* * *
THE CRY WAS unbearable. A persistent, helpless wail on the same frequency as screams of terror or a dentist’s drill. The worst sound in the world.
Detective Anette Werner rolled over and closed her eyes tight. Svend was with the baby; this was her chance to catch up on a little of the sleep she hadn’t gotten the night before. She put a pillow over her head to block out the noise. Tried to think of something she wouldn’t give up for a night of uninterrupted sleep but couldn’t come up with a single thing.
The crying mixed with Svend’s soothing voice in the next room. If only he would shut the door; maybe she should get up and do it herself? Actually, she needed to pee anyway. Before August 1, she would have ignored a full bladder and slept on, but now she could no longer rely on her bombed-to-hell forty-four-year-old body to do its part.
Anette pushed herself laboriously into a sitting position and swung her legs over the edge of the bed. When would this permanent hungover, jet-lagged state be over?
She got up slowly, every single joint in her body gradually resigning itself to the weight of those bones, which were no longer supported by strong muscles. Her breasts ached. She looked down and noted that she had once again forgotten to take off her shoes last night. Then she dragged herself like a zombie across the carpeted floor, past the baby’s room, out to the bathroom. How could Svend be so calm and optimistic? She locked the door and looked at herself in the mirror.
I look like the living dead, she thought, and sat down on the toilet. I wish I were dead.
That was more or less what she had thought a year ago when she found out she was pregnant. They weren’t going to have kids, had agreed on that ages ago. It just wasn’t for them. Instead, they would focus on being the world’s most adoring dog parents. Sometime around her fortieth birthday they had stopped discussing kids altogether. Ironically, that might have been why they had grown careless about birth control; the idea that sex could lead to parenthood had somehow slipped their minds. For a long time, Anette had just thought she was sick, that she had inherited her father’s bad heart and that her pulse was racing toward a bypass operation or a pacemaker. The doctor’s results from the blood tests had been a relief. And a shock.
I wish I were dead.
Apart from that, things had gone fine from there. Unexpectedly enough Svend had been overjoyed about the news and had never questioned the prospect of parenthood. The pregnancy had passed without a hitch. The first-trimester screening had looked great, the birth itself was quick and uncomplicated. She had defied the bad odds and beaten every conceivable record for first-time pregnancies for the over-forty set. But when her little baby girl was placed in her arms, neat and clean, and immediately started sucking, Anette hadn’t felt a thing. The bond, which was supposed to occur instinctively, had to be forced along, and the love was somehow hard to feel. For her, anyway.
For Svend it was different.
In the last two and a half months, his love for the new, tiny human being had only grown stronger and stronger. The look on his face when he held her! His eyes beaming with pride. Svend swam like a fish into family life and was already more a father than anything else. Anette was trying; she really was. If only she wasn’t so exhausted all the time.
She rested her elbows on her thighs, leaned forward, and put her forehead on her hands.
“Honey, are you asleep?”
Anette lifted her head with a jerk, her neck so tight she instantly felt a headache looming. Svend’s voice came from the hallway. He must be standing right outside.
“I’m peeing,” she said. “Can’t it wait, like, two minutes?”
She heard the irritation in her own voice; the same resentment she had often witnessed in other women, but rarely displayed herself. Now it was like she couldn’t get rid of it. She stood up, washed her hands, and opened the door.
“She’s hungry. That’s why she won’t settle. See, she’s rooting!” Svend gently lifted their daughter up and kissed her on the forehead before holding her out to Anette.
She reached out her arms and felt the already familiar spasm of fear that she would drop the delicate life on the floor. People who compare having dogs to having children don’t know anything, she thought, even though she had been exactly one of those until two and a half months ago. She looked at the crying baby in her arms.
“I miss the boys,” she said. “When are we picking them up?”
“The dogs will be fine at my mom’s for another couple of weeks,” Svend said, eyeing her with concern. “They go for walks in the forest three times a day. We need to focus on little Gudrun right now.”
“Stop calling her that! We haven’t agreed on a name yet.” Anette squeezed past her husband with a brusqueness that forced him up against the wall of the narrow hallway outside their bathroom.
“I thought you wanted her name to be Gudrun?”
“I’m going to go sit in the car and breastfeed her,” Anette said, heading for the front door. “And please don’t say anything. I just prefer it out there.” She slammed the door behind her, as hard as she could with the baby in her arms, jogged through the rain to the car, and eased the door open. The baby stopped crying, maybe because of the unexpected sensation of rainwater hitting her face.
The car smelled familiar and safe, of work and dogs. Anette made herself comfortable, pulled up her blouse, and put her daughter to a swollen breast. The baby latched on and started sucking right away, settling down. Anette exhaled heavily and tried to shake the persistent feeling of stress in her body. She gently wiped a raindrop off the baby’s forehead and stroked her soft scalp. When she lay like this, quiet and peaceful, parenthood felt good. It was the crying and the nighttime battles that were hard to cope with. And maternity leave. Anette missed her job.
She looked out at the house. Svend was probably vacuuming or tidying up. With a quick push she opened the glove compartment and pulled out her police radio. It was actually supposed to be sitting in its charging station at police headquarters, but Anette had not gotten around to dropping it off. It was only a matter of time before someone noticed the radio was missing and deactivated it, but she would enjoy listening to it until then. She checked to make sure the volume was low, so as not to scare the baby, and switched it on. The familiar static sound caused a rush of emotion in the pit of her stomach.
And we need an escort for the deceased at Old Market Square in Copenhagen. We’re going to transport the victim from where she was found to the trauma center for the autopsy. We’ll maintain barriers on Frederiksberggade, and around Old Market Square until the crime scene technicians from NKC East are done gathering evidence and effects.…
A murder at Old Market Square? Her colleagues from police headquarters would be investigating that. Anette winced, feeling sore. Why did something as natural as breastfeeding have to hurt so darned much?
We need to obtain surveillance footage from all the cameras in the area. An investigative team led by Investigator Kørner will be in charge of this.…
Investigator Jeppe Kørner, who worked in the police’s crimes against persons unit, section 1, better known as Homicide. Her partner.
Kørner and Werner, now without Werner. Werner, now without her job. Anette switched off the radio.