The Death Messenger (Matthew Ryan Book 2)(72)

‘We checked the hospitals as soon as Ambassador Dean was reported missing,’ ?lgaard said as they walked. ‘At first we thought he’d been involved in some kind of accident. Naturally, because of his diplomatic status, we reported the matter to the Foreign Office immediately.’

‘You knew him well?’ Ryan asked.

‘Not well, but we’d met a couple of times. I’m so sorry we didn’t take better care of him.’

‘Not your fault.’ O’Neil didn’t dwell on it. ‘The judge you mentioned – his body was removed from the crime scene. This is pure speculation but we think the offenders left the Ambassador in situ because they were unfamiliar with their surroundings and therefore loath to dispose of his body elsewhere – though the harbour is nearby.’

The comment confused ?lgaard.

‘Most of our crime scenes are close to water: sea, river, loch,’ O’Neil explained. ‘Perhaps a lack of transport hampered them here.’

‘Or they were disturbed and left in a hurry.’

‘That’s probably the case.’

‘I find it curious that they changed their modus operandi after the first killing.’ ?lgaard’s eyes scanned the warehouse and came to rest on her British counterparts. ‘Your countryman, Mr Dean, was a gentle man, very popular among Danish people. His disappearance was scandalous, his death in our country shameful. It shocked us all, not just the police here in Copenhagen but the wider community of Denmark.’ She flicked her eyes to the stinking warehouse. ‘This is no place to find the end.’





41


O’Neil thanked ?lgaard for her cooperation, asking to see the witness Anja Pedersen next. The car took them back to HQ. Anja was brought to the interview room within minutes of their arrival, a skinny figure, thirty-five years old with bright blue eyes and hair to match. She was casually dressed, a canvas satchel slung over her shoulder, reminding Ryan of the yellow one he hoped Northumbria underwater search units were currently trying to find in the waters of the Fish Quay.

?lgaard spoke to Pedersen in Danish. ‘De m? gerne sidde ned.’

Pedersen took off her coat to reveal a stripy mauve dress underneath, accepting the seat offered. Having been told by ?lgaard that the witness had been waiting a while, O’Neil thanked her for her patience before the interview got under way. The young woman shrugged, held up a novel by Icelandic author Yrsa Sigureardóttir, an English edition: I Remember You. She spoke softly, unhurriedly. ‘I’m a librarian by profession, happiest with time on my hands and a book in my lap.’

O’Neil smiled at the others.

Conscious of their appointment with P?l Friis, Ryan began: ‘You made a statement to police that you saw a couple in Kastelsvej, near the British Embassy, before Ambassador Dean was murdered.’ He took in her nod. ‘You may be the only person able to describe them for us, so we’d like as detailed a description as you’re able to give. At this stage, we’re anxious to trace and eliminate them. They may or may not be guilty of any crime.’

‘Guilty is exactly how I’d describe them.’ Pedersen spoke with conviction.

?lgaard said something in her native tongue. ‘Hvorfor virkede de mist?nkelige?’ She looked at Ryan. ‘I asked her what stood out about them.’ O’Neil had asked Ryan to lead the interview – she didn’t say why, just that this was one job they wouldn’t share – but she agreed that the Dane should chip in if she could hurry the interview along in any way.

‘Anja?’ Ryan prompted. ‘May I call you that?’

‘That is my name.’

He loved the bluntness of Scandi women.

The librarian relaxed into her chair, in no obvious hurry, eyes fixed on a point over Ryan’s shoulder as if she might find inspiration there. ‘The man was around my age,’ she said. ‘He was wearing a grey shirt with a white stripe, open at the neck. He had dark patches under his arms even though the day was cool, a foreign rucksack on his back. It had a logo I couldn’t read. I was too far away.’ She paused. ‘He wasn’t Danish. Neither of them were. I thought at the time they might be British. Don’t ask me why. Their clothes, I suppose. You can tell a lot from what a person is wearing.’

‘Hvid?’ ?lgaard said.

‘White, yes.’

‘Both of them?’ Ryan asked.

‘Yes.’

‘You told Politikommis?r ?lgaard that something about the man wasn’t quite right.’

‘For sure. He was odd. It was the shifty expression on his face, the fact that he was sweating so much and was the only one in the street with no destination, no focus, if you know what I mean. He smoked a lot. He was . . . how do you say it?’ She paused, looking to ?lgaard for assistance.

‘Loitering?’ ?lgaard said.

‘Yes, exactly.’

Ryan moved her along. ‘Please continue . . .’

‘It was the way he held his phone, not reading from it, I don’t mean that, but not like a tourist taking pictures either. The more I observed him, the more certain I became that he was a character not to be trusted.’

‘Did something happen to make you think that?’

‘Two men appeared through the front door of the embassy. Security, I think, smartly dressed, though not in uniform. They took a good look at him and then walked away.’ This was news to Ryan, O’Neil and ?lgaard too. Pedersen was in full flow. ‘When you work in a library you see all kinds. You quickly learn to observe the weird ones. Some are lonely, others disturbed. I’m in charge. I have to know the difference. The nervous ones display strange behaviour like the man I saw in the street. Her too. When they saw the security patrol, they became agitated and turned away. The man dropped his head, using his phone as cover.’