by Lotte Hammer
‘I would also like you to take a good look at the venues where the activities are taking place. As far as I’ve been able to establish, each woman has her own room, but I want to know where. You may not be able to find this out, the information on the footage is very limited, but try anyway.’
He paused. Presumably to draw breath before issuing new orders, Klavs Arnold thought. The Countess took over without having been asked; Konrad Simonsen looked at her in surprise, and wondered whether he had accidentally given her a sign that she had misinterpreted.
‘We keep our mouths shut about that database. I’ve asked Malte to make two copies, so currently we have three, but no one must make any further copies without Simon’s express permission. We suspect one of our own of having leaked information to the wrong people, and thus they are directly or indirectly responsible for Silje Esper’s death. Or – and we can’t yet rule this out completely – they might have committed the murder and torture in Karlslille themselves.’
Arne Pedersen asked:
‘Is there any link between the customers and us? I mean, to the Homicide Department or to Vestegnens police, whose staff I borrowed?’
Konrad Simonsen seized the opportunity to get back to his agenda. He held up his hand. ‘There might well be, but that’s not for you to investigate. The deputy director of the Department for Public Prosecution will handle that; a special committee has been set up. And that’s your only restriction, Arne. So if at any point you start to suspect that the killer comes from our own ranks, I will take over. And please note that I say suspect, not find indicative evidence.’
Arne Pedersen accepted this. Konrad Simonsen then handed over to him for a brief – he stressed the word – update on the Karlslille murder investigation.
*
Arne Pedersen complied with his boss’s wish for brevity. He had plenty of other things to do, and wasn’t interested in a lengthy meeting. So he spoke exclusively about matters that were important but not yet common knowledge. He didn’t impose any chronological order; he left that to his audience.
The preliminary forensic investigations suggested one killer, who was not, as had been initially presumed, professional in the slightest when it came to killing, whatever that meant. On the contrary, he seemed borderline desperate. He had tortured the blind woman for at least three hours after he had crushed her first finger even though she had presumably already given him all the information she had on her dead boyfriend’s USB stick, namely that it smelled of paint. She didn’t know any more, yet he had crushed her remaining nine fingers, as well as five toes, and gouged out one eye before he had given up and strangled her. He had smothered her screams with a cloth from the kitchen, and had poured water over her to rouse her when she had passed out from the pain. He appeared to have taken out the cloth when he wanted to interrogate her in between the torture sessions. The result was that he had left excellent DNA evidence on the material, while his hair and a certain number of fibres had been found at the crime scene. The Countess burst out with a short ‘Brilliant’ when she heard the last part – a sentiment they all shared. Klavs Arnold seized the natural pause to interject a question:
‘He shot the dog, but strangled the woman? Do you think that he’s a sadist?’
Arne Pedersen shook his head; he didn’t think so, more desperate. And perhaps he was angry with the woman because his mission had failed, but it was too early . . . Konrad Simonsen cut him off:
‘No details, we can read about them later. Tell them about the hand vice, and then we’ll stop. Or rather, the Countess and I will leave. The rest of you are, of course, welcome to stay and carry on talking, if you like.’
Arne Pedersen had no wish to do so; he stated briefly that the hand vice had probably been bought for the purpose and its make could be identified by forensic investigators from imprints on the dead woman’s nails, after which the meeting was closed.
CHAPTER 68
Konrad Simonsen was in an excellent mood as he and the Countess walked along the pavement.
Copenhagen and the gentle summer suited one another, and the pair of them took their time. She asked him, ‘By the way, where are we going?’
‘Three streets away.’
Then he told her that he had removed an entry from Jan Podowski’s database. She accepted his decision immediately without knowing the background. It was one of the things he liked about her: she trusted him. His action could be viewed in an unfortunate light – as tampering with evidence, for example. He took out a piece of paper from his inside pocket and gave it to her; she unfolded it, glanced briefly at it, then quickly folded it again and gave it back to him.
‘Are we about to meet him?’
‘Yes.’
‘Where?’
They walked behind Ved Glyptoteket and he pointed in the direction of Tietgensgade; he thought they could find a place behind Tivoli where they could have a beer or a soft drink. She stopped.
‘Why did you bring me?’
She was puzzled. Normally his judgement was so assured when it came to witnesses, but here it would appear to have failed him completely. He carried on walking a few steps before he realised that she hadn’t followed him. He stopped and went back to her.
‘I’m sorry, what did you say?’
‘I said, why have you brought me?’
He explained that he didn’t like keeping secrets from her, especially when there was no need. She smiled. That sounded lovely, but it was only a half truth. It was also about him wanting to share the moral responsibility for his decision. Wanting her acceptance that he had done the right thing by deleting their friend from the database. And she did understand; she would probably have done the same herself. But now that he’d had her support, she had no further role to play. Indeed her continued presence was a really bad idea.
‘Mind you don’t put pressure on him, Simon. He will never tolerate that in any way. And as you yourself highlighted not that long ago: he hasn’t done anything illegal. I’ll see you tonight, I’ll cook supper, but if the two of you want to eat out, that’s fine with me, just call to let me know.’
She kissed him. For a moment he stood there, almost like a bashful schoolboy. Are you leaving? And finally the penny dropped. Yes, of course. Of course you are.
Konrad Simonsen sat down on a bench with his back to Tivoli; behind him he could hear joyful squeals from visitors to the amusement park, in front of him lay Ny Carlsberg Glyptotek, the beautiful museum on Dantes Plads. A young couple, closely entwined, nearly bumped into him. The young man apologised, the girl patted his arm and sent him a beaming smile. There was a happy smell of popcorn and love about the city. He waited ten minutes, then Helmer Hammer arrived.
‘Your conversation with Ambassador Rozhdestvenskaya, how glorious, Simon. That story has been round practically every department on Slotsholmen, and everyone is laughing at me. Even my boss finds it hilarious. But tell me, how are your lovely wife and Anna Mia?’
It took ten minutes of conversation before Helmer Hammer asked:
‘Right, so tell me, what can I do for you this time?’
‘Perhaps you could tell me why you handled the meeting with the Ambassador yourself? It must have caused no end of bureaucratic complications for you, and it would have been far easier for you to send a diplomat from the Foreign Ministry to accompany me. All you had to do was pick up the phone.’
Helmer Hammer didn’t reply, Konrad Simonsen carried on:
‘However, it did give you plenty of opportunity to stress that under no circumstances must I ask Bepa any follow-up questions.’
Helmer Hammer said quietly:
‘What do you want, Simon?’
Konrad Simonsen told him about Jan Podowski, his database, and how he had tampered with it. He left the two pictures in his inside pocket where they were.
Helmer Hammer sat staring inscrutably at the pavement for a while.
‘It was a birthday present, I was given two vouchers, but used only one, and I shouldn’t
even have done that. And, yes, I’m glad that you removed me from the database, I wouldn’t want to be found there. But . . .’
Konrad Simonsen waited patiently for the rest.
‘I’ll help you, Simon, I don’t see that I have any real choice. But you’re on thin ice here. I hope you’re aware of it.’
‘No, I’m not. I would never dream of putting pressure on you, directly or indirectly. But I would rather speak to one co-operative witness than squeeze the truth out of twenty unwilling ones. Besides, I have good reason to proceed with caution. After a lifetime in the police, I’ve heard and seen more . . . unusual and private situations than you can imagine. And this is nothing.’
Helmer Hammer said falteringly, ‘No, I don’t suppose it is, when you put it like that.’ A little later, he added: ‘Ask away, and I’ll see if I can answer you.’
‘Good. You can start by telling me about the vouchers you got, and why you only used one?’
Helmer Hammer explained: he had received two home-made, plastic laminated cards the size of a credit card; on one side there was a smiley, a number, five digits as far as he could recall, and the name of the girl, but only her first name, no surname. On the back was an address and brief instructions: walk around the house, down the basement steps and ring the bell. He had been received by a woman, he had given her his card and . . . well, Simonsen knew the rest.
‘Where did the woman live?’
‘In Taarbæk, I don’t remember the address off the top of my head, but if I were to drive there again, I can definitely find it. Would you like me to do that?’
‘Perhaps. You didn’t use the other voucher, you say?’
‘I threw it away, and I left after several hours with the woman I visited, although I could have spent the night with her. But it seemed wrong, and she was also very young, I’m afraid to say. I should have left the moment I saw her.’
Konrad Simonsen made no attempt to reassure him.
‘Yes, you should have, but you didn’t. Your friend, the one who gave you the voucher, would it be possible for me to speak to him?’
‘It was a woman. She and her husband have . . . an African woman staying with them. But that wasn’t where I was invited. I don’t wish to report or protect her. However, I think I can find you a witness who is better informed than I am. If you’ll excuse me for two minutes.’
Helmer Hammer got up, walked away and made a call on his mobile. He returned soon afterwards.
‘You’ll have an email with a name and a meeting place by the time you get home. He knows how the system works . . . the system, those were his words. Five thousand kroner for a night, it was more than I would have guessed. The list you have, it must be of the great and the good, if I can put it like that.’
Konrad Simonsen was perfectly aware that Hammer was fishing and he deflected the question. ‘Yes, it probably is,’ he replied, the implication being that he hadn’t noticed that particular detail.
‘Let’s find somewhere we can have a beer, I could do with one now. We can go in there.’
Helmer Hammer tossed his head in the direction of Tivoli. Konrad Simonsen had no wish to drink beer with him, not right now, perhaps some other time. The truth was that he was disappointed in his contact and friend, though he had no right to be. He had imposed his own standards on Helmer Hammer, and they had been violated. He replied unenthusiastically:
‘Yes, let’s.’
They joined the queue. Helmer Hammer asked cautiously, almost mournfully:
‘The African girl who died, was she the one I slept with?’
‘I don’t know, I didn’t watch for very long.’
‘So I’ll never know?’
Konrad Simonsen shrugged. Perhaps he would . . . well, he could if he wanted to. Helmer Hammer changed the subject and his tone of voice became more business-like, but Konrad Simonsen could still hear that it was forced.
‘There’s one other thing.’
‘Yes?’
‘If I were you, I would start with the Integration Ministry and take a good look at the unit that issues au pair permits.’
‘That sounds like a very good tip-off, thank you.’
‘I can get you a discreet appointment and help your investigation proceed a little more smoothly. I’m good at that sort of thing – but you already know that.’
‘Yes, I do, but I’ll manage on my own, it’s better that way.’
The pause between them grew somewhat awkward. They bought their tickets and entered the Tivoli Gardens. Helmer Hammer said, ‘Yes, I suppose it is.’ And a little later, he added: ‘That business about the au pairs is something that only just crossed my mind. You have to believe me.’
‘Of course I believe you,’ Konrad Simonsen replied, knowing he was lying.
CHAPTER 69
Pauline Berg was sitting on her balcony on the sixth floor in Rødovre. She was comfortable, it was a pleasant morning, already warm, and everything predicted a lovely day. She was precariously balanced on the ledge at the edge of the balcony. When she became uncomfortable, she would shift slightly forwards or backwards to ease the pressure. Otherwise, everything was as it should be; below her, trains headed for Brøndbyøster Station. She liked the red local trains, they were always there, and there was something reassuring about their familiarity. She waved to one of them. She didn’t quite know why she was sitting where she was sitting; it was just the way it was this Monday morning. However, she did know that for the first time in a long, long time she had a sense of being in control of her own life. It was welcome; she ought to sit here more often.
Her Sunday had been dreadful, as so many days were for her. She had worked together with Klavs Arnold and the craniologist; hard work, but also productive. They had eliminated forty-seven of the fifty-one African women in the database. None of them was the African murder victim, and now only four possible candidates remained: Jade, Jessica, Kaya and Kiki. They warranted further investigation, but with a little bit of luck, they would have narrowed it down to just one in the next day or two. Then suddenly, just before they were about to go home, Pauline Berg had developed a dreadful suspicion. The three of them were sitting behind the same computer, a large workstation with two screens, which the craniologist had had moved from her office and set up temporarily in the Homicide Department. Pauline Berg pushed herself forward without explanation and took over the keyboard from Klavs Arnold. He moved to the side, somewhat mystified, and watched her search for a name he didn’t recognise. She repeated the search three times, then she got up, spat at the screen and marched out of the room without explaining her absurd behaviour. The Jutlander told the craniologist that his colleague didn’t always feel well. Then he fetched a piece of kitchen towel and wiped away her saliva.
Pauline Berg had reached Gammel Strand and got on a canal boat trip. She did this regularly. In the old days she would go to Copenhagen Central Railway Station and get a magazine and a cup of coffee, something she had now replaced with a canal boat trip. She could sit at the back of the boat, crying, usually without anyone noticing her. Yesterday she had got off at Langelinie, walked up to Esplanaden and onwards to Store Kongensgade where she picked a random café and found a random man whom she brought home. He had left a short while ago, and now she was sitting here. She realised she had already forgotten his name, and giggled uncontrollably.
Pauline Berg’s front door had been forced open. Konrad Simonsen and Arne Pedersen entered without ringing the bell. In her living room a dozen people were standing or sitting, the balcony door was open, and an older female officer from Gladsaxe police, whom Konrad Simonsen knew well, was in the doorway talking to Pauline. He could see her through the living-room window, the wind tearing at her hair, her back and her face in profile, turned to the officer.
The sense that this was wrong crossed his mind, though a stronger word would have been more suitable, but his immediate thought was that this was wrong. He could feel adrenaline surging in him. Perhaps it was not until now that he truly u
nderstood the seriousness of the situation. He took two deep breaths and his pulse settled. But not by much. Then he said with forced calm to Arne Pedersen:
‘Get those people out. You yourself will be the last to leave.’
He stepped up to the sergeant from Gladsaxe and placed a hand on her shoulder. ‘I’ll deal with her from now on, Gudrun.’
When Pauline Berg noticed him, she briefly looked away, and he wondered whether he could lunge forward and grab her before she had time to react. Then she turned her head again, and the moment was gone. He had brought one of her dining chairs with him, and now he placed it right outside the balcony door. He thought it would look less confrontational if he sat down.
‘Don’t get too close, Simon.’
He made no reply, not even when Pauline informed him a little later, giggling:
‘Wait, now I remember, his name was Tom.’
Konrad Simonsen said quietly:
‘I spoke to Klavs on my way here. You know I deleted a name from Jan Podowski’s database.’
It wasn’t until then that they made proper eye contact. She asked:
‘Are you worried?’
‘Yes, very.’
‘Why? You usually get what you want.’
She said it as if it had nothing to do with her, merely a statement of fact. As she was sitting there on the ledge talking to him anyway, she spoke again, now slightly more engaged with him.
‘And the same goes for your fine friends, they always come out all right in the end too. But if I carry around a belt buckle, you scream at me.’
He had decided to tell the truth, come what may.
‘When you were trapped in that bunker, I traded your life for someone else’s. Very few people know that, and now you’re one of them.’
Initially she didn’t accept this shift in conversation, but giggled again.
‘I survived, Jeanette didn’t. Nor did Juli, she didn’t survive either. But you don’t want me to find her killer.’