present to her son had been a software program that allowed him to upload his original music to his computer and put together his own mixes. He spent several hours every day writing and editing, which was just fine by Louise. She was glad that her teenager was not zoning out in front of video games full of mindless violence or spending entire evenings commenting on his friends’ status updates on Facebook.
“Should we just have sandwiches or do you want me to go to the store?” she asked on her way to the kitchen.
“Sandwiches,” Jonas answered from his room, where he was once again bent over his guitar.
9
G OOD MORNING ,” Eik greeted Louise as she stopped in the doorway to their office just before 8 a.m. He had his feet on the desk, her large tea mug full of black coffee in his hand, and the morning paper in his lap.
He was wearing black again. Louise figured it was probably just his standard wardrobe.
“Good morning,” she mumbled and put her bag down on the floor next to the desk.
“You want some?” he asked, pushing a bakery bag toward her.
Louise shook her head. “No thanks, but I would like my tea mug.”
He looked at her with obvious confusion until she pointed to his coffee.
“Oh,” he said. “There weren’t any thermoses out there so I just grabbed the one that would hold the most. You can have it when I’m done, okay?”
She sighed and went to fill her electric kettle and find a mug.
“The woman
was
a child care provider, just thirty-four years old,” Eik went on with a gesture toward the paper. “But other than that, your friend up there in Holbæk isn’t letting much out of the bag. Did he put a lid on it, or what’s going on?”
Louise shrugged. “I have no idea. I didn’t talk to them,” she answered. She was annoyed that she had only been able to find a small white cafeteria cup for her tea. “Can’t we just stay focused on the one we need to identify?”
Eik nodded. He folded the paper and tossed it on the floor.
“She’s not showing up on the Danish lists of missing persons, so how about searching the international records? See if there’s been any description through the years that matches the scar on her face?” Louise asked, secretly pleased that he couldn’t reach his computer without taking his feet off the desk.
“Which time period are we looking at?” he replied, moving Louise’s mug to the window next to his dirty cup from the day before.
If this is a woman who went into hiding, we’ll start by going back twenty years
, she decided. “Start by searching for women born between 1960 and 1975, and see who’s been reported missing in that age group since 1990.”
Louise recalled the smooth skin on the uninjured side of the woman’s face and her almost childlike expression and briefly wondered if perhaps the woman was actually younger.
It was quiet in the office while Eik logged on to Interpol’s headquarters in Lyon.
“I sent them the picture yesterday,” he said after a little while, “and I think they would have reacted to her distinctive scar if she’d been in their register. But I’ll look through the list myself now.”
“Good.” Louise didn’t have enough experience in the new department to know whether Interpol headquarters would notify them if there was a match in the international register of missing persons.
She opened up the national register and entered “1990” in the search field. She pulled up a list of reports and cancellations. The names were still listed in the register even if they had turned up again or been reported as deceased, in which case a cancellation code had been added.
She entered the year of birth in the advanced search field and checked the box on the right to indicate female.
The first case that caught her eye was a woman born in 1964 who went missing on March 3, 1990. But reading farther down on the page, Louise saw that the case had a black marker: The woman had been found dead four months later.
“Should we just have sandwiches or do you want me to go to the store?” she asked on her way to the kitchen.
“Sandwiches,” Jonas answered from his room, where he was once again bent over his guitar.
9
G OOD MORNING ,” Eik greeted Louise as she stopped in the doorway to their office just before 8 a.m. He had his feet on the desk, her large tea mug full of black coffee in his hand, and the morning paper in his lap.
He was wearing black again. Louise figured it was probably just his standard wardrobe.
“Good morning,” she mumbled and put her bag down on the floor next to the desk.
“You want some?” he asked, pushing a bakery bag toward her.
Louise shook her head. “No thanks, but I would like my tea mug.”
He looked at her with obvious confusion until she pointed to his coffee.
“Oh,” he said. “There weren’t any thermoses out there so I just grabbed the one that would hold the most. You can have it when I’m done, okay?”
She sighed and went to fill her electric kettle and find a mug.
“The woman
was
a child care provider, just thirty-four years old,” Eik went on with a gesture toward the paper. “But other than that, your friend up there in Holbæk isn’t letting much out of the bag. Did he put a lid on it, or what’s going on?”
Louise shrugged. “I have no idea. I didn’t talk to them,” she answered. She was annoyed that she had only been able to find a small white cafeteria cup for her tea. “Can’t we just stay focused on the one we need to identify?”
Eik nodded. He folded the paper and tossed it on the floor.
“She’s not showing up on the Danish lists of missing persons, so how about searching the international records? See if there’s been any description through the years that matches the scar on her face?” Louise asked, secretly pleased that he couldn’t reach his computer without taking his feet off the desk.
“Which time period are we looking at?” he replied, moving Louise’s mug to the window next to his dirty cup from the day before.
If this is a woman who went into hiding, we’ll start by going back twenty years
, she decided. “Start by searching for women born between 1960 and 1975, and see who’s been reported missing in that age group since 1990.”
Louise recalled the smooth skin on the uninjured side of the woman’s face and her almost childlike expression and briefly wondered if perhaps the woman was actually younger.
It was quiet in the office while Eik logged on to Interpol’s headquarters in Lyon.
“I sent them the picture yesterday,” he said after a little while, “and I think they would have reacted to her distinctive scar if she’d been in their register. But I’ll look through the list myself now.”
“Good.” Louise didn’t have enough experience in the new department to know whether Interpol headquarters would notify them if there was a match in the international register of missing persons.
She opened up the national register and entered “1990” in the search field. She pulled up a list of reports and cancellations. The names were still listed in the register even if they had turned up again or been reported as deceased, in which case a cancellation code had been added.
She entered the year of birth in the advanced search field and checked the box on the right to indicate female.
The first case that caught her eye was a woman born in 1964 who went missing on March 3, 1990. But reading farther down on the page, Louise saw that the case had a black marker: The woman had been found dead four months later.
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