by Lotte Hammer
Konrad Simonsen sat at the top of the hierarchy among the myriad of men and women involved in the operation. As division head it was his job to use his resources as effectively as possible and above all to ensure that all enquiries from the general public were quickly and competently followed up. Yesterday the case received big headlines with extra news broadcasts and long TV reports. This morning the front pages of the newspapers also had Jeanette Hvidt’s kidnapping as the lead story and the finding of Annie Lindberg Hansson’s corpse in Præstø as a titillating aside. The result was predictable. Any Dane with eyes in their head now recognised Falkenborg’s portrait and quite a few his white commercial van and its licence plate too, for which reason phones in police stations all over the country, and Police Headquarters in Copenhagen in particular, were abuzz with tip offs from well-intentioned citizens.
Arne Pedersen was in Simonsen’s office, waiting while his boss finished a phone call. It was the third time within half an hour, which was irritating but unavoidable. Simonsen could not isolate himself for the callers who were transferred to him were carefully screened and deemed to have very important information, which unfortunately was not always the case. Like now, for example, when with eyes rolled up he slammed down the receiver.
“Anything interesting?”
“No, not really. You’ll have to go down to the switchboard, Arne, and reorganise the system. This isn’t working. I think they’ve deployed some inexperienced people in one of the chains. They’re afraid to make decisions and are transferring calls to me just to be on the safe side.”
“I’ll do that as soon as we’ve finished speaking.”
“We haven’t even started, as far as I recall. What was it you had?”
“Two things. First look at this, I want to show you a video.”
Pedersen had rigged his laptop. Simonsen stood behind him and muttered, “I hope it isn’t long.”
“It will take thirty-two seconds.”
“Okay, what is it we’re looking at now?”
“A safe deposit box in Roskilde Savings Bank in Lejre, at ten minutes past nine yesterday morning. Are you ready?”
The film started and for a couple of seconds showed a room that was empty apart from rows of bank boxes. Immediately afterwards a man came on to the premises, unlocked the door of one box and carried out a drawer. Only when he turned around could you see that it was Andreas Falkenborg. He set the drawer on a table in the middle of the room and took out an object. Simonsen asked, “What is that he has?”
“You can see it more clearly in a bit, but it’s a Belphégor mask. Look there.”
He froze the image, and the demon’s gruesome face looked out at them from large, empty eyes.
“A technician has gone over it, the image quality is minimal, as you can see, but she improved it by putting several frames together, so that—”
“I don’t care what she did, Arne. What is the result?”
“That he made the mask himself, presumably as a child. As far as we can see, it’s constructed from cardboard and papier-mâché.”
“The original mask that he wanted to scare Agnete Bahn with in her time?”
“Yes, I believe so. It must be his dearest possession. It’s probable that he has used it every time he has committed a murder.”
“We have to assume that. Make sure there’s a man assigned to the bank. No, make that two, and plainclothes of course.”
“It’s done.”
“Excellent, and then I want Falkenborg’s picture distributed to all the financial institutions in Zealand and shown to every single employee, in case he rents or has rented another box. If he comes into a bank, they should react to it like a robbery attempt. But bear in mind, for heaven’s sake, that he shouldn’t be held, only shadowed. To start with, this is our best chance to find the girl.”
“This will produce a series of false alarms all over the country.”
“Not if the personnel know his appearance, but we’ll deal with that. Find a reasonable man to put on the case, and make sure he gets help from the police commissioner. She’s good at this sort of thing and will love giving us a hand in this situation, count on that.”
“I’ll go up and see if she’s free, as soon as we’re done.”
“First the switchboard, then the commissioner, and if she’s not around, get her out of the meeting she’s probably in.”
“Yes, boss.”
“You’d better also get her to contact the Swedes and see whether they can be talked into a similar effort in the Malmö and Helsingborg region.”
“It’s noted.”
“Good, more about that?”
“No, but I have something else.”
“Which is?”
“The Countess and I were discussing that it’s strange he would know where Jeanette Hvidt was. Almost nobody knew, and we have also spoken with his lawyer about how she could show up out of nowhere, and it turns out that he had recorded a message on her answering machine on Tuesday afternoon, which she only heard on Wednesday at just past noon.”
“What did he say in that message?”
“That he would be arrested early Wednesday morning and brought to a place called HS.”
The phone rang. Konrad Simonsen ignored it and almost shouted, “What in the world is that you’re saying? Did he say HS?”
“Yes, like we say, and not Police Headquarters, like most people do. But he said ‘a place that’s called HS . . . ’ Clearly he doesn’t know what that is. And, well, that information . . . that is, that he was going to be arrested . . . if possible that’s even more confidential than Jeanette Hvidt’s uncle’s whereabouts in Helsingør. So I’ve been playing around with a chart, to see which one of us knew what and when. And, unfortunately, it was unambiguous.”
Simonsen was well aware of where this was heading. He asked anyway.
“Who is he eavesdropping on?”
“You.”
The homicide chief’s reaction was subdued. From his briefcase he found his personal keys and set them in front of Pedersen.
“Make sure if you can that these are people who don’t know me personally. If they find anything, then leave the shit there. Maybe we can use it to lure him out. Also have a check done with Poul, with yourself, with Pauline, and you might as well include Malte too. And the same applies as with me: let the equipment stay there, if there is any, and if those concerned consent.”
“I’ll do it right away.”
“Stop that nonsense! You can’t do everything right away. This has third priority, no one’s at home right now. Anything else?”
Pedersen looked crestfallen. It was no time for praise but he hadn’t expected criticism, even if perhaps it was justified.
“No, nothing else.”
“Then you’ll be busy.”
There was no let up for them the rest of the morning, but unfortunately without a trace of the man the whole country was searching for. Simonsen showed no emotion when he was informed that Pedersen’s suspicions held water, and that his own as well as Pedersen’s and the Countess’s homes had been broken into and bugged with tiny microphones plus associated central receivers, which transmitted all conversations over the cell-phone network to an English server on the Internet. Presumably they had been there ever since Simonsen’s Greenland trip. Not even when the case took on a new, far more personal turn in the afternoon did he let himself be distracted by his personal reactions to this invasion of his privacy.
The same could not be said however about his two closest co-workers. Pedersen and Troulsen came rushing into his office with every sign of panic in their eyes. Simonsen interrupted his phone call by simply hanging up, while at the same time he prepared himself to hear that Jeanette Hvidt’s corpse had now been found. Troulsen’s words dragged Simonsen right out of his delusion.
“He’s got Pauline.”
For a moment time stood still, as if Simonsen did not really want to let the message sink in. Finally he said, “Tell me.”
> Pedersen started crying, so it was the older man who had to explain.
“We haven’t been able to get hold of her, so the microphone technicians—they’re from the intelligence service—drove to her house. Her car is still in the driveway with the door open, a window in her house is broken, she’s nowhere to be found, and her cat was thrown alongside the car.”
“Thrown alongside? Explain.”
“It’s dead, and it has plastic wrapped around its head.”
“The cat has been smothered, did I understand right?”
“Yes . . . no, not completely.”
“Then express yourself properly, man.”
Troulsen had to make a violent effort. Simonsen’s anger did not help him maintain his composure, more like the opposite.
“Its neck was broken, after which plastic was wrapped around its head. The plastic probably comes from a roll in her kitchen cupboard, they’re in the process of taking fingerprints now, but everything suggests that he has been all over her house.”
Simonsen’s next question was the most difficult he had ever asked. Nevertheless he managed to keep his voice neutral.
“Do we have any idea whether she is dead?”
“No, more likely he’s taken her with him, but we don’t know that for sure. There are dogs en route.”
Pedersen said suddenly, “Her cat’s name was Gorm.”
This absurd outburst was directed at himself. Simonsen took a look at him and then commanded, “Poul, you drive to Pauline’s house and take command, and that applies whether there are intelligence service people there or not. Make sure the technicians don’t delay you, not even if they howl about contamination of the crime scene and threaten you with Melsing’s wrath. Speed is far more important than evidence for us. Do you follow me? I hardly need tell you that this is the most important job of your entire career. If decisions must be made, then make them, and make them quickly. I’ll back you up regardless. Understood?”
“Yes.”
“This morning Arne placed some experienced people as second chain on the switchboard, take all of them with you.”
“Okay.”
“If Pauline is alive, time is the most critical factor.”
“If kidnapping victims aren’t found within twenty-four hours, there is a high probability that—”
“Yes, yes, yes, so let’s get going.”
Troulsen hurried out of the office. Simonsen turned towards Pedersen.
“Arne, you’re going home, but I’ll find someone you can talk to first.”
“A psychologist? I’m just upset about this, why should I—”
“A colleague and perhaps a nurse, but I don’t have any more time to argue. Come along.”
Pedersen stood up meekly and let himself be led to the door. Tears were rolling down his cheeks. He made no attempt to brush them away.
“Promise me you’ll find her, Simon?”
“You can count on it. I’ll find her for certain.”
“Quite certain? Do you swear? Quite, quite certain?”
“Quite, quite certain. You can be sure of that.”
Alone in the office Simonsen allowed himself five minutes in which as coolly as possible he prioritised his time. When Troulsen and Pedersen had told him of Pauline Berg’s fate, he had briefly lost control of his bladder, and the underside of one trouser leg was wet. After his trance, where he sat like a sphinx behind his desk with only his brain working, he grabbed the phone and called the Countess, who was in Helsingør. Without beating around the bush he reported the situation and ordered her back to Police Headquarters.
As soon as he hung up, he had his worst sweating attack ever, this time combined with a galloping heart rate. He tried to ignore his body and concentrate on his work. It was not successful. Anxiety was weighing him down. He took off his shirt and with difficulty yanked his undershirt off over his head. It was soaked through, as if it had been in the washing machine. He counted to ten a couple of times slowly, recited the days of the week, then the months of the year, and counted again. Over the course of a few minutes he began to feel more like himself.
At the back of his desk drawer he found a bottle of cognac, took a substantial gulp and put the bottle back in place, after which he lit a cigarette. Not until he had finished that did he feel more or less on top of things again. Then he took out a spare set of clothes he always kept packed and ready, and changed everything he had on.
Shortly after his indisposition Anna Mia called. He faked a bad connection, hung up and ignored her next two calls as he counted himself lucky that at least a thousand kilometres separated her from Andreas Falkenborg. Then he thought about Jeanette Hvidt and Pauline Berg and promised himself not to die before he found them. The irony of this allowed him to ignore his physical discomfort, although for the first time ever it was crystal clear to him that his physical resources were failing—he was not in good shape.
Forty-five minutes later the Countess was back at Police Headquarters. She went directly to Konrad Simonsen’s office. He had just concluded his instructions to a handful of officers who had each been given separate assignments. The Countess noticed that only a few of them greeted her on their way out, and several avoided meeting her eyes, as if she were taboo. Simonsen called after them, “And remember that he should only be shadowed, not arrested. Make sure that order reaches everyone. Everyone has to know: shadowed only!”
The men confirmed this wearily. The Countess thought that this was probably at least the third time they’d had that order repeated to them. When they were alone, she asked, “Anything new?”
“No, nothing. We’re getting a lot of calls about his car. False alarms until now, but it’s only a matter of time, I hope.”
He looked deep into her eyes, like a racing cyclist sizing up a competitor on a mountain leg. She met his gaze without hesitation, well aware that she was being checked over. After what seemed to her like an eternity, he said, “You’re ready, I can see.”
She sensed a touch of reproof in his tone of voice, but decided to ignore it. He said, “Arne is losing his mind, but doesn’t want to hear about being anywhere but here. I pissed in my pants like a child when I got the news, and you . . . you’re just ready.”
The Countess’s voice was distant but informative. “I’ve been here before, Simon. The rest of you haven’t. Many years ago I had a son. I don’t any more. Nothing is worse than that. But I don’t want to talk about it. Not with you, not with anyone, ever. So tell me what I should do now.”
He registered her words, but could not make sense of them. That required time, time he didn’t have. He gave her orders and thought that he should have done so to begin with.
“Arne is, as I mentioned, incapacitated, and I don’t have the energy to deal with him. He’s your responsibility now. Make sure someone keeps an eye on him, if you can’t get him to go home, but keep him away from me. And above all, have his pistol confiscated. I don’t care how, just see that it’s removed. The last thing I need is a loose cannon on deck. He has highest priority, do you hear me?”
“Yes, where is he now?”
“I don’t know, figure that out yourself.”
“How is Ernesto doing? Is he incapacitated too?”
“No, strangely enough. I think he took some pills, but so long as it doesn’t affect his thinking, I couldn’t care less. We can use him now. Do you have the personal item from Jeanette Hvidt that I asked you to bring?”
The Countess produced a silk scarf from her bag. It was in shades of blue mixed with gold thread. Simonsen said, “That looks expensive.”
“Louis Vuitton, about fifteen hundred kroner, if I remember correctly.”
“Couldn’t you have chosen something more everyday?”
The Countess explained quietly, “It was her uncle who chose it for me. She got it as a present for her eighteenth birthday and likes it very much.”
“Okay, excellent. Then you’ll find something correspondingly personal that belongs to Pauline.
Try her office first, break open her hiding places if they’re locked. If that doesn’t work, drive to her house. Poul and a lot of others are up there, you can ignore them. Then go to Høje Taastrup, she’s waiting for you. On the way back you’ll pick up some clothes for us both, or else get someone else to do it. We can’t count on going home until this is over.”
“Yes, sir.”
“And you’ll call at once, if she has anything to tell.”
“She is your medium, I assume?”
“Yes.”
“Why don’t you ever say her name?”
“She doesn’t like that. But Countess, there is one more thing, and this is perhaps the most important.”
“Let’s hear it.”
“You will stay updated the whole time about what I’m doing. Half an hour ago I had a bad spell. Really bad, in fact. I couldn’t function for a while, no matter how much I wanted to. You should be ready to take over if necessary.”
For a moment she seemed shaken. “I don’t think—”
“There’s no one else. You can, and you will, if it’s required of you. Otherwise it’s not up for discussion, that’s an order you must obey. Understood?”
She got up from her chair, went around the desk and wrapped her arms around his head.
“Yes, Simon, it’s understood.”
They allowed themselves a few seconds without words. Then she noticed that he was pressing a hard, angular object into her hand. She let him go and looked down with surprise. It was a small, carved figure of bone.
“A tupilak, a really fine one.”
“It keeps evil spirits away.”
“Yes, everyone knows that.”
“I got it in Greenland from Trond Egede. It may sound crazy, but will you please carry it with you in your pocket?”
She kissed him on the forehead, happy about the present but also feeling a twinge of irritation. Again and again he protested that he was not superstitious. But when push came to shove . . . She pushed the thought aside. What choice did she have? Then she kissed him again, this time more fervently, without caring whether anyone came into his office.