The Scream of the Butterfly by Jakob Melander Read Free Book Online

Mogens was a wonderful son, and a rare politician with a remarkable career ahead of him . . .” She trailed off and reached out for the glass of water in front of her. Her hand was trembling. “My party has issued a press release, which should be with your editors as we speak. It will also be distributed as you leave. I’ll now hand you over to Chief Inspector Ulrik Sommer and Sanne Bissen, who is heading the investigation for the police. Go ahead.”
    Lars caught Sanne’s eye. She blinked and looked away, her cheeks flushed. It suited her.
    â€œThank you.” Ulrik coughed. “Sorry. As you’ll be aware, Mogens Winther-Sørensen, the mayor of Copenhagen, was found murdered last night at his home in Frederiksberg. A young woman was also found at the crime scene. She arrived from Hamburg yesterday, but we presume she’s not German.”
    An older man shouted from the back: “Is she a suspect? Was it a sex killing?”
    Lars shut his eyes. He knew he shouldn’t be surprised, but had they really not been listening to a word of what had just been said?
    Sanne stood up.
    â€œA witness saw the perpetrator escape. But I’d like to turn to another matter: we’ve just confirmed the murder weapon. Lights off, please.” The room went dark.
    Sanne tapped her phone and a photograph of the kitchen knife appeared enlarged on the screen behind them. A ruler at the bottom of the photograph indicated its measurements.
    â€œWe’ve found three sets of fingerprints on the knife. Mogens Winther-Sørensen’s, the woman with him, and a third person who isn’t a family member. We’re currently focusing our investigation on this third person.”
    â€œThe woman . . . you’re saying this wasn’t about prostitution?” asked a young man sitting next to Sandra Kørner. “Then what was she doing with the mayor?”
    â€œLike I said, we’ve found no forensic evidence to indicate sexual contact between the two of them, and —”
    â€œAs far as we  . . .” Sandra was speaking now. She made a sweeping gesture to include all of the journalists, “Gather, the deceased was found with his pants around his ankles, lying next to this woman.” Lars thought about the photograph that had been on the front page of every tabloid newspaper. He cursed himself for not having kept the photographer out of the apartment. Sandra Kørner continued: “Surely it’s no wonder that we have some theories about what might have happened?”
    Merethe Winther-Sørensen had been stirring restlessly in her chair during the latter part of the press conference. She couldn’t restrain herself any longer.
    â€œPlease may I?” But she didn’t wait for permission before she continued. “Like I said, my son’s death is a great loss for the family and for my party. But it’s also a great loss for Danish politics, which is why the party and I have decided to issue a reward of a hundred thousand kroner for information leading to the apprehension of my son’s killer. You can call the Radical Party in Copenhagen on the number specified in the press release with any information.”
    Lars closed his eyes. Anything but that. He peered at Ulrik, who was gritting his teeth and staring at the table. The whole thing was spinning out of control. Interns and students would be receiving information from the public and be their first point of contact at the very stage where it was of vital importance that calls were handled by professionals who knew how to listen. And, more importantly, ask the right questions. Merethe Winther-Sørensen had just done everything she possibly could to wreck the investigation. The questions rained down over the podium. The mucky heat made his shirt stick to his back.

OCTOBER 1999
    THE RED CROSS worker leads Mogens down the long, yellow corridor. The noise of children