The Fire Witness

‘Do you live here?’ she asks.

She rubs the mud from the licence plate with her foot, makes a note of it, then carries on around the pickup.

There’s a pink sports bag on the floor in front of the passenger seat. Mirja keeps moving around the vehicle, but keeps the big man in sight the whole time. There’s something on the back of the pickup under a green tarpaulin, held down by thick straps.

‘Where are you going?’ she asks.

He’s standing still, following her with his eyes. Suddenly some blood seeps out from under the tarpaulin, along the dirty grooves.

‘What have you got here?’ she asks.

When he doesn’t answer, she reaches over the back of the pickup. It isn’t easy to reach, she has to lean on the vehicle. The man moves sideways slightly. She managed to reach the tarpaulin with her fingertips without taking her eyes off the man. He licks his lips as she lifts it. She unfastens her pistol, then glances quickly at the back of the pickup, long enough to see the hoof of a young deer.

The man is standing completely still in the flashing blue light, but Mirja keeps her hand on her pistol as she steps back from the vehicle.

‘Where did you shoot the deer?’

‘It was lying on the road,’ he says.

‘Did you make a note of where?’

He spits slowly on the road, between his own feet.

‘Can I see your driving licence?’ she says.

He doesn’t answer, and shows no sign of obeying her.

‘Driving licence,’ she repeats, aware of the uncertainty in her own voice.

‘We’re done here,’ he says, and walks towards the pickup.

‘You’re legally obliged to report accidents involving wild animals …’

The man gets in the driver’s seat, closes the door, starts the engine, and pulls away. She watches him pass the police car with two wheels in the ditch. When he drives up onto the road again Mirja tells herself she should have examined the pickup more closely, should have removed the whole tarpaulin, and looked under the blanket on the back seat.

The rain is lashing the trees around her, and in the distance a crow calls from a treetop.

Mirja starts when she hears the sound of a heavy vehicle behind her. She turns around and pulls out her pistol, but can’t see anything except the rain.

27 (#ulink_09a9a165-a5ee-5a93-8813-16b70d46b8c8)

Danish lorry driver Mads Jansen is being reprimanded over the phone by his transport manager. He blushes as he tries to explain the situation. Pia Abrahamsson can hear the angry voice through the phone, and the transport manager goes on yelling about coordinates and fucked-up logistics.

‘But,’ Mads Jensen tries to say, ‘surely we have to help other—’

‘This’ll be deducted from your wages,’ his boss snaps. ‘That’s all the help you’re getting from me.’

‘Thanks a lot,’ Mads says, and ends the call.

Pia sits beside the driver in silence as the dense forest flies past on both sides. The heavy rain sounds deafening in the cab. In the split wing mirror Pia can see the swaying trailer and the trees they’ve just passed.

Mads pops some nicotine gum in his mouth and stares ahead at the road. The sound of the engine and the thud of the heavy wheels on the tarmac blur into one.

She looks at the calendar that sways with the motion of the cab. A curvaceous woman holding an inflatable swan in a swimming pool. At the bottom of the glossy photograph the date is given as August 1968.

The road slopes downward, and the weight of the cargo of iron bars increases the speed of the vehicle.

Far off in the groove between the trees a strong blue light is flickering in the grey rain. A police car is blocking the road.

Pia Abrahamsson feels her heart start to beat hard and fast. She stares at the police car and the woman in the dark blue sweater waving her arm at them. Before the truck has stopped, Pia opens the door. The sound of the engine and the tyres becomes instantly much louder.

She feels dizzy as she clambers down and hurries over to the waiting police officer.

‘Where’s the car?’ the police officer asks.

‘What? What are you saying?’

Pia stares at the other woman and tries to read her face, but just gets more shaken by her serious expression. She feels as if her legs are going to give way beneath her.

‘Did you see the car when you passed it?’ the police woman clarifies.

‘Passed it?’ Pia says weakly.

Mads Jensen walks over to them.

‘We haven’t seen anything,’ he tells the police officer. ‘You must have set up the roadblock too late.’

‘Too late? I drove up this road to get here …’

‘So where the hell is the car?’ he asks.

Mirja Zlatnek runs back to her car and calls her colleague.

‘Lasse?’ she says urgently.

‘I’ve been trying to get you,’ he says. ‘You weren’t answering.’

‘No, I was—’

‘Has everything gone OK?’ he asks.

‘Where the hell’s the car?’ she asks, almost shouting. ‘The truck’s here, but there’s no sign of the car.’

‘There aren’t any other roads,’ he says.

‘We need to put an alert out and block the 86 in the other direction.’

‘I’ll get onto that at once,’ he says, and ends the call.