A Conspiracy of Faith Read Online Free PDF Page B

years,’ it says here. A groove going all the way around.”
    “So what?”
    “On the short finger, Carl.”
    “And?”
    “I remember from Department A, there was a body in the first fire that was missing its short finger altogether.”
    “OK. The correct term is little finger, Assad. Not short.”
    “Exactly. And in the next fire was a groove in the short finger of the man who was found. Just like here.”
    Carl’s eyebrows lifted demonstrably.
    “I think you should go up to the third floor and tell the chief what you’ve just told me, Assad.”
    Assad beamed. “I would never have seen it if it wasn’t for that photo being stuck to the wall in front of my nose all this time. Funny, don’t you think?”

    It was as though with her new assignment a chink had appeared in Rose’s impenetrable armor. At any rate, she did not begin by waving the documentin his face and shouting but instead removed his ashtray and placed the letter carefully, almost respectfully, on his desk.
    “It’s very hard to read,” she said. “It seems it was written in blood, which gradually absorbed dampness from the condensation and drew it into the paper. Besides, the capitals are poorly done. The heading’s quite clear, though. See how legible it is. It says ‘HELP.’”
    Carl leaned grudgingly forward and studied what remained of the capital letters. The paper may once have been white, but now it was brown. Its edges were in tatters in several places, with bits missing, presumably lost when the paper was unfolded after being in the water.
    “What tests have been done on it, does it say? Where was it found? And when?”
    “It was found off the Orkney Islands. Caught up in a fishing net. In 2002, apparently.”
    “In 2002! They weren’t in a hurry to pass it on, then.”
    “The bottle had been left on a windowsill and forgotten. That’s most likely the cause of the condensation. It’ll have been in the sun.”
    “They’re all pissheads in Scotland,” muttered Carl.
    “There’s a pretty useless DNA profile here. And some ultraviolet photos. They’ve done their best to preserve the letter. And look, here’s their reconstruction of the wording. Some of it can actually be read.”
    Carl looked at the photocopy and immediately regretted his hasty caricature of the Scottish population. Comparing the original letter with the attempt at reconstruction, the results were impressive indeed.
    He skimmed through the reconstructed wording. People have always been fascinated by the idea of sending a message in a bottle that might end up on the other side of the world, perhaps leading to new and unexpected adventures.
    But that wasn’t the case here. This was deadly serious. Nothing to do with boyish pranks, or a project by Cub Scouts on some exciting field trip. No blue skies and harmony here. The letter was almost certainly what it seemed to be.
    A desperate cry for help.

5
    The moment he left her, he left behind his day-to-day life. He drove the twenty kilometers or so from Roskilde to the secluded farm-laborer’s cottage that lay almost midway between their home and the house by the fjord. Reversed the van out of the barn and then parked the Mercedes inside. Locked the barn door, took a quick shower, and dyed his hair, changed his clothes and stood in front of the mirror for ten minutes getting ready. He found what he needed in the cupboards, then went outside with his bags to the light-blue Peugeot Partner he used on his trips. An undistinguished vehicle, neither too big nor too small, its mud-spattered number plates not noticeably obliterated at first sight and yet still almost illegible. It was anonymous, and registered in the name he’d used when purchasing the cottage. It suited his purpose.
    By the time he reached this stage, he was always thoroughly prepared. Research on the Internet, and in the registers to which he had collected access codes over the years, had yielded the information he required on potential victims.