Autorentext

Jussi Adler-Olsen is Denmark's #1 crime writer and a New York Times bestselling author. His books routinely top the bestseller lists in Europe and have sold more than twenty-seven million copies around the world. His many prestigious worldwide crime-writing awards include the Barry Award and the Glass Key Award, also won by Henning Mankell, Jo Nesbø, and Stieg Larsson.

Klappentext

**INSPIRATION FOR THE NETFLIX SERIES DEPT. Q

In the exhilarating penultimate thriller of the New York Times and #1 internationally bestselling Department Q series, the team must hunt for a nefarious criminal who has slipped under the radar for decades.**

On her sixtieth birthday, a woman takes her own life. When the case lands on Detective Carl Mørck’s desk, he can’t imagine what this has to do with Department Q, Copenhagen’s cold cases division since the cause of death seems apparent. However, his superior, Marcus Jacobsen, is convinced that this is related to an unsolved case that has been plaguing him since 1988.

At Marcus's behest, Carl and the Department Q gang—Rose, Assad, and Gordon—reluctantly begin to investigate. And they quickly discover that Marcus is onto something: Every two years for the past three decades, there have been unusual, impeccably timed deaths with connections between them that cannot be ignored, including mysterious piles of salt at the scenes. As the investigation goes deeper, it emerges that these "accidents" are in fact part of a sinister murder scheme.

Faced with their toughest case yet, made only more difficult by COVID-19 restrictions and the challenges of their personal lives, the Department Q team must race to find the culprit before the next murder is committed, as it is becoming increasingly clear that the killer is far from finished.

Leseprobe
1

MAJA

Tuesday, January 26, 1988

Twenty-six days into the new year, a harsh winter unexpectedly hit the country with biting winds and unusually low temperatures below zero. When Maja saw the blanket of ice spreading across the backyard of her residential complex, she sighed deeply. This was the third year in a row she would have to change to winter tires, but, because it was just after Christmas this time, there was no way she could afford to have her usual mechanic change them. Luckily, an auto-repair shop had placed attention-grabbing ads in the local newspaper for a lightning-fast, effective, and super-cheap tire service-and as the shop was even closer to her son's nursery in Sydhavnen, she decided to give them a try.

This was the reality of being a single mother. You had to make money stretch.

The owner of the combined auto-body-finish and repair shop, Ove Wilder's Auto, was masculine and trustable, an archetype of the sort of man who has grown up with his strong arms buried deep in a car engine. Maja gave a sigh of relief. Everything would be okay.

"We'll just check that all is in order," he said, and nodded to a couple of mechanics who were pointing a flashlight underneath a car raised on a lift.

"It should be ready in a couple of hours. We're a bit busy, as you can see."

No more than forty-five minutes later, she received a call at work.

That was nice and quick, she thought happily when she heard the voice of the man from the repair shop. But then her smile faded.

"I'm afraid this will be complicated," he said. "We noticed that the rear summer tires are worn unevenly, so we thought something was wrong with the wheel suspension. But the problem is actually with your rear-axle housing, or rear shaft, as some people call it. And that's a whole different story."

Maja clenched the receiver. "Rear shaft? But you can weld it, right?"

He sounded serious. "Let's see, but I'm afraid you shouldn't get your hopes up because it's very corroded. It probably needs to be changed."

Maja took a deep breath. She did not even dare think how expensive that would be.

"I'll pop by after I pick up my son from nursery," she said, and noted how her hand on the desk had started shaking. How was she supposed to pay? And how was she supposed to do without the car if . . . ?

"You'll pop by, you said? Okay, then. We close at five," he replied dryly.

Children in snowsuits are time-consuming, so Maja had her heart in her throat as she finally rushed off with Max in his stroller to the repair shop just after five. She let out a sigh of relief when she saw the open gate at the end of the street and her car protruding slightly from the shop with snow up to the hubcaps.

She had made it. "My car!" said Max. He loved that car.

When they passed the fence, she could see a man's legs sticking out from behind the vehicle.

Strange! Why is he lying on the ground in the snow in this weather? she just managed to think before a blast caused the windows of the building to blow up in a blizzard of glass. A moment later, a second explosion detonated in a wave that ripped the stroller with Max out of her hands and threw her several meters back.

When she finally managed to get to her feet, surrounded by flames and smoke, she saw that the repair shop in front of her had collapsed and that her car was lying upside down a few meters away from her.

With her heart racing, she spun around in all directions.

"Maaax!" she screamed, unable to hear her own voice.

Then there was yet another explosion.

2

MARCUS

Monday, November 30, 2020

Not a pretty sight, thought Chief of Homicide Marcus Jacobsen when he discovered his chief inspector slouched behind his desk with his eyes closed and mouth open.

He gently nudged the feet behind the table.

"I hope I'm not interrupting anything important, Carl," he said with a wry smile.

Carl seemed to be too drowsy to react to irony.

"Well, that's a question of definition, Marcus." He yawned. "I was just testing whether the distance from the edge of the desk to my feet was perfect."

Marcus nodded. The renovation of the basement under police headquarters had forced out his colleagues in Department Q, the cold cases division, and it was no exaggeration to say that he was not pleased to have the country's most anarchistic department moved so close to him out here in the new facility on Teglholmen in Sydhavnen where the Copenhagen Police investigation unit was now located. The combination of Carl M¿rck's grumpy face and Rose Knudsen's incessant ranting could drive anyone crazy. He wished that Carl and Co. could be sent back to the dungeon at police HQ, especially during this horrible year of the coronavirus, but Marcus knew that was not going to happen.

"Take a look at this, Carl." He opened a case file and pointed at an obituary ripped from the newspaper. "What do you make of this?"

Carl rubbed his eyes and read.

Maja Petersen,
November 11, 1960-November 11, 2020.

Sadly missed.

The Family

He looked up. "Well, the woman died on her sixtieth birthday but, apart from that, it doesn't mean anything to me. What's the deal?"

Marcus gave him a serious look. "I'll tell you what. It reminds me more than a little of the first time you and I saw each other."

"Really? That's an unfortunate association. The first time, you say? When was that?"

"January 1988. You were a sergeant at Store Kongensgade police station. I was an inspector in homicide."

Carl straightened up a little. "How the hell can you remember that? You didn't even know me in 1988."

"I remember because you and your colleague were the first to arrive at a burning auto-repair shop that had just been blown up, and I remember how you took care of a half-conscious woman whose child had been killed in the explosion."

Marcus's best investigator sat for a moment staring blankly. Then h…