A Conspiracy of Faith by Jussi Adler-Olsen

“Would you not like her to come home again before the bollocks weigh as heavy as cannonballs?”

    Back in the basement, everything was pretty much as it had been when they left. Rose had dragged a stool in front of the blowup on the wall, and now she sat pondering so intensely one could almost see her frown from behind.
    It seemed she was stuck.
    Carl looked at the giant photocopy. It was certainly no easy puzzle to solve. To put it mildly.
    She had now gone over all the characters with a felt-tip pen. It might not have been the wisest thing to do, but it did provide a better overview, that much he could see.
    She dragged her fingers coquettishly through the bird’s nest of her hair, her nails speckled with marker fluid as though to make everything match.
    No doubt she would touch them up with black nail polish before long.
    “Does it make any sense to you? Any sense at all?” she asked as Carl tried to read.
    HELP
    .he .. ..brary …. .. …. k…aped .. got .s .. the .us s.op on ..ut.op…. .. Bal…..—T.. man .. 18. t… …. ….. hair …. …. … ….—Hes got . …. .. hi. rit. … .r…. . bl.e .an Mum … … ..ow him—Fr..d.. .nd …t.in. wit. . B— .. ..retn.d .. .. …. .. ….…. ……—… ..ing to .il us— .. .ressd . … .. .. .ace ..rst …. .. .rother.—We drove …..y 1 hour … … .. … .y wa.t.r ….. … …. win. .urb..s ….. .. .. ….. ..re—….. .. … …. .. ……. .. …….—.. … . .. …. .. years
    P… ….
    A cry for help, as was obvious from the heading, and, besides that, reference to some man or other, a mother and driving. Signed with a “P,” and that was it. No, it made no sense at all.
    What had happened? Where, when, and why?
    “I’m pretty sure this is the person who wrote it,” said Rose, pointing her felt-tip at the “P” at the bottom. Who said she was thick?
    “I’m also pretty sure that the person’s name consists of two words each of four letters,” she added, tapping Assad’s penciled dots.
    Carl’s gaze slid from the felt-tip on her nails to the pencil marks on the photocopied message. Was it about time he had his eyes tested? How on earth could she be so certain there were two sets of four letters? Because Assad had put dots on some blotches? As far as he could see, there were umpteen possibilities.
    “I’ve checked the original,” she went on. “And I’ve spoken to that expert in Scotland. We’re both in agreement. Two sets of four letters.”
    Carl nodded. That expert in Scotland, she had said. Well, that was it sorted, wasn’t it? As far as he was concerned, she could consult a tartan-clad fortune-teller in Reykjavik, because his eyes were plainly telling him that most of what he saw was bollocks, no matter what Rose might have to say.
    “It was definitely written by a male. I’m assuming no one in that situation would sign themselves using a nickname, and I’ve come up with no Danish girl’s names of four letters beginning with ‘P.’ Looking at foreign names, I’ve found only the following that would fit: Paca, Pala, Papa, Pele, Peta, Piia, Pili, Pina, Ping, Piri, Posy, Pris, and Prue.”
    She listed them in a heartbeat, not even glancing at her notes. Was she right in the head, this Rose girl?
    “Papa. A very strange name for a girl,” Assad grunted.
    Rose shrugged. It was something of a turnup, Carl had to admit. Were there really no Danish girl’s names of four letters beginning with a “P”? That was what she said, anyway. Impossible, surely?
    Carl glanced at Assad, who looked like he had question marks drawn all over his face. No one could ponder in as spellbound a fashion as his stocky assistant.
    “It is not a Muslim name, either,” he said from within his frown. “I can think only of Pari, which is Iranian.”
    Carl grimaced. “And Iranians don’t live in Denmark, or what? Never mind, let’s just say this bloke’s called Poul or Paul; that makes things a lot easier, doesn’t it? We’ll have him