“Alf Falkenborg discovered his son with the mask on?”
“Of course he did. I was howling with anxiety and pointing at the window, until… well, it didn’t take long before I figured out that it was Andreas. The father went raving mad, and in no time had pulled the mother out of her bedroom and dragged her outside, after which he beat her so hard that it echoed in the night, and this time with a stick. I had never before seen her take such a beating. He was so angry, called Andreas everything imaginable… Peeping Tom, pervert, deviant, that sort of thing.”
“What did Andreas do in the meantime?”
“He sat huddled up by the window wearing his crazy mask.”
“You said that you were riding Alf Falkenborg. Would you please elaborate on that?”
“Tell me, do you like hearing that sort of thing?”
“No, but it may have significance… ”
“So I was riding him, how hard is that to understand? I was sitting on top of him and pumping up and down. What the hell more do you want me to say?”
“Can you remember whether you had any clothes on your upper body?”
“No, not at all, but I probably didn’t. Or, wait a moment… not so long before I left them he was indifferent to what I had on, so long as he could come in. So maybe I had my nightdress on.”
“And a bra? Can you remember that?”
“No bra-he tore one in two once, so I never had one on when he came in, because I had to buy a new one myself.”
“What about panties? Were you naked below, when you had intercourse?”
“Yes, what the hell do you think?”
“I don’t think anything, but I would really like you to think it over before you answer.”
Surprisingly enough she followed his advice, and having thought about it, doubt arose.
“Now that you mention it, I may very well have had panties on. In the beginning he liked to take my clothing off, but towards the end he just wanted in without a lot of fuss. Maybe he pulled my panties to one side to make room, I won’t deny it, but I can’t remember that.”
Simonsen asked, “Tell me, when you were sitting on him, did you get any enjoyment out of it yourself? And the reason I’m asking is that I would like to know in detail how Andreas Falkenborg saw you, when he was looking in at the window.”
She consented, and answered him frankly.
“I hated every breath, but I made it sound as if he was divine because that made it go faster. I discovered that long before. So if you want it spelled out completely, I obviously sighed and moaned and threw myself back and forth in wild ecstasy, which I didn’t feel so much as a trace of.”
“Thanks, that’s exactly what I wanted to hear. Yes-one more thing. You said before that makeup was forbidden, so you had no lipstick on?”
She thought about it.
“I don’t know if I had any on that evening, but I may very well have had. Sunday was my day off, and often I’d been out, so that’s clearly a possibility.”
“Did you use any particular colour of lipstick?”
“Red, always red. As red as possible, if I may say so. Red suits me.”
“Splendid, splendid.”
“Thanks. Tell me, is there any chance that I can get a reward for this?”
“No. What did you do while this scene was going on?”
“Well, I’m not proud of this, but by then I hated all three of them so much that I enjoyed it. Hearing her yell and plead while he thrashed her hide, that was music to my ears. And Andreas, that little piece of shit… I thought every second of his torment served him right, standing frozen at the window, as if he wasn’t there. I went up to him on the other side of it and pressed my face against the glass, while I laughed right into his stupid mask.”
“Could you see how he reacted? I mean, because of the mask.”
“Easily, he had made holes for his eyes.”
“So how was he reacting?”
“He was crying.”
CHAPTER 30
Twelve days after the German Chancellor’s glaciologist discovered the body of Maryann Nygaard on the Greenland ice cap, Andreas Falkenborg was arrested in Copenhagen.
The task was assigned to assistant detectives Arne Pedersen and Poul Troulsen and was carried out early on Wednesday morning, when he was unlikely to be awake. Konrad Simonsen’s hope was that the same applied to the Danish press corps, so the event could proceed without media attention-an argument that was not met with unconditional approval by his two subordinates, as they parked their car after an interrupted night’s sleep in front of Falkenborg’s residence in Frederiksberg.
Pedersen yawned widely as he got out of the vehicle. He opened his eyes toward the wind, letting the fresh air chase sleep from his head. Then he caught sight of one of the police surveillance vehicles on the other side of the street, and put a finger to his temple in greeting, without being able to see whether he personally knew any of the officers. He received a brief honk of the horn in response. The sound caught Troulsen’s attention, and he too gestured in greeting, without however receiving a response.
On their way up the stairs Pedersen commented, “I really hope we either find something incriminating or you and Simon manage to force a confession out of him, because in strictly legal terms we don’t have much to hang on him. Not in my view anyway.”
“Nor in the district prosecutor’s either. She reckons he’ll be held on remand for a maximum of three weeks. If the murders hadn’t hit the headlines already, I don’t think we would have been granted a search warrant at all.”
“So for once I’m hoping you get to soften him up properly.”
Troulsen was known for using force a bit too freely from time to time, which was not generally to Pedersen’s personal taste, but today was obviously an exception. That was the reason why Simonsen had chosen Troulsen in particular, to exploit the suspect’s marked childishness and hopefully give the police a solid mental advantage, before he was delivered for questioning at Police Headquarters. In the meantime Pedersen would get an overview of the extent of the search and then summon reinforcements when Falkenborg was taken away. The division of labour between the two men was already clear.
The nameplate on Falkenborg’s door was made of brass, and recently polished. Pedersen let a fingertip glide over it before he rang the bell. He rang twice in a row, after which he pounded hard on the door with his knuckles and rang the bell a third time.
A short time passed, then the door opened.
Andreas Falkenborg was revealed, barefoot in a bathrobe. It was obvious that they had woken him, his disoriented expression and dishevelled hair spoke for themselves. Pedersen began the procedure as he held up a piece of paper in front of the face of the half-asleep man and immediately stepped past him. Falkenborg moved to one side, but then called to Troulsen in a formal voice, “I ask that you identify yourself as a police officer.”
The request was presented without panic or aggression, but much louder than seemed necessary, like a scene from a bad comedy. Troulsen concluded that there might be a good reason for this behaviour. The combination of Falkenborg’s occupation, the cornerstone of which was eavesdropping, and his choice of words as if lifted straight from the national chief of police’s proclamation on identification of the police, reeked of their conversation being covertly recorded. He pulled the man outside onto the landing without a word and pressed him against the wall. Then he commanded authoritatively, “Stay there.”
Falkenborg complied, but at the same time called towards the open doorway, “Ow, ow… ow, that hurts! Oh, no, why are you doing that? Ow… ”
He was a miserable actor, and Troulsen answered calmly, “Shut your mouth, you’re not hurt, but if you try that nonsense again, you’ll get one on the head. Do you understand?”