Bogman Page 2

  A look of alarm crossed the interviewer’s face.

  “Can we keep it simple for now, Professor Brix? Why were these bodies buried in the bog, or fen?”

  “It was once assumed that some of them were sacrificial victims in a pagan, Iron Age ritual,” said the professor. “P V Glob famously posited that Tollund Man was killed in a ritualistic way.”

  “So this a ritual killing?”

  Now it was the Professor’s turn to look alarmed. “I’m not saying that,” he said. “I’m just explaining one theory about Tollund Man.”

  “So this is another Tollund Man?”

  “I’m not saying that either,” said the Professor.

  “Have you found anything with the body? Anything from the Iron Age?”

  “One of the forensic team found a metal coin or button with what looks like a laurel leaf design. A laurel leaf typically.....”

  At which point Tobias intervened.

  “Chief Inspector Lange from Aarhus Criminal Investigation Department. I must ask you to stop recording,” he said. “This is now a police matter. We can’t divulge any more details at this early stage of the investigation.”

  The blonde gestured to the cameraman and turned her attention to Tobias. “Are you investigating an Iron Age murder, Chief Inspector?”

  “We don’t know what we’re dealing with at the moment,” said Tobias, uncomfortably aware he was now on camera. “All I can say is that human remains have been found here. We need to establish how long they’ve been in the bog. That could take some time. There’ll be a statement in due course. Now I must ask you all to leave.”

  He took the professor by the arm and led him aside. “I’m sorry, but we have to do things by the book. The forensics team know what they’re doing.”

  The professor took a card from the breast pocket of his jacket and handed it to Tobias.

  “Thanks,” said Tobias. “We’ll be in touch if we need you.”

  The camera crew had packed up. The blonde called out, “Can you come into the studio, professor?”

  She threw a challenging glance at Tobias. “Do you have any objection to that, Chief Inspector?”

  It was now dark. Tobias shone his torch on the card.

  Professor Johann Brix

  Forensic Anthropologist

  Department of Forensic Medicine

  University of Aarhus.

  “I’m afraid I do,” said Tobias.

  He tramped back to the tent and said to Harry Norsk, “I think we’ve found our man.”

  3.

  It was nearly ten o’clock when he got back to his flat. He was hungry. He could almost smell the roast pork loin, the cabbage with juniper and garlic, the roast potatoes, Inge’s apple pudding. Too late for all that now. He went pessimistically to the refrigerator. A curled up lettuce, three eggs, a dried up slice of ham in an opened plastic packet, half an onion in cling wrap and a nugget of crumb-embedded butter on a saucer. He had the makings of an omelette at least. He cheered up. An omelette was a proper meal. It justified a glass of decent wine.

  He laid the table beside the window leading to the balcony, adjusting the knife and fork to lie parallel to each other, equidistant from the sides of the table. He lit the single candle in the blue and white Royal Copenhagen pattern candlestick which sat in the dead centre of the table. The same candlestick had sat on the dining table in the house where he grew up. It had been ritually placed on the tiny fold-out table in the boat on which he spent endless weekends and holidays with his father after his mother died, because his father had not been able to bear being in the house without her.

  He selected a bottle of Macon Villages from the temperature-controlled wine cabinet above the refrigerator, unscrewed the cap and poured himself a glass. He took a sip, swilled it around his mouth, savouring the taste before swallowing a mouthful. He took the omelette pan from a cupboard and began to cook.

  He drank the Burgundy with the omelette. He washed up his plate, knife and fork and swept the remains of the lettuce into the compost bin. In the three periods in which he had shared his living space with a woman – including his ex-wife – he had found that they, not he, left dirty plates in the kitchen sink, scattered clothes about the bedroom, abandoned damp towels on the bathroom floor. The last woman in his life, Anna, a librarian in Silkeborg, had tried to persuade him to move in with her. To live in her cosy house with its fat cushions and swagged curtains and scented candles everywhere. But on the occasions when Tobias had stayed there he had felt suffocated. He preferred the spareness of his own flat. She had called him a dried up stick.

  He poured himself a second glass of wine and carried it out to the balcony. He could just about afford the mortgage on the flat. It was worth it to be right in the centre of Aarhus. To see, over the rooftops, the cathedral spire soaring into the sky. To see below him in the space between the back of his own building and the next street, the neat gardens and patios of his neighbours with their budding lilac and cherry trees, their bicycles and their pots of tulips, his ground-floor neighbour’s lily pond with its miniature fountain spouting from dawn to dusk. Thank God it was Sunday night. On Fridays and Saturdays there was always noise from the bars and cafes in the surrounding streets, sometimes making him nostalgic for the student life he had briefly glimpsed and left behind.

  He watched his neighbour, Hilde, in the flat across from his balcony, moving about in her kitchen. He wondered if it was too late to telephone and invite her over for a nightcap. But that usually meant sex and he was enjoying being alone. He wanted to sip his wine and listen to music. Hilde was energetic and fun. She was married to the first officer on a cruise ship who was away from home for weeks at a time. She had exchanged glances with Tobias when they met in the street and, after several such encounters, had rung his doorbell on the pretext of asking him to help mend a fuse. He was both taken aback and aroused by the blatancy of her approach. She quickly abandoned any pretence of not being competent with fuses. She was more than competent in bed as well but she talked a lot and she liked Bruce Springsteen. Tobias was in the mood for something ordered and serene. Bach preludes, a Haydn sonata or a fugue by Arvo Part. Something cool and cerebral but full of beauty too. He stepped back into his flat. His phone rang. He picked it up and saw his daughter’s number on the screen.

  “Hi, Agnes. What’s up?”

  “Hi Dad. I saw you on the news. Another Tollund Man, maybe? Hey, that would be exciting.”

  “Well,” Tobias sat down again at the table. “It’s a bit early to say. It’s not like Tollund Man. It’s a mummified foot and a pile of bones. We’ve no idea how long they’ve been there. We’ve sent the lot to a forensic anthropologist.”

  “The fat guy who was interviewed?

  “That’s the one.”

  “And you really have no idea how long the bones have been there?”

  “Not really.”

  “It might be the work of a serial killer.”

  Tobias laughed. “You’ve been watching too much television, Agnes.”

  “Well I hope the poor soul had some love in his or her life, whenever it was.”

  Tobias thought that was a good sentiment.

  “So what else have you been doing, Dad?”

  “Well, I’ve met granny Inge’s fiancé, Norbert Fisker.”

  “What’s he like? Aunty Margrethe thinks he’s after granny’s money.”

  “He doesn’t need it. He’s rich. He has a lot more money than granny Inge,” said Tobias. “He seems nice. He doesn’t take himself too seriously. He’s sixty-five but he still goes to work every day. He has a waste disposal company.”

  “Landfill or incineration? How much recycling?”

  “I’ve only just met the guy, Agnes.”

  There was a pause.

  “I’m going on a protest tomorrow, Dad. I thought you should know.”

  Tobias sat up. “What kind of protest? Where? What about.”

  “They’re building a wind farm on the west coast.”<
br />
  “So what’s the problem? You approve of alternative energy.”

  “They’re cutting down a forest to build it. There’s no sense in that.”

  Tobias thought there was probably a lot of economic sense in it, but he didn’t say so.

  “Magnus says there are other sites. They don’t need to cut down the forest. I just wanted you to know in case the police got heavy,” said Agnes.

  “They won’t get heavy if you stay within the law.”

  Tobias heard a derisive snort.

  “The police get heavy whether or not we stay within the law,” said his daughter.

  “What exactly are you planning to do on this protest?” Tobias was immediately sorry he’d asked. If she were planning anything illegal he would have to warn the police in Esbjerg.

  “Sometimes I wish you weren’t a policeman, Dad,” said Agnes.

  “This has nothing to do with my being a policeman,” Tobias said sharply. “It has everything to do with being lucky enough to live in a democratic country under the rule of law. It’s the duty of every citizen, and that includes you, Agnes, and your boyfriend, to uphold the law. I have to warn you not to break it.” To his own ears, he sounded like a prig.

  After a few moments of silence Agnes said, “We’re not breaking any laws. Unless climbing tress is illegal.”

  Tobias groaned.

  “Don’t worry, Dad. I’m not going to fall out of a tree. I’m going to be holding a banner at the bottom of a tree. Magnus is going to be in the tree. In fact he’s there already. He’s spending tonight in a tree in case they try to sneak the loggers in early.”

  “I bet it’s cold and windy and you wish you were here.”

  “It’s cosy in my tent,” said Agnes. Tobias could hear the smile in her voice.

  “It’s not very cosy up a tree,” he said drily.

  “Magnus won’t be up the tree all night.” Agnes chuckled. “Aksel’s here. He’ll take his turn. And there’ll be others tomorrow.” Her voice changed. “You don’t like Magnus, Dad. You don’t like that he’s an activist.”

  “I just wish he was a bit more active in looking for a job.”

  There was a pause. Tobias said in a more casual tone, “No lectures this week?”

  “It’s half-term, Dad. Don’t you remember?”

  Tobias smacked himself on the forehead. “Of course it is. Any chance of seeing you?”

  “That ought to be the other way round, Dad. Last time we had a date for lunch you were called away, remember?”

  “Sorry,” said Tobias. “It’s the job.”

  “We’ll probably be here all half-term anyway,” Agnes said. “You might even see us on television.” She laughed, and rang off.

  Tobias picked out a CD of Arvo Part and selected Fur Alina. Two minutes of perfection. He concentrated on each limpid, bell-like note. One hand, then the other hand, then two together. He’d played it for Hilde once. She had found it boring. When the last note sounded, he switched off the CD player and sat for a while picturing his brave, blonde idealistic daughter, wrapped up in a parka – he hoped she was wrapped up in a parka, it was probably blowing a gale on the west coast – standing vigil over a tree.

  Monday: Week One

  4.

  Chief Superintendent Jens Larsen, Head of Special Investigations, and the prosecutor, Renata Molsing, were examining photographs spread across a table in Larsen’s office, when Tobias and Eddy Haxen arrived for a briefing.

  Larsen looked up from the photographs. “So what do we know about this bog body?”

  Not at lot so far,” said Tobias. “Forensics are still at the crime scene.”

  “If it is a crime scene,” said Eddy. “We might end up sending the bones to a museum.”

  “Well, at least we’ve shortened the process by giving them to Johann Brix,” said Larsen. “He’s good. We called him in to help after a multiple pile up a few years ago. He can send the remains to the museum if it turns out they’re from the Iron Age.”

  “It only becomes a matter for us if the death occurred within a time frame which means the perpetrator could still be alive,” said Renata.

  “So we could be looking at a ninety year old perpetrator? Assuming the death wasn’t accidental,” said Eddy.

  “That split skull didn’t look like an accident to Harry Norsk,” said Tobias. “Nor to me.”

  “We could be looking for killer who’s been dead for a thousand years,” said Eddy.

  “Let’s wait to hear what Brix has to say,” said Renata Molsing.

  “In the meantime, I suggest you get back out there, Lange,” said Larsen. “And keep me informed. Right?” He nodded his dismissal.

  Katrine Skaarup was at her desk in the Investigations Room.

  “So where do we begin?”

  “We’re waiting to hear how old the bones are,” said Eddy.

  “We could start searching for missing persons in the area,” said Katrine. Her face shone, she flexed her fingers as though ready to strike the keys of the computer and summon up names, dates and circumstances.

  “We could be wasting our time,” said Eddy. “I’ve got a report to write up for Renata.” He settled himself at his desk.

  “I’m going back to Roligmose,” said Tobias. He glanced at Katrine. Her face had fallen. “But it’s a good idea to be up to date on missing persons, just in case. Start ten years back and make a list.”

  He thought he might enjoy being around Katrine for a while. Before her enthusiasm turned to cynicism and she lost the romantic notions he guessed had made her want to be a detective.

  The sky was the colour of slate when he drove out of the city. Drops of rain spattered the windscreen. By the time he bumped down the track into the bog, a drizzle had become a downpour. He cursed a climate that even at the end of April could turn from sunshine and a light breeze to sleet and high winds in the space of a day. He parked between the forensics van and a solitary police car. The officer in the car lifted his head from the newspaper. Tobias gestured to him to stay where he was. The officer looked relieved. He returned to his newspaper.

  Tobias pushed the car door open against the wind. Rain whipped his face. He put his head down, pulled up the hood of his jacket and squelched across the rough grass towards the tent. The model airplanes had vanished. The sides of the tent ballooned in the wind. Just as well they’d got it up when the weather was calm. He was glad to get inside it.

  “Hi, Tobias.” The head of the forensics team, Karl Lund, raised a hand in greeting.

  “I reckon we’ve got every bone and fragment of bone,” he said. “As well as this lot.” He pointed to a row of see-though plastic bags on the trestle table. “We found fragments of metal and four metal buttons, a silver buckle and a bracelet which feels like it could be bronze or silver. We’re still looking,” he nodded at two white-suited technicians on their knees combing through the grasses.

  The rain stopped beating on the canvas. The wind softened. Tobias looked around. The ground sloped almost imperceptibly. A trickle of water had entered the tent. He followed it with his eyes to where it ran out under the opposite flap.

  “The aerial photos showed a pond,” he said.

  “Yeah. About ten metres away,” said Karl. “It’s cordoned off. We haven’t searched there yet.”

  “I’d like to take a look at it.”

  Karl handed him overshoes and orange plastic gloves. “At least it’s stopped raining.”

  He led Tobias to a small oval of dark water concealed by tall reeds and grasses.

  “It’s unlikely a body would be dumped on open ground, however remote,” Tobias said. “I wonder if this pond was bigger at one time.”

  He crouched beside a tiny stream trickling through black earth into the pond.

  “We can drag the pond,” said Karl.

  “Hardly worth it until we know what we’re dealing with. I was just curious.” Tobias stood up. His foot dislodged a section of turf. He looked down and saw a thin round object, lik
e a coin or medal.

  “Have you got tweezers, Karl?”

  Karl pulled a plastic bag from his pocket, ripped it open and handed Tobias a pair of tweezers.

  “Looks like you’ve found another specimen for Professor Brix,” he said.

  Tuesday: Week One

  5.

  Johann Brix had analysed human remains in the aftermath of airplane crashes, factory explosions and exhumations. He had identified bodies from bone and tissue fragments. He’d spent time at the famous Body Farm in Knoxville, Tennessee, studying how bodies decompose at different rates in different settings. He was the author of several research papers on tissue and bone rot in dry and damp conditions. But he had never examined human remains from the Iron Age. When he took delivery of the mummified foot and the bones and artefacts found in the bog, he felt a rising sense of excitement.

  He began with an inventory of the bones. By one o’clock in the morning he had assembled a near complete skeleton. He began work again at eight o’clock. When Tobias and Harry Norsk arrived at his laboratory on Tuesday afternoon, he was using a ruler to measure the distance between the hip bones.

  “Male,” he pronounced. “Female hips are wider. I thought he’d turn out to be male because of the height. I measured the skeleton at 1.61 metres. If I add 10 or 11 centimetres to account for the missing tissue and muscle that makes him 1.71 or 1.72 metres tall. Not especially tall by modern standards, but tall in Roman times.”

  “Age at death?” asked Tobias.

  “Probably between eighteen and twenty-eight. See where the clavicle, the collarbone, is joined to the sternum, the breast bone?”

  Harry and Tobias leaned forward to look.