The House That Jack Built by Jakob Melander Page B

while Sanne looked around Allan and Toke’s shared office. It was a good deal bigger and brighter than the broom closet she had been assigned, but otherwise the layout was the same. Just two of everything: desks, telephones, computers, chairs, and filing cabinets. But what made all the difference were the two large windows facing Niels Brocks Gade, which let in the light from the clear blue summer sky.
    Allan walked the doctor to the door, then turned to the suspect.
    â€œWell, Meriton. How about we have a little chat now?”
    Meriton gave him a surly look. “ Vetëm shqiptar .”
    â€œWhat does that mean?” Sanne asked.
    Allan folded his arms. “It sounded a bit like the name of their club, Shqiptarë. Does it mean Albania — or Albanian? No doubt he wants an interpreter.” Allan looked at Meriton inquiringly, who nodded and looked away at the same time.
    â€œThere, you see. He understands perfectly well what we’re saying. He just doesn’t feel like speaking Danish, isn’t that right Meriton?” Allan slapped the man on the shoulder.
    Sanne flinched. Meriton smiled at her lewdly.
    Allan looked at her. “Why don’t you find us a translator?”
    By rights, she should complain about being treated like a secretary, but she was new here and she certainly didn’t feel like being left alone with Meriton Bukoshi.
    A little while later, she returned with the translator, Shpend. He was tall and his eyes were constantly watery. His papers said he was in his mid-thirties but the guy looked at least ten years older.
    She started coughing as soon as she opened the office door. The air inside was thick with cigarette smoke. Meriton was sitting bolt upright in the chair, hands on his lap. Allan sat on the windowsill. Hadn’t the ashtray been empty when she left? They had to be on their second, maybe third, cigarette each. Meriton raised an eyebrow when she hurried through the office to open a window. Allan stubbed out his cigarette in the ashtray and, using his foot, pushed out a chair for Shpend. Sanne stood by the open window.
    â€œGood.” Allan rubbed his hands and winked at Sanne. “Let’s get started.”
    Meriton dropped his cigarette in the ashtray, mumbling to himself.
    â€œWe’d like to know what Meriton did on the night of May 5.” Allan looked at Sanne, who nodded.
    Meriton raised his eyebrows, probably suspecting that someone had talked. They had to make sure they didn’t expose the girls. Sanne filled her lungs with a final mouthful of fresh air and sat down on the edge of the table behind the interpreter. Meriton followed her movements while he answered the questions, fixating on her breasts.
    Meriton said he had been playing cards in their club, Shqiptarë, until late, maybe 3:30 a.m., except when he had gone to get some food around midnight. Afterwards, he went upstairs to a small room on the ground floor that he and his brother used for sleeping.
    â€œAsk him to write down the names of the people he played cards with that evening.” Sanne placed a pen and paper on the table in front of Meriton.
    Allan pulled her over to the other side of the office and whispered, “Why? Their friends would pin aggravated murder on their own mothers if the brothers asked them to.”
    â€œNo doubt. But if we can place just one of these alleged card players somewhere else, we have the first gap in his story.”
    Sanne returned, nodded at Meriton, and pointed at the paper while Shpend translated. Scowling, the pimp started writing down a list of names.
    â€œTell him we know that he knows exactly why he’s here,” Sanne said. “And then ask him where his brother is.”
    The interpreter translated; Meriton shook his head.
    â€œHe hasn’t seen him since the day before yesterday,” Shpend said.
    Suddenly there was a knock at the door and a large, bald man in his fifties barged into the room. A