Request for Assistance A-19/01
SorǾ police are still looking for Nicholas Torp-Petersen, aged 17,
who disappeared fro SorǾ Acadey on Thursday...
Have they made up?
- Who? - Fischer and Ida.
- Did they have a quarrel? - Didn't you know?
He told her that she'd screwed her way to a promotion.
I'd have been bloody angry if you'd told me that.
No.
Why "no"?
Hello!
Suspected crime scene, Sorø Academy 12.32, Tuesday October 30
Steffen, do you mind telling me what's going on?
That guy's a clairvoyant.
Clairvoyant?
He's from Unit One.
He says Nicholas is down there.
- Claus Ernst, Ringsted Police. - Hello. LaCour, Unit One.
- You know this place well? - Yes, I went to the academy.
And what about Nicholas?
I heard about him on the radio.
So...
It was just on an impulse that you came down here?
You could say that.
Steffen, get Forensics and seal off the damn place.
And now you'll arrest yourself?
Arrest?
Well, at least you'll ask yourself
to account for your movements since Thursday, won't you?
UNIT ONE
- They asked LaCour for an alibi? - He was cleared.
He'd been showing off the baby to the grandparents.
Episode 29
He's been with family since Wednesday.
- They've asked for assistance? - Yes.
- I'll get the others. - You've read this, of course?
- What? - Well...
It's just... a column in The New y ork Ties
about my lecture last month.
"The highest detection rate in the world - the special force."
Us! The world's best detection rate.
That's great.
They thought I'd said 19,
but I said 90% of all homicides get solved.
That made them bloody sit up and take notice!
Yes? Ulf Thomsen.
Yes. Hi.
Yes. I'd be happy to.
Yes, okay, I'll find it.
Yes, fine. So long.
So, TV stations read The New y ork Ties.
Kurt Strand, asking me to appear on Profile tonight.
Nice, Ulf.
Think they had any idea we'd do so well
when they started Unit One 75 years ago?
75 years!
No, I guess they didn't.
No, keep it. I've got more copies.
- See you. - Bye, Ulf.
Sorø Academy 15.12, Tuesday October 30
Fancy keeping us for over three hours.
- That's how it is. - It's not.
I went straight to the body. It is bloody strange.
Yes.
But it should have been okay
once I said I'd been with you since Wednesday.
Well, come here. We're going home.
- Take care. - I will.
Have a good trip. Bye, little Marie.
Hi, Ingrid.
Well... You're back again.
Yes.
- Should we go and have a look? - Yes.
I heard church bells just after the report about the boy
in the middle of the news.
I'd heard them thousands of times as a boy.
At the same time, I saw a small place near the church
where the gravestones are kept.
There was...
a very strong sense that something evil had happened.
He insisted on being found.
But he was killed down by the old gravestones.
Then the body was thrown over the wall into a waiting barrow.
And the grave...
that he's lying in was also prepared in advance.
Ingrid, he's dangerous.
- Chief Constable Claus Ernst. - Ingrid. Hi.
If you'd sent that guy down last Thursday
it would have saved us four days' work.
What?
Next time, send him here before anything happens.
Yes. Well?
For now? He had his throat slit.
- This was in his pocket. - We'll check it.
The mail came after you left. It's from your father.
Make sure you finish before Saturday.
Well...
Okay... 50,000. That's not too bad.
Something wrong?
My mum won't come if Dad's new wife comes.
She won't let him come alone. He's let the women decide.
My dad's not coming.
Who will walk me down the aisle?
Gaby... we'll manage.
I don't want it.
Why give me 50,000? We agreed on 30,000.
Yes, but...
We'll manage, right?
Yes. But 50,000...
- Drop my bag off at the hotel? - Yes.
Briefing 21.32, Tuesday October 30
Nicholas Torp-Petersen, aged 17.
Described as a quiet, shy boy. Not stupid,
but neither could he brag about his intelligence.
- Has anyone rung his relatives? - His parents live in Singapore.
They'll be back in a few days.
Why so long?
His mother's been afraid of flying since September 11.
His sister Caroline's in London. She's arriving tomorrow.
What about his mobile?
The school began a search on Friday morning
when they discovered him missing.
Friday evening, we launched a major search
but as we're not equipped with crystal balls
it was ordinary, hard police work...
Dogs, helicopters and wasted time.
Regarding the mobile,
the last call he got was on Thursday night.
Where from?
Had you let me finish,
I'd have said from a garage outside Sorø.
- Have you been there? - Of course we have.
The call was made from a payphone near the toilets.
Nobody saw a thing.
Okay. Right.
Fischer deals with interviews. LaCour, the crime scene.
- All reports to Gaby, and IP... - The rest.
Let's start.
Start? Can't that guy just find the killer in his crystal ball?
Because we're well liked in the various police districts,
the cooperation is excellent.
In the glowing report in The New y ork Ties
it says Denark has the highest detection rate in the world...
- Why's that? - A hoicide is a hoicide.
Our colleagues in the States get...
Say a black prostitute is urdered...
they get a week to solve it.
Here we have, in all odesty, Unit One.
A small, independent enclave, working autonomously.
Right. But "autonomously" and "enclave" sounds as if
you're outside the law.
No, not at all. We answer to the chief of police.
But y point is, we keep going.
We keep going till we get our an or woan
regardless of who was killed or the cost involved.
But one explanation for the good results could be that technology...
Good evening, Ulf. It's Palsby.
I know you can't answer now because you're on TV.
You're handling it well.
But would you drop by my office tomorrow?
Shall we say 8.15? Bye.
To wrap up.
In Denark we don't have serial killers, do we?
No.
Simply because you catch the killer before he kills again?
- Is that it? - Yes.
Thanks for being on Profile.
And aybe for the existence of Unit One...
He's laying it on a bit thick.
Sour grapes, eh?
- I'll go and talk to Høst. - Yes.
- Can you take this up? - Yes. Bye.
Hi, Jan.
Have a look at this.
- Yes? - It's very interesting.
- What's interesting? - Have a look.
Yuk!
Yes.
He enjoyed it. Remember ripping the legs off a spider?
- Please! - I do. I even ate them.
Do you mind?
Did he die instantly or did he feel it all?
- What's that? - Photos of the autopsy.
Any reason to exclude me?
No, you're welcome.
He didn't feel anything. Look at that frostbite.
The killer chloroformed him.
Isn't that interesting?
- Like with the Red Indian? - Yes.
- What about the pubic hair? - It was cut off.
- Was he raped? - At least he was spared that.
Something else I shouldn't know?
Who's responsible for this investigation?
Can you keep a secret?
- What? - We do have a serial killer.
- Ulf just said the opposite. - He's known as the Red Indian.
He cuts the pubic hair off his victims.
So you reckon we're looking for... the Red Indian?
- Yes. - There's every indication.
Impressive. I've not been here before.
There's nothing wrong with the surroundings.
Up this way.
I didn't know him at all.
He was only here three months.
Here you are. This is it.
Thanks.
I could have expelled him, had I known.
Bloody hell!
Yes.
SEWER CUNT
Yes, Henriette, but I'm investigating a murder.
Yes... Yes. I have to go now.
No, I think Gaby would prefer to go out for a quiet dinner...
No, of course not.
Coming, Ingrid? We're leaving.
Henriette, I really must go. Bye.
Thanks.
She asked Helene too.
She has the best excuse... breastfeeding.
Is she just as bloody irritating with Ida?
Who?
Henriette. She's arranging Gaby's hens' night.
What does that have to do with Ida?
She's part of the set-up. Don't you talk?
Yes, I think we do.
Do you talk about buying my flat?
We talked about it yesterday. It seems okay.
Ida's dad is checking it.
So you're arranging Gaby's hens' night? Lovely!
No, Henriette is.
I've got rollerblades
and I can get cardboard, paper and marker pens...
Hi.
You've spoken to his classmates?
That's right and... it's the same old story.
Nobody really knew him.
He didn't really have contact with anyone. He kept to himself.
Maybe he hadn't met anyone with the same interests.
This was on his wall.
Here... A man is sedating his victim.
Here his throat is slit.
The victim is raped.
And here...
He's cutting off the pubic hair.
The Red Indian's modus operandi.
Trine wrote this when we thought the Red Indian was in Bornholm.
We found it in his desk.
The missing pictures... are here.
Yes... To complete his work, he has mounted their pubic hair
as a finishing touch.
One could get the idea
that the Red Indian was Nicholas Torp-Petersen, aged 17.
He'd need to have started at 14.
Okay.
Except that Boysen just told us that Nicholas was chloroformed.
He had his throat slit and his pubic hair cut off.
- Is that true? - That's what he said.
Yes.
So we have a body which is either the Red Indian
or was killed by him.
- Nicholas wrote those names? - Yes.
I bet the Red Indian killed him.
Why?
Well, look at these drawings.
And look at his writing.
It's so bad, he couldn't have drawn these.
I'd like to talk to whoever drew them.
No good... It's impossible.
You must put in a gusset.
But it will look awful.
Henriette measured me. Try again.
- I'll pull my stomach in. - Do that.
No, I can't do it.
What if I don't eat until Saturday?
- Let's go for a run! - You can't lose it in four days.
Did you talk to her?
- Who? - Henriette.
- No. - Are you sure?
- Should I have? - No, it's just strange that...
What?
It doesn't matter, but...
I've arranged so many hens' nights,
it's odd nobody's thought of me.
- Are you upset? - No. Try again.
Come on.
- Damn! - My dad sent me a letter.
Letter?
Forget it. Try again.
Come in.
- Damn, you look good! - Thanks.
Shouldn't you get one?
- Two glasses? - Haven't you got a mug?
It's all right. I'm off to bed.
- Okay. - Good night.
- Your dress is undone. - You don't say!
Here you are.
Isn't it odd that the pubic hair under all the pictures
is the same colour when the girls are so different?
- Pubic hair varies, right? - As a man of experience?
- As a pathologist, okay? - Oh!
Brunettes, redheads and blondes are different?
Of course.
Then I have a job for you.
- Tomorrow, right? - Yes.
Chief of police, Copenhagen 08.30, Wednesday October 31
- Hi, Ulf. - Hi.
Tuesday, then. Okay, fine.
- Thanks for coming. - Not at all.
- Weird, that LaCour thing, huh? - Yes... Alpha and omega.
- What? - Trusting your instinct.
Even though it may sound crazy, always check it out.
It's been my creed for 40 years. It may be part of our success.
You made that clear on TV, right?
Thanks. But I can't take all the credit.
- 70 years is a long time. - Yes.
Perhaps it's time to be creative.
- You always have to be. - Happy to hear you say that.
It's important to stay ahead.
The Mafia from the East, the threat of terror...
Understand what I'm saying?
No.
The chief of police is on vacation.
Before leaving, she'd commissioned an enquiry
and she agrees with the conclusion.
And so do I.
Tell you what, Ulf. No point pulling punches.
We're folding Unit One.
What?
Take it easy. Nobody's getting fired.
It's just restructuring.
You'll all be kept busy.
Homicide will be incorporated into Forensics.
Other units will be under the Investigations Centre.
I can't remember exactly, but it's all here.
Take a look when you get a chance.
You want to split up Unit One?
- When will this happen? - It's all there. On March 1.
March 1?
In four months, Unit One will be erased from the map?
You make it sound so drastic.
- Is that wrong? - No.
It's actually quite precise.
At this point, keep it to yourself, okay?
You can stuff that!
I've made people work even on Christmas Day.
I didn't ask for this information!
And I'll tell... whoever I bloody like!
Have a nice day, Ulf.
Now he'll be impossible.
They're mentioning the praise in The New y ork Ties.
Time to apply for extra funds.
While management loves you.
- Oh, this is where you're hiding! - Hi.
Hi, I'm Henriette, Ingrid and Gaby's friend.
I know you don't have time. It's okay.
Just a small favour. Can you get Gaby to go to...
the jogging track by the lake... here... at 5 o'clock?
Then we'll roll up in police uniforms
and arrest her.
5 o'clock?
Yes. When do you knock off?
Yesterday it was midnight.
She should finish early today. Is that okay?
- The local inn? - Yes, for the male strippers.
So... see you.
Nicholas' sister Caroline is here. She's distraught.
So we've put her up in a room.
Must you question her?
Yes. She's the only one who knew Nicholas.
Perhaps if she gets a chance to rest until... 3 o'clock?
We'll get her professional help.
Okay. Fine.
I'll ring and ask Helene.
Crime scene 09.55, Wednesday October 31
LaCour!
LaCour?
What happened?
I'm all right.
Thief.
- Thief? - Thief.
Nicholas...
stole something from his murderer.
Can you see any more?
I don't think I bloody dare.
"Hair... dresser". No.
"The hairdresser", then.
No.
"Die".
No.
It's Nicholas' computer but we can't log on.
"Cut"?
Yes, try him.
These were in his wardrobe.
- They're well drawn, but... - But what?
I wouldn't have sex with their creator.
You wouldn't know.
- Know what? - What they're thinking.
That's true.
They're all about serial killers.
IP found the originals for this one... our case.
"Sewer Cunt". Sounds as if he likes women!
"Sewer Cunt". I'll try that.
No. I'll have to send it to the IT division.
That's good. Thanks.
Sewer Cunt's father is Ruben Petersen from Slagelse.
He designs baby clothes.
Damn. What's "Sewer Cunt" in English?
I had an English boyfriend.
Okay.
- I'm going to Slagelse. - Not alone.
- You don't know who's there. - I'll go too.
How do you spell "sugar"?
Twenty-seven...
Slagelse 11.51, Wednesday October 31
I'm not at home.
Hi, Ruben.
I'm Allan Fischer.
And I'm Thomas LaCour.
We're from Unit One.
- What do you want? - Just a chat.
- I'm in a bad mood. - Why?
Burt Williams has been executed.
- Who's Burt Williams? - How might one describe him?
One of America's greatest... serial killers.
Tell me, Ruben, did you do this?
Like it?
Where do you get your ideas?
I'm just depicting reality.
I'm incapable of all that idyllic piss
you fill people's minds with.
Loads of mindless shit.
Luckily you get around quite well.
Where were you last Thursday?
Cooking dinner.
Here.
A recipe exclusively for Sewer Cunt.
- It says "human flesh" here. - In large chunks.
If you can't find a supplier, you can use pork at a pinch.
Who was lucky enough to dine on it?
The clothes manufacturer and his disgusting bitch.
Can I have the name and number of the manufacturer?
Thanks.
Do you know Nicholas Torp-Petersen?
Nick? Known him for years.
This guy.
He looks like that?
I've never met him.
We emailed. He's one of our best writers.
- What did he do? - Don't you read the papers?
- That crap. - He's dead.
- How? - He was murdered.
- Then he'll soon be famous. - Why?
You must die young to be recognised for your talent.
What inspired him?
I just said. He was a genius. He had a direct line to God.
Ruben, you do know you're easy to find?
Meaning?
I think Nicholas got his storylines
from an actual rapist.
I think that's why he was killed.
Does he really exist?
You were right.
The pubic hair is from the same person.
- Nicholas' own? - Yes.
Why cut off his own pubic hair?
Why do some boys stuff rolled-up socks down their underpants?
Sexual fascination.
But the bloodstains on Nicholas' clothes are not his.
- The killer's? - Yes.
The picture's coming.
- Hello. - Hi, Ulf.
Well... How's it going?
Yes... we can hardly keep up. The pieces are falling into place.
He was in email contact with a prison inmate.
This guy.
Simon Friis.
Wasn't he a racing driver?
Yes, and a good one actually.
But he took risks at his rivals' expense.
He lost his licence
due to a fatal accident at Monza in Italy.
Then he set a new standard for drink-driving in Copenhagen
by doing 180 km/h and killing a girl at a pedestrian crossing.
But how a racing driver met a timid boy, we've no idea.
But they aroused each other by emailing their fantasies.
How?
Nicholas' fantasies are just that...
in decent prose, by the way.
While Simon's replies were clumsy but terrifyingly authentic.
Ruben Petersen's alibi checks out.
- Logged on? - Yes.
Your Red Indian.
- Sure? - Yes.
Here's what he sent Nicholas when Trine's story appeared.
"She's lying, that stupid cunt of a journalist.
"Was I in Bornholm last week?
"Someone's taking the credit. He won't survive that."
That's close to a confession.
You think he killed Nicholas?
Yes. He was released on Thursday.
If he was done for drink-driving, there'll be a blood sample?
Yes.
As I recall, they found some DNA on the girl from Maribo.
Damn right.
We'll compare it with that on Nicholas.
How the hell did they know each other?
- What did you want, Ulf? - To know how you were doing.
Okay.
But things are fine. Right, my girl?
Yes.
Has he been drinking?
Where the hell have I seen him before?
Interrogation of Caroline Torp-Petersen
Interrogation of deceased's sister 15.00, Wednesday October 31
regarding the murder of Nicholas Torp-Petersen.
October 31, 15.00 hours.
Chief of Homicide Ingrid Dahl present.
Caroline, you're Nicholas' older sister?
And you live and work in London?
You haven't been back for two years?
No.
I know this is hard for you,
but...
you should know it was an unusually violent murder.
- I understand. - Okay.
We found some stuff in Nicholas' room
that doesn't correspond with the timid boy
we thought Nicholas was.
I know.
In a strange way, he's always had it in him...
from when we were small.
He was completely obsessed with dissecting animals...
Live snails, frogs and things.
Do you know if Nicholas knew this man?
Why are you showing me this?
- He didn't kill him, did he? - We don't know.
- But you think so? - Yes.
You knew him?
Simon proposed to me. We were going to be married.
What happened?
I grew scared of him.
- Did you leave him? - Yes.
Just before an important race in Italy.
Nicholas was there too.
He worshipped Simon.
I signed for a bill at a restaurant.
I accidentally put Simon's pen in my pocket.
He went completely berserk. I'd seen it so many times before.
Just after I broke up with him, he rammed into another driver...
on the track.
In cold blood.
That's why I've been hiding in England.
He said he'd kill me.
If he couldn't have me, nobody else would.
Will it ever stop?
Yes.
- When? - I promise.
This is Helene. She'll help you.
Hello.
Come with me. We'll find somewhere cosier.
Hi, Ernst, it's Ingrid. Could you come over?
Bye.
Ulf, it's only 2.30.
Yes... I've given myself the day off.
What's wrong? You look terrible.
Will you marry me?
No, Ulf. Sorry, but...
- You don't mean it. - I do.
No.
I've thought of you... every day since you said it was over.
Why do you think I said it?
I know.
I couldn't leave her.
Remember how we said goodbye?
Why not?
When we parted, I thought... the whole world had fallen apart.
And when Buller left me...
I had no idea where to go... me, an old woman.
Until I realised...
that the one woman who missed me most,
actually... was the one who I missed the most.
You understand?
They want to shut down Unit One.
The chief of police didn't dare tell me. She's on holidays.
And that report is two months old.
We've sat in meetings with her knowing.
- Have you seen Christian? - No.
- You haven't? - No.
Are you a complete nitwit?
You know the head of the justice committee.
Isn't it silly not to make use of it?
- But... - Anyone else would do that.
Yes, of course.
Can you bear to hear that you're a hell of a lovely woman?
Yes, I can.
You look happy.
What's that?
He is Caroline's ex. He's been after her for years.
It's his DNA on Nicholas and the girl from Maribo.
Impressive... no less. Impressive.
- Thanks. - In that case I should...
We must start a full-scale search of all districts, airports...
Ernst! Let me remind you he's dangerous.
He's raped and killed women, and killed a man.
He's unpredictable.
- What about Henriette? - What about her? I don't know.
I said Gaby would be on that path at 5.
She knows I can't run. Could you do it?
Nope. It's a girls' thing. I won't do it.
You can run part of the way and then...
I won't do it. I won't.
How can I make her go for a run? Lie to her?
She deserves a good hens' night.
I won't do it.
- I don't get it either. - No.
Shut down Unit One? What age are we living in?
Where's the continuity, the sense of history?
Aren't you successful? A very high detection rate...
But?
I've talked to the minister. He agrees completely.
If one considers value for money,
your popularity with the public, the press, TV...
Hi.
Well?
Still, the minister doesn't think he can interfere
with administrative details.
The responsibility lies with the chief of police. I'm sorry.
Yes... That's not much help.
Don't take it personally, eh?
Of course you're out of sorts right now.
Unit One is your life's work.
We all understand.
But we must look to the future.
When you look at that report, you'll find some substance in it.
Yes, you're probably right.
Of course I am. We mustn't tilt at windmills.
Christian...
You're a born politician... not to be trusted.
IP...
Please, you're sitting on...
What were you saying?
I have a problem I'd like you to help me solve.
My dad isn't coming to my wedding so...
would you walk me up the aisle?
Would I?
Yes, but what do I wear?
It doesn't matter. I'll iron the shirt.
Come off it. I'll do that myself.
Listen, Ingrid...
A constable at Copenhagen Central Station
saw Simon pick up a ticket for the train to Hamburg at 16.41.
- He must be stopped. - Really? No kidding!
- Good. - Shall I go?
You wouldn't catch him even if you'd left yesterday.
The police have cordoned off the station.
Good.
I shouldn't take credit for the handling of this case.
I don't seem to have a direct line to such exalted levels.
But there's a press conference in 15 minutes.
- Would you object if... - No. You're welcome.
We're almost done.
Yes.
- Should we go for a run, Gaby? - What?
I thought we could go for a run. I got your gear.
I don't get it. Why?
Fischer wants to talk to you.
- Let's do it. - Yes, okay.
Hi, Johnny.
Yes, I think we've just finished. Come and get the mobile office.
What happened?
She broke down. I had to hospitalise her.
She started talking about her life with Simon...
It made my flesh crawl!
Well...
- Take care. - Bye.
- Shall we go? - Yes. This way.
Fischer, what did you want to talk about?
Yes, well...
- Listen, I think... - Yes?
I think that...
Bloody hell!
- What happened? - I twisted it.
- Are you okay? - Yeah, yeah.
Listen, I'll limp back. You go on, all right?
- Shouldn't I go with you? - No, go on. I'll limp back.
- You needn't limp, Fischer. - Have a nice day.
Copenhagen Central Station 16.35, Wednesday October 31
I can hear you, Fischer!
Police!
He's here.
He's right here.
- Where's Gaby? - What?
- Where's Gaby? - She's with you.
To be continued...