The Vanished

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The date was Wednesday 13 August. In Copenhagen the weather was bleak and windy. For Police HQ last night in the city centre had passed relatively peacefully: there had been a couple of bar brawls, an attempted stabbing resulting in only superficial injuries, a handful of drunks now sleeping it off in detention, a prostitute junkie OD’d and dead, but nothing serious or out of the ordinary. The worst had been a drunk driver tearing through the streets in the early morning in an attempt to shake off two patrol cars in hot pursuit. Eventually, he succeeded: with tyres squealing he had turned off Sydhavnsgade towards Sluseholmen doing about a hundred K, after which he had veered right along Ved Stigbordene, putting his foot down with a triumphant look back in the rear-view before plunging straight into the harbour. Now the divers were out looking for him, but the current was strong there, so the search was going to drag on. Everyone hoped he had managed to get out in time and had got himself back on to dry land, but it didn’t seem likely.

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