The Keeper of Lost Causes by Jussi Adler-Olsen

Author:Jussi Adler-Olsen
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub, azw3
Tags: Police Procedural, Mystery & Detective, Political, General, Suspense, Thrillers, Fiction
ISBN: 9780525952480
Publisher: Penguin
Published: 2009-01-02T00:00:00+00:00

He got Jonas Hess’s address from the receptionist, and a taxi dropped him in front of a tiny stucco house on Vejlands Allé, which had become silted up over the years with the detritus of society: old bicycles, shattered aquariums, and glass flagons from ancient home-brewing projects, moldy tarpaulins that could no longer hide the rotting boards underneath, a plethora of bottles, and all sorts of other junk. The owner of the house would be an ideal candidate for any one of those home makeover programs on TV. Even the most inept of landscape architects would be welcome here.

A bicycle lying in front of the door and the quiet growling from a radio behind the filthy windows indicated that somebody was home. Carl leaned on the doorbell until his finger started to ache.

Finally he heard from inside: “Cut that out, damn it.”

A ruddy-faced man displaying the unmistakable signs of a massive hangover opened the door and tried to focus on Carl in the blinding sunlight.

“What the hell’s the time?” he asked, as he let go of the doorknob and retreated inside. There was no need for a court order to follow him in.

The living room was of the type shown in disaster movies after the comet has split the earth in two. The homeowner threw himself onto a sagging sofa with a satisfied sigh. Then he took a huge gulp from a whisky bottle as he tried to localize Carl out of the corner of his eye.

Carl’s experience told him this man would not exactly be an ideal witness.

He said hello from Pelle Hyttested, hoping that would break the ice a bit.

“He owes me money,” replied Hess.

Carl was about to show the photographer his badge, but changed his mind and stuck it back in his pocket. “I’m from a special police unit that’s trying to solve mysteries about some unfortunate people,” he said. A statement like that couldn’t possibly scare anyone off.

Hess lowered the bottle for a moment. Maybe that was too many words for him to process, considering his condition.

“I’m here to talk to you about Merete Lynggaard,” Carl ventured. “I know that you sort of specialized in her.”

Hess tried to smile, but acid indigestion prevented it. “There aren’t many who know that,” he said. “And what about her?”

“Do you have any pictures of her that you haven’t published?”

Hess doubled over, trying to suppress a laugh. “Jesus, how can you ask such a stupid question? I’ve got at least ten thousand of them.”

“Ten thousand! That sounds like a lot.”

“Listen here.” He held up his hand with the fingers splayed out. “Two or three rolls of film every other day for two to three years—how many photos would that make?”

“A lot more than ten thousand, I would think.”

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