The Forgotten Girls Read online

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  My own dear mother

  I long for you

  If only you knew

  How they mistreat me

  Confined to bed

  Bound by belt and gloves

  Dear mother

  I long for you

  —Solborgs bog by Solborg Ruth Kristensen

  PROLOGUE

  GONE IS coming, Gone is coming! The words pounded in her ears as the rocks and branches of the forest floor tore her feet and shins. Her head was whirling, and fear made her heart constrict.

  She was headed for the only light she could see. Like an opening in the dark, the gleam of white pulled her deeper into the woods. Confused and scared, she stumbled through the trees, gasping for air.

  Her fear of the dark was like a choke hold around her neck. It had been that way ever since she was ordered as a young child to turn off the light and go to sleep. Or Gone would come and take her.

  Gone, Gone, Gone—the words sounded rhythmically, and she was too slow to prevent a branch from flicking across her cheek.

  Holding her breath, she stopped and stood as if frozen, completely surrounded by the saturated darkness from the trees that towered around her. Her legs were shaking from exhaustion. Frightened by the sound of her own crying, she slowly stepped forward, her eyes fixed on the light ahead. It blinded her when she looked straight at it.

  She didn’t know how she had gotten lost. The door had been ajar, and they hadn’t noticed her standing in the doorway. She had been overcome with joy when she felt the sun warming her and beckoning her, but that was hours ago and now everything had turned cold and unsettling.

  At one point hunger made her give up, and she sat down. Twilight fell while confusing fragments of images tumbled through her head until finally, unable to settle down, not knowing how long she had been sitting, she got back up. She wasn’t used to interrupted routines, and being alone was not good—especially not for the person left behind.

  She increased her speed, getting closer to the white light. It was pulling her in like an irresistible force, and she shut out the pain and the sounds—a skill she had mastered by now. She had never learned to handle the fear, however. She needed to escape the dark, or Gone would come and take her.

  She was getting close; only a little farther ahead through the last trees. Her heart slowed as she caught a glimpse of a moonlit lake. Just as she was about to slow down, the ground suddenly disappeared from under her feet.

  1

  FOUR DAYS. That was how much time had passed since the woman’s body had been discovered in the woods, and the police had yet to identify her. They didn’t have the slightest clue to go on, and Louise Rick was frustrated as she pulled in and parked by the Department of Forensic Medicine late Monday morning.

  The autopsy had started at 10 a.m., and it had been a bit later when the head of the Search Department, Ragner Rønholt, walked into the office and asked her to drive over and assist her colleague Eik Nordstrøm. Shortly before, Forensic Medicine had announced the decision to upgrade the autopsy to include homicide tests for DNA.

  It was Louise’s second week as technical manager of the Special Search Agency, a newly established unit of the department. Each year, sixteen to seventeen hundred people were reported missing in Denmark. Many turned up again and some were found dead, but according to the assessment of the National Police, there was a crime behind one out of five of the unsolved missing person reports.

  Her department was tasked with investigating these cases.

  Louise got out and locked the car. She didn’t quite understand why they needed her at the autopsy when Eik Nordstrøm was already there. He had been off on vacation the past four weeks, so he was the only person in the department that she hadn’t yet met.

  It was Louise who had gone through the list of missing persons on Friday afternoon and discovered that none of the missing women matched the description of the woman found in the woods. Perhaps Rønholt felt that she ought to be present for the examination of the deceased as well. Or it could simply be because she had come from the Homicide Department and had more experience dealing with autopsies than her new colleagues. The move was an unusual step down, to be sure, driven by an excruciating decision Louise had felt compelled to reach. She’d make the best of it, but she wasn’t thrilled to be here.

  It actually felt nice to be tasked with something she knew how to navigate after a week of unfamiliar territory. Louise hadn’t foreseen the hopeless feeling when starting a new job of forgetting people’s names and not knowing where to find the copier. She had spent the first week organizing the “Rathole.” Heck of a name, she thought, hoping that it wouldn’t stick—she was already growing a bit weary of her colleagues’ witty comments about the unused rooms at the end of the hall. The two-person office was above the kitchen and had been empty since Pest Control had dealt with a considerable rat infestation last spring. But the rats were gone now and no one had seen them since, her new boss assured her.

  Ragner Rønholt had done his part to get the new department in order, purchasing new office chairs and bulletin boards along with a number of plants. The chief superintendent had a personal preference for orchids and apparently felt that some greenery was what was needed to bring life into the unused office. That was all very well, Louise thought. But what really mattered to her was the fact that she sensed his commitment. Ragner Rønholt was clearly determined to get this new sub-unit up and running. They had been granted one year to prove that there was a need for the special unit, and Louise had everything to gain. If this new job did not become permanent, she risked ending up a local detective somewhere in the district.

  “You decide who you want on the team,” Rønholt had generously told her when he introduced her to the idea of heading the Special Search Agency.

  Since then she had considered at length who might be suitable prospects, and the final candidates on her list were all people with whom she had worked before. Experienced and competent.

  First on the list was Søren Velin from the Mobile Task Force. He was used to working all over the country and had good contacts at many local police stations. But he liked his current position, so Louise didn’t know how easily he would transfer; the question also remained whether Rønholt would match his current salary.

  Then there was Sejr Gylling from the Fraud Department. He was great at thinking outside the box. But he was an albino, sensitive to bright daylight, and she was not sure that she could stand always working behind closed curtains.

  Finally there was Lars Jørgensen, her most recent partner in the Homicide Department. They knew each other inside and out, and she felt comfortable working with him. There was also no question that this type of work would suit his temperament as well as his status as a single dad to two boys from Bolivia.

  So there were several promising candidates. Louise just hadn’t decided yet which one she should try to reel in first.

  OUTSIDE THE DOOR to the autopsy unit, she spotted Åse from the Center of Forensic Services. The slender woman was crouched next to her briefcase but stood up, smiling, as Louise approached.

  “We snapped a couple of photos for you before we really got started,” she told Louis
e after they said hello. “Just of the face, in case you decide to ask the public for help in identifying her.”

  “Yes, it looks like that might become necessary,” Louise conceded, even though pictures like that always caused a stir. Some people felt showing the faces of the deceased was too morbid.

  The forensic officer gestured toward the autopsy rooms, her green eyes serious.

  “The woman in there won’t be hard to recognize. That is, if she has any next of kin,” she said. “The entire right side of her face is covered by a big scar, presumably from a burn wound, which continues down onto her shoulder. So if she hasn’t already been reported missing, a picture is probably your best chance of discovering her identity.”

  Louise nodded but didn’t have a chance to answer because just then Flemming Larsen walked up along with two lab technicians. The tall medical examiner beamed when he spotted Louise.

  “Well, I’ll be—I guess we haven’t seen the last of you after all!” he said, hugging her. “I was worried that it was me you were trying to get away from when you suddenly changed departments.”

  “You didn’t really think that,” she retorted, smiling and shaking her head.

  Louise had known Flemming Larsen for the eight years she worked in the Homicide Department. She had been happy with her job and counted on staying there until her retirement, but with Willumsen gone and Michael Stig appointed new group leader, she had needed no time to think it over before accepting Rønholt’s offer.

  “Is Eik Nordstrøm in there?” Louise asked, tipping her chin toward the doors to the autopsy rooms.

  “Eik who?” Flemming looked at her with confusion.

  “Eik Nordstrøm from the Search Department.”

  “Never heard of him,” Flemming said. “But let’s head in there. We’ve completed the external part of the autopsy so I can give you a quick summary.”

  Louise was puzzled by the absence of her colleague. She held the door open for Åse before walking into the sluice room, where rubber boots and coats were lined up.

  “What do we know about this woman?” she asked as she put on a lab coat and hairnet.

  “So far, not much, except that it was a forest worker who found her on Thursday morning by Avnsø Lake on mid-Zealand,” Flemming answered, handing her a green surgical mask. “According to the coroner’s examination, she died sometime between Wednesday and early Thursday morning.

  “The police think she fell or slipped maybe fifteen feet down a steep slope and landed badly,” he continued. “The coroner’s examination was carried out in Holbæk on Friday, and the medical officer and the local police decided to get an autopsy done—because she died alone, of course, but also because we have no idea who this woman is. I decided to upgrade the autopsy so we’ll get the DNA.”

  Louise nodded in agreement. DNA and dental records were always the first steps toward an identification. It would have been nice if Eik Nordstrøm had bothered to show up, she thought, so one of them could follow up with the dentist right away.

  “I can say almost for sure that this is no ordinary woman we’re dealing with,” Flemming went on, explaining that this was clear from both the clothes she had been wearing before they began and the condition of the body. “Or at least it’s not a woman who has lived an ordinary life,” he corrected.

  “We’ve run her fingerprints through the system but with no matches,” Åse added. “I’m thinking she might be a foreigner.”

  Flemming Larsen agreed that this was a possibility.

  “It’s certainly clear that she has not participated in any kind of social life for many years,” he elaborated. “You’ll see what I mean.”

  The medical examiner led the way down the white-tiled hallway with autopsy bays side by side to their right. In each, medical examiners stood bent over steel tables with dead human bodies. Louise quickly averted her eyes when she caught a glance of an infant’s body on one.

  “When we scanned the deceased’s head before starting the autopsy, deep furrows in her brain were clearly evident,” Flemming elaborated. “Simply put, she had a large cavity system, so there can’t have been much going on in there.”

  “Do you mean to say that she was mentally handicapped?” Louise asked.

  “She certainly wasn’t the next Einstein.”

  2

  THE HOMICIDE ROOM was at the end of the hallway. This rearmost autopsy room was twice the size of the other bays to allow room for police and forensic officers, but the room was set up the same as the others: with a steel table, a wide sink, and bright lamps.

  Louise took out her Dictaphone and placed it where it could record Flemming’s examination of the body. The entire process was photographed by Åse, who was compiling the materials for investigation at the Center of Forensic Services. The samples that Flemming collected in the process would be passed on to the forensic geneticists upstairs.

  While Louise wouldn’t exactly say the woman lying on the table in the middle of the room was dirty, neither would she say she was well groomed. Her hair was overgrown and tangled and her nails long and jagged. Most striking was the large scar that covered one cheek and pulled down the eye a little, giving her face a sad expression.

  “The dentist was astounded, to put it mildly, when he finished his examination,” Åse said as she lifted her camera. “He said it’s extremely rare for him to see a set of teeth in such a state of neglect. They’re ruined from cavities and very crooked.”

  Flemming nodded. “She has apparently never had any kind of orthodontics, and there’s severe periodontal disease in the upper part of the mouth,” he said. “She already lost several teeth.”

  Louise grabbed a tall stool, which she moved closer as Flemming started the internal examination. The organs had been removed and transferred to a steel tray next to the sink.

  “We’re dealing with a full-grown woman but I’m having difficulty assessing her age.” He bent over the body. “As far as the distinctive scar is concerned, I feel certain that it has never been treated. It’s a violent injury from some time back. It may also have been a corrosive burn,” he added, pensively. “There hasn’t been any grafting, and it must have hurt like hell when it happened.”

  Louise nodded. That had been her initial thought as well.

  “She also has an old scar that could easily date all the way back to her childhood. At one point in time she broke a bone in her left forearm, which wasn’t treated.”

  The medical examiner looked up at them as he drew his first conclusion.

  “All of this tells me that she has been profoundly neglected throughout her life and that she was probably quite isolated.”

  Louise looked at the ruined soles of the woman’s feet and the cuts on her ankles. They clearly showed that she had gone barefoot for a long way.

  Flemming turned his eyes back to the woman’s body once more and continued the autopsy in silence for a short while until he noted that in falling down the slope, the deceased had broken seven ribs on her left side.

  “There’s about five pints of blood in the left pulmonary cavity,” he announced without looking up. “And the lung is collapsed.”

  After rinsing the internal organs and examining them one by one, he straightened up and told Åse that he was finished.

  “Aside from the broken ribs and the blood in the pulmonary cavity there’s no indication of violence,” he said, rolling off his skintight gloves and throwing them in the trash. “My immediate guess would be that she died of her internal bleeding.”

  He paused and thought for a moment before adding: “One detail that may be of interest is that I’m quite convinced the woman had intercourse shortly before her death.”

  Louise looked at him in surprise.

  “I believe there are remnants of semen in the vagina and on the inside of both thighs,” he explained, “but I need to get that confirmed, of course, so I’ll have to wait to get the test results back before I can say for certain. That could take about a week.”


  She nodded. It very well could when there was no indication that the death was the result of a crime. She got up and walked back to look at the woman’s disfigured face.

  “If I’m right, it could mean that perhaps she wasn’t that lonely after all.” Flemming walked over to call the technicians, letting them know he had finished.

  “But still lonely enough that no one has found reason to report her missing despite the fact that she’s been dead almost a week,” Louise said.

  She waited while Åse put away her equipment and then they said good-bye to Flemming, who had moved to the computer in the corner to dictate the details to his report.

  They left the autopsy room with a nod at the two forensic technicians, who had to close up the body before it was taken back to the cold-storage room in the basement.

  3

  ANGRY, LOUISE PHONED Ragner Rønholt, her fingers punching the keys. “There was no Eik Nordstrøm when I got to the Department of Forensic Medicine,” she began when Rønholt answered. “I don’t know how you usually do things but it’s a complete waste of the medical examiner’s time when the police aren’t there from the beginning. He had to repeat to me what they’d found out from the external part of the autopsy.”

  “Oh, what the hell,” Rønholt grumbled. “He didn’t show up?”

  “At least not where the rest of us were,” Louise answered, adding that she was heading back now.

  “Hold on a minute,” her boss said. “Just stay there. I’ll call you right back.”

  After he hung up, she took the stairs down to the foyer and stood for a bit, waiting for his call. Finally she lost patience and walked across the street to the car.

  She had just slid into the driver’s seat when Rønholt’s name started flashing on her phone.

  “Did you leave?”

  “I’m about to,” she answered, making no attempt to hide her annoyance that he had kept her waiting.