“Just how old do you think I am? Don’t be calling me ma’am.”

Schäfer blinked a couple of times as he stared at her blankly.

“I apologize,” he said. “Given the balls you’ve got on you, that was clearly a mistake.”

He stormed out of the building, fuming, got in the car, and slammed the door shut behind him.

Augustin took in the aggressive attitude and raised a curious eyebrow.

“Uh, what were you doing in there?”

“Making sure that I’ll soon be able to escape this shithole of a country and all its petty fucking bureaucrats.”

“Okay, okay. Easy, tiger.” Augustin patted him on the shoulder in solidarity as Schäfer pulled out into the lane.

He turned right on Nørre Søgade and snorted in irritation when he saw that the traffic was crawling at a snail’s pace past the swan paddle boats and that the cars were being passed by joggers wearing neon-colored sweatbands.

Schäfer’s phone made a few beeps, and the car’s intercom system crackled. He answered the call, and Heloise Kaldan’s voice filled the car.

“Schäfer? He … he’s dead,” she stammered. “You have to come now! You have to hurry!”

She gave them an address somewhere in Amager and hung up.

“Come on, damn it,” Schäfer growled at the traffic as he prepared to do a U-turn in the middle of the road. “Move it!”

Then he turned on his siren.

Heloise had sat down on a chair next to Ulrich’s shoe rack and was leaning against a jacket hanging from a coat hook above her. She could smell his sweat on the fabric and suddenly felt like she was going to throw up.

She dropped her head forward, down between her knees, and took a couple of deep breaths to settle the turmoil in her stomach and make the images in her head go away.

She got up and walked slowly to the bathroom door. She peered into the room, where Schäfer was squatting under Ulrich’s body. He was wearing a surgical mask and a body suit, blue booties on his feet and white latex gloves on his hands, the same outfit he had asked Heloise to hop into when he arrived at the scene.

A flash went off each time the police photographer took a picture: of the black stool and the crooked toilet seat, of the blood on the floor, of Ulrich’s purple feet hanging motionless above.

A young woman stood beside Schäfer. Heloise had said hello to her when they arrived. She had blond hair and muscular arms, and Schäfer had introduced her to Heloise as Sergeant Lisa Augustin.