagen Homicide Unit to demonstrate his authority and show her, once and for all, that she was never going to be able to get out from under him, not even if she schlepped all the way up to the Helsingør Police to beg for a job.

And yet, that is exactly what she’d done.

He couldn’t say exactly what had triggered his anxiety, but for the past week he’d felt increasingly sure something was amiss. Things had been too quiet. Especially considering what he’d done to her.

For some bizarre reason, she hadn’t retaliated. He almost felt disappointed, even though part of him was relieved at the easy victory. At finally having managed to break her so comprehensively she would never get up again.

But just a week later, worry had started gnawing at him again.

It had simply been too quiet.

It was at that point he’d requisitioned the computer files. The ones he shouldn’t really be able to get without a warrant, which would only ever be granted under very special circumstances directly related to national security. The ones that drilled into her life, describing every last detail in the form of long columns of numbers.

Since last Friday, he’d been able to see everything, from her emails to her text and call lists. He’d been able to study the traffic from her IP address and see every website she’d visited. If she’d bought a pair of knickers, he would be able to tell how much they cost and where she got them. If he wanted to, he could probably find out the colour and size as well.

The problem was that every fucking list and table was empty. Not one row, not one goddamn number for him to look at. No timestamps or any kind of information whatsoever.

At first, he’d been convinced something was wrong. Furious, he’d called up Mikael Rønning in IT, only to find out everything was exactly as it should be. That the files genuinely didn’t have anything to offer but empty tables and columns full of zeros.

Unlikely as it seemed, Dunja The Cunt Hougaard had not shopped, emailed, called, got cash out or travelled abroad in the last month. There was no trace of her.

She had done nothing, as in zero.

Nothing as in gone underground.

As in licking her wounds and planning her revenge.

He could sense it, and it left him sleepless.

For the first time in his life, he was worried for real.

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