“What the hell are you talking about?” she exclaimed, pulling free. “You seriously think I would fly to South Africa with you? Forget it!” She turned her back to him and went back to throwing clothes into her bag.

Two steps and he had hold of her. Her skinny shoulders flinched in surprise.

“Ow! Come on, let go of me. That hurts!”

He shook her. In all those years of nighttime crying and tantrums he had never, not even once, laid a hand on his daughter. Now his fingers dug into her flesh as he shook her back and forth.

There was no other way. She had to do what he said. Whatever the cost.

CHAPTER 27

Deceased math teacher at Zahles School Lis Christensen turned out to have been married going on thirty-eight years to retired sign maker Robert Christensen and living in a row house in Albertslund, a planned community just west of Copenhagen. The duty officer was able to report that Lis’s death was still being treated as an accident following the autopsy, and to pass on the contact information of her next of kin. Robert was surrounded by his children and grandchildren when Jeppe called, but he was willing to let the police stop by.

Jeppe and Anette knocked on his blue front door amid a rain of children’s happy shouts from the little paths between the row houses.

Suburban nuclear family idyll, Jeppe thought, reflecting fleetingly on the life he himself might have had.

There were no children’s sounds from inside the row house when Robert opened the door. He was a tall man, balding with wire-rimmed glasses and enormous hands. His blue flannel shirt was creased as if he had been lying down in it.

“I sent the kids home. They have to start making dinner soon anyway.” He pointed to the nearby playground. “Both our kids and their families live in this neighborhood. Five grandchildren total. It’s wonderful to live so close to each other. Especially…” He came to a halt, cleared his throat, and then gestured them in with a wave of his hand.

The row house was a square and functional two-story concrete structure from the eighties. Its modern bones were softened by old-fashioned wooden furniture, full bookshelves, and family pictures on the wall. Jeppe glanced at the shelves and recognized the colorful spines of many crime fiction books, well loved and frequently reread, or so it would appear.

“Have a seat.”

Robert sat on a brown sofa and gestured that they could choose between the beech bentwood recliner and a matching brown armchair facing the sofa.

“Thank you for being willing to see us on such short notice. We’re so sorry about your wife.” Jeppe sat down.

“Thank you.” Robert nodded with dignity. “This is a difficult time.”

“Obviously. It’s good to hear that you have family close by.”

He nodded again.