by Lotte Hammer
Jeanette had been killed in the bunker in which Pauline Berg had been imprisoned. Juli was the protagonist in her non-existent murder investigation.
He felt stumped by this and unhelpfully reflected that a professional would have done much better, a trauma counsellor or Pauline Berg’s own psychiatrist. What on earth could he do, if he couldn’t make proper contact with her, then what? He didn’t know. Suddenly she shouted angrily:
‘Tell me about that bloody trade. I want to know what happened.’
It was a very long account, but Konrad Simonsen took his time and included all of the details. He wanted to be sure that she understood what he told her. When he had finished, she asked quietly:
‘So I owe my life to that Helmer Hammer guy?’
‘No, I owe your life to that Helmer Hammer guy.’
‘Why haven’t you told me this before?’
‘Because I would rather forget it.’
She nodded sympathetically, it was how she felt about most things these days. Then she looked down for far, far too long. Konrad Simonsen noticed that his temples were throbbing, but he said nothing. Finally she raised her head and looked at him.
‘I’m scared, Simon. Everything is turning ugly. Please would you come over and hold me?’
In the car park outside the high-rise apartment block he handed Pauline Berg over to the Countess, who would take her to the psychiatric emergency unit at Glostrup Hospital. It was what the ambulance driver had suggested; Arne Pedersen had discussed it with him. Konrad Simonsen was exhausted, and asked the first officer he saw to drive him home.
CHAPTER 70
The Ministry for Refugees, Immigration and Integration, commonly known as the Integration Ministry, was one of the newer Danish official bodies. It was set up in 2001 for the purpose of facilitating the integration of new arrivals into Danish society, and since its inauguration, and under successive ministers, it had become a political football and the source of several scandals. The Au pair office was a subsection of the Immigration Unit, and was housed in Ryesgade in Østerbro, which was where Klavs Arnold drove on Monday afternoon, stepping in to replace his boss, who had gone home after the incident with Pauline Berg earlier that day.
In reception the Jutlander was met by a middle-aged man who made no attempt to hide his irritation at not being sent the head of the Homicide Department as the Ministry had been promised. This man was a permanent undersecretary, and he was clearly nervous. Klavs Arnold apologised for the absence of Konrad Simonsen, but offered no explanation. It was none of his business, as he informed the Permanent Undersecretary when asked directly. And no, cancelling the meeting and postponing it until a time when the Homicide chief would be available wasn’t a better option.
The Ministry had been advised of the reason for the meeting in advance and had had time to carry out its own quick investigation. This was because last Friday, Konrad Simonsen had had had second thoughts and taken up Helmer Hammer on his offer to pull strings so the Integration Ministry would be more willing to co-operate with the police. And with him, Klavs Arnold thought, as he was ushered to a conference room where no less than nine people were waiting for him. Soft drinks and biscuits had been set out, and in front of an empty chair at one end of the table, a notepad with the ministerial logo and two needle-sharp pencils had been neatly arranged. He was asked to take a seat.
The moment the Jutlander had sat down, a man in his fifties sitting at the opposite end of the table opened the meeting. Klavs Arnold missed his title and did not care, but this was clearly the top dog in the room. He announced in smoothly modulated tones that unfortunately there had been some irregularities in the Au pair office and as a result, the Ministry intended to carry out a quick but thorough investigation of the matter and pass on any findings to the police. Klavs Arnold was here to provide some input into this investigation, he was told. The Jutlander replied with a brief ‘I see,’ and the man moved quickly on, because this was only one of two points on today’s agenda. The other was that the Ministry and the police should reach an agreement not to inform the public until this investigation had been concluded. ‘We obviously can’t avoid a scandal, but it’s critical that we control the timing. Going public with this right now would be highly inconvenient. Extremely inconvenient. I cannot stress this too strongly.’
Klavs Arnold had plenty of time to study the people around the table, and it was clear to him that the two women sitting at the end next to the top dog were the cause of these irregularities. Their eyes were empty, defeated; one had recently been crying. He was surprised they were even present at the meeting, and he was also shocked that they were female. Men would have been his guess. He wondered how much money they had made on the side.
The top dog had finished, silence ensued and everyone’s eyes turned to Klavs Arnold. He pressed one of the pencils against his notepad until it snapped, and observed how the abrupt, sharp sound rippled through those present. Then he snapped the other pencil in half and asked the air, not addressing the question to anyone in particular:
‘And how long would it be before I got that report?’
A couple of the men discussed this briefly, then they agreed on a few weeks, one month maximum.
Klavs Arnold got up and positioned himself so that he faced the two women. He pointed at them with one of the broken pencils.
‘The two of you are up to your necks in it, but I’m guessing you already know that.’
One of them peered up at him, but was too scared to look him in the eye. She nodded. The other one was crying openly now.
‘Let me give you two pieces of good advice. Number one: make sure you own up to everything, absolutely everything, don’t hide a thing. Then, if you’re lucky, the judge might knock a few months off your prison sentence. Number two: get yourselves a couple of good lawyers as soon as possible, because the gentlemen around this table definitely don’t have your best interests at heart.’
Both of them looked at him like drowning people who have just been thrown a lifeline. He dismissed protests from the top dog next to them by raising his hand, then said quietly:
‘I presume money changed hands?’
They nodded, red-faced. Yes, money had changed hands.
‘And what about your superiors? Did they take a cut or get a free shag from time to time to look the other way?’
The statement hit home; several of the men squirmed uncomfortably on their chairs. The top dog practically screamed: ‘That’s enough, Sergeant Arnold, or whatever your name is.’
Klavs Arnold, however, shouted even louder; an incoherent roar to make the man shut up. And it worked. The Jutlander pointed at him and said slowly:
‘Application forms, residence permits, names and addresses of host families, the names of the women, their nationalities, passport numbers – I want copies of everything. Secondly: the bribes. How much, how were they paid and by whom, as well as procedures, requests, telephone conversations, all emails relating to that . . . everything, including anything I’ve forgotten, and you’ll have that ready for me at twelve noon tomorrow.’
The man shook his head angrily and said icily:
‘I’ll be speaking to your superiors. It’s quite obvious that we have a problem here.’
Klavs Arnold exaggerated his Jutland accent, which seemed the right thing to do in this situation.
‘You’re right, but I’m not the problem, my wife is. I’m telling you that once she gets the bit between her teeth, there’s no stopping her. Once we’ve put the kids to bed, Stella will spend all night thinking up questions for your minister, even if I assure her that you and I will sort it out on the quiet. So you see, I can’t come home with anything less than what I’ve just suggested.’
It took a couple of seconds before the chairman linked the name Stella to the surname Arnold, then his face went bright red, but he managed to stutter:
‘Less than twenty-four hours? That’s impossible. I need two days.’
Klavs Arnold was feeling ge
nerous:
‘Then we’ll say ten o’clock Wednesday morning and not an hour later. Right, I had better be on my way. After all, you’ve got work to do. Enjoy.’
He left.
CHAPTER 71
When the Countess took Pauline Berg to the psychiatric emergency ward at Glostrup Hospital, she was prepared to stay there for as long as necessary, but a nurse, whom Pauline already knew and clearly trusted, soon arrived. The Countess’s presence was rendered superfluous; she left after half an hour with a promise to come back that same evening.
On her way to her car, she decided she would drive past Ballerup and pay the chief programmer at NewTalkInTown another visit. But first she called the CEO of the telecommunications company, to tell her about the most recent development in the case, and to make sure that her witness was at work. When she arrived, the CEO was outside the entrance to the company, smoking; she was alone. The Countess would have put her down as a non-smoker, she looked like a health freak who detested tobacco, but appearances could clearly be deceiving. They shook hands, and the woman explained she herself had spoken to the programmer.
‘He has a tendency to overreact, if pressed too hard.’
She sounded apologetic, but the Countess appreciated her assistance and was just happy that she could get the information she needed without even having to step inside the building. She left with a brief: ‘Thank you for your co-operation.’
Halfway through the week, the Hanehoved case took a new turn. Klavs Arnold had spent a couple of hours on Wednesday afternoon familiarising himself with the fat file he had received from the Integration Ministry. It was clear that a woman called Karina Larsen controlled the system of African au pair girls turned prostitutes. She would appear to be a high-class madam for the gin and tonic belt, with a grand house in Rungsted and . . . and then a loud bell started to ring. He found the woman’s address, checked another report, and result! He went to see Konrad Simonsen.
‘The Poker Academy and the au pair girls are connected, is that what you’re telling me?’
‘Karina Larsen is married to Svend Lerche; both businesses are run from their home in Rungsted. I wonder if his business launders her money.’
Konrad Simonsen whistled. Yes, that made sense.
He and the Deputy Commissioner had just visited the National Police Commissioner to ask for more resources, which they had been granted. Now they would have to go back for even more.
Konrad Simonsen restructured his team. He set up a Data group to expose the Poker Academy, including monitoring the players online. An Au Pair group to investigate the fraudulent au pair applications and the trafficking of African women. A Host family group prepared charges against host families, and finally a Logistics group was created to co-ordinate everyone’s work and make sure resources were used most efficiently.
It was also the responsibility of the Logistics group to ensure that important information was shared between the groups. Backed by the National Police Commissioner, he was allowed to borrow skilled and experienced senior officers from Vestegnens and Nordsjællands police forces. They headed the Data and Au Pair groups, while Konrad Simonsen himself handled Logistics. He also replaced Arne Pedersen with Klavs Arnold, who now took charge of the Karlslille murder investigation, which meant Arne Pedersen could assume responsibility for the Host family group.
Everyone worked hard, and the police force’s already heavily burdened overtime expenditure grew considerably. Konrad Simonsen couldn’t care less. For him, this was purely about getting results and filling the holes in his investigation, and slowly it was happening. Svend Lerche’s poker scam was quickly identified by a statistician on loan from the University of Copenhagen. He explained, in a didactic manner, to a large group of officers gathered in Lecture Hall B at Police Headquarters:
‘Each poker player plays twice for three hours in the evening and night, once for himself and once for the Poker Academy. The trick is that it’s not until afterwards that they decide which half the poker player played for himself and which was for the Academy. Imagine that the game isn’t poker, but heads or tails, played with a coin twice. That gives us four options . . .’
Arne Pedersen looked at the chart the statistician was showing them on an overhead projector, then gave up. He looked around and realised he wasn’t the only one. He leaned nearer to Konrad Simonsen, who was sitting next to him.
‘Do you get it? I bet you do?’
‘If you buy a lottery ticket and you’re allowed to decide on the Sunday whether your ticket applies to Wednesday’s or last Saturday’s draw, then you double your chances of winning. But explaining that in court will be hell. Especially when a skilled defence lawyer gets the chance to obfuscate it, then no one has a hope of understanding. I hope this won’t be trial by jury.’
‘When are you going home today?’
‘Late, I guess. The Countess and I are interviewing someone, and afterwards there are many other things I need to get my head around. Why?’
‘Because we’ve narrowed it down to just the one woman, Jessica, and I hope to have a name for you in a matter of hours.’
‘Her real name?’
‘Yes.’
Arne Pedersen turned to the front and tried to concentrate on the lecture, but it was way too late – the lecturer had added amounts and percentages to his review, and was talking about distributions, whatever they were.
Pedersen asked his boss:
‘Why bother with interviews yourself? You’re already ridiculously busy.’
Simonsen deflected the implied criticism, saying there were some things you had to do for yourself.
CHAPTER 72
Chamberlain Adam Blixen-Agerskjold was sweating profusely and feeling thoroughly ill at ease. His lawyer looked worried as she studied him, then asked the Homicide investigator sharply: ‘Is that the only reason you’ve dragged my client in here? He’s done nothing illegal. Are you going to charge him?’
Konrad Simonsen ignored her and spoke directly to the Chamberlain.
‘Jan Podowski ran a business within a business. He provided young African escorts for weekend trips for wealthy men like you. He charged twenty thousand kroner and had plenty of customers, which surprises me, but some people clearly have more money than sense. Jan Podowski would hand over ten thousand kroner to Karina Larsen, who would think she was being paid for two normal visits. But you didn’t pay twenty thousand, did you?’
The lawyer intervened again, insisting that nothing illegal had happened, and the very least they could expect was a bit of courtesy to be shown to her client. The Countess ignored the lawyer as well, and continued.
‘You knew exactly what went on in your hunting lodge.’
Konrad Simonsen completed her sentence:
‘Assaults on young women who were unwilling to be abused. Do you also know what happened there on the nineteenth of March last year?’
The lawyer objected for the umpteenth time. Konrad Simonsen thundered:
‘Answer me, damn you!’
It was no use; the Chamberlain continued to sit in silence, staring into the air with a miserable expression on his face. The self-pitying look was sickening, Konrad Simonsen thought as he continued his onslaught. He placed three carefully selected and very graphic pictures in front of the man; the lawyer blushed and looked away. The Countess picked up the conversation.
‘But you didn’t restrict yourself to weekends . . . you also had fun during weekdays. Incidentally, did Lenette know about your hobby? Your grandmother must be so proud of you, Adam. It’s a blessing she no longer understands what’s going on.’
‘Now that’s enough! I’ve never heard the like . . .’
It was the lawyer speaking again, but it made no difference. Adam Blixen-Agerskjold said, quietly but clearly:
‘It was an accident, and I don’t know how it happened.’
With some difficulty the lawyer managed to get his attention. She whispered in his ear. She appeared to have to repeat her instructio
ns before the Chamberlain said, in a ridiculously formal voice:
‘I won’t say anything until you stop the video recording.’
Konrad Simonsen got up and turned off the camera, which was set up behind them.
‘Who beat her up?’
‘Jan, and he had a helper, he always did. But I don’t know who.’
‘No one else?’
‘No, no one else.’
‘How do you know that?’
‘There never was.’
‘Never, you say. Were women often assaulted in your lodge?’
‘Not often, three to four times a year at the most, as far as I know.’
As was so often the case the Chamberlain’s confessions, perhaps self-recriminations would be more appropriate, constituted an anti-climax that was unpleasant for both Konrad Simonsen and the Countess to witness. They felt no triumph, rather revulsion – revulsion at this man, and also at their job.
Adam Blixen-Agerskjold had had, as they already knew, his share of the African women in recompense for turning a blind eye to events in his hunting lodge. However, he claimed, in a voice bordering on hysteria, he’d known nothing about Frode Otto’s rapes, and they had come as a shock to him. The police officers believed him. He had got to know the programmer from NewTalkInTown when the man and his parents spent their vacation in one of the estate’s holiday cabins. The man had later written some customised software for the estate’s operations. In return, by way of payment, Adam Blixen-Agerskjold had invited him to a weekend in Paris, with escorts. Later, the man had been given Jan Podowski’s work number and had bought himself an African woman whenever he could afford it and had the time and the inclination.
‘Was it a coincidence that he was working for the mobile phone provider also used by Frode Otto?’
It wasn’t. The Chamberlain told them how the programmer always carried the documentation for introductory offers in his bag. Frode Otto had let himself be persuaded. When the police came too close to the estate bailiff, the Chamberlain had contacted the programmer and asked him to falsify his phone records as they related to Jan Podowski. The Countess asked why.