“Why was that?”
He spoke about his uncle, who at that time was Danish defence chief, and about his fear of the negative impact the family relationship might have on his companions during the sled journey. The Countess thought that the explanation sounded convincing and was presumably true. Then she asked the only question to which she did not know the answer in advance.
“You also maintained that your position was that of geologist. Why is that?”
Bertil Hampel-Koch’s cheeks took on a pink glow, and he did not answer immediately. Not until he had regained his normal colour did he say, “Yes, that’s also a little embarrassing.”
The Countess interjected soothingly, “Don’t worry about that. Regardless of what you tell me, I’ve certainly heard it before. Besides, it’s not my task to judge you. And definitely not on something that happened twenty-five years ago.”
The words helped. He told her in a low voice, “At that time I was newly married, and we were expecting our first child. That was good news, of course, but also a little frightening. So I suddenly got the opportunity to be anonymous on that base, and I thought that if on top of that I lied about my job, no one could trace me when I left. Although… well, that proved not to be the case.”
She didn’t respond, letting him dig himself deeper.
“In that way I could be a bachelor for a couple of days, if you know what I mean.”
“Yes, I think I’ve got the point.”
“Good Lord, I was twenty-eight years old. I would never behave that way now.”
He looked imploringly at her, and she discovered to her surprise that he was angling for sympathy. She said casually, “No? Married men’s way of thinking usually grows a bit more relaxed over the years. You met a nurse, Maryann Nygaard.”
He lowered his eyes.
“Yes, and I got her-”
The Countess interrupted him quickly.
“Now, now, you don’t need to go into detail. This has no relevance to me. I’m only interested in the big picture.”
She thought that she might just as well have said that from there on she was only interested in passing the time, until she could reasonably maintain that he had been questioned. He answered, relieved, “Well, then. I guess you are.”
He was a miserable witness, which did not make the next twenty minutes any easier. To put it mildly, he could not remember much about his stay at the base, and not a thing that the Countess could use. She concluded by presenting him with a picture of Andreas Falkenborg from the year 1983.
Bertil Hampel-Koch looked at the picture for a long time. There was no doubt that he really wanted to help, but was unable to.
“No, unfortunately.”
“His name is Andreas Falkenborg, but he went by the nickname Pronto.”
He shook his head apologetically.
“Falkenborg was a trained engineer and employed at the base as an assistant electrician. He also flew helicopters.”
Again a pause, and again a shake of the head.
“So you don’t know about any connection between him and Maryann Nygaard either?”
“Unfortunately not. The only thing I know is that there was a kind of group around Maryann and her Greenlandic friend. I can’t remember the name of the girl, but she was just as pretty as Maryann and… that is, Falkenborg was not part of that group.”
Not part of… The Countess wrote down the information in block letters followed by four exclamation points. Then she thought that she should stop while the going was good. She closed her notebook.
“You have been a great help. Thanks very much for sparing me the time.”
He frowned and scratched his neck thoroughly with one finger. Then he said seriously, “I truly hope you catch Maryann’s murderer. When I heard that she had been killed, I was both shocked and relieved at the same time. It’s a very strange feeling that I’ve never had before. For many years I believed that she… died because of me. That wasn’t the case, but… ”
He stopped short, and she waited politely until he continued.
“I can’t find any words that are suitable, so I’d better not try. In any event I won’t forget this, I can promise you that. I hope one day to be able to reciprocate.”
The Countess didn’t want his gratitude; she had her own problem. Simonsen’s medium had insisted that she should cling firmly to Bertil Hampel-Koch, alias Steen Hansen. She had clung and clung for the past seven days. It was a matter of life or death, she had been told. Yet she had ended up in a dead-end and wasted a lot of time to no obvious benefit. Until the last she had hoped for a revelation that had not come. Now she was left empty-handed. And regardless of how much she twisted and turned even the most impossible scenarios, where the director perhaps played a role in the murder of Maryann Nygaard, none of them was even remotely probable. So what now? The answer was obvious-nothing, it was over. Nonetheless she tried to hold a door open.
“I hope to be able to come back to you another time, if I have further questions.”
It was clear that the comment puzzled him, but she received his non-committal, polite confirmation. Then she gathered together her things, shook hands with him and deliberately stepped out of her role as she took her leave.
“Now you be sure to greet our common acquaintance the prime minister from me when you see him.”
Bertil Hampel-Koch feigned a smile and agreed.
CHAPTER 38
So as not to arrive late at the press conference, the Countess rushed back from her conversation with Bertil Hampel-Koch. The result was that she was the first to take her place on the podium. She was followed shortly afterwards by Konrad Simonsen, Arne Pedersen and Pauline Berg. The Countess nodded curtly to her boss with a meaningful look on her face when he arrived; the questioning of Hampel-Koch had gone as expected. He reciprocated with a raised thumb. Then she had plenty of time to form an impression of the gathering.
The press conference was well attended; altogether about fifty journalists and photographers participated. With satisfaction the Countess noted that no TV cameras were present. The two channels that had announced their arrival had been promised a special interview with Simonsen and herself immediately afterwards. The reason given for this was that the police wanted to prevent certain sensitive circumstances related to the investigation from being broadcast directly. The explanation had been accepted.
At the scheduled time voices in the room lowered to a soft murmur. The Countess straightened up in her seat and became serious. The conference began, and Simonsen was immediately fired upon from all sides. The day’s top story was twofold: partly the arrest and indictment of Andreas Falkenborg, partly the police’s interrogation methods during and after the arrest. Words like “fiasco” and “blunder” were heard, and the head of the Homicide Division had to take many digs, as he was not exactly well liked by the country’s crime reporters. Respected perhaps, but definitely not loved. Over the years he had withheld too many good headlines from them. For the most part however her boss managed fine, and on those few occasions where his temperament threatened to clear the next day’s front pages, Pedersen was capable of taking over.
The Countess herself said nothing. Instead she systematically scanned the journalists present and soon found the two she was looking for. They were sitting at the back of the room looking frankly bored. The older one was a big man with a shaggy black beard, who reminded her of the Hollywood version of a Cossack. The younger was pale with small, round glasses and a permanently suspicious expression, as if he didn’t really believe what he was hearing, no matter who was speaking, because that was his nature. She secretly observed them for a long time, while pretending to stare blankly into space whenever one of them turned their eyes towards her. It was their fault that the press conference was being held at all, and it was her task to fulfil the promise made in the Botanical Gardens to Helmer Hammer to get them interested in something other than Hampel-Koch’s Greenland trip in the late summer of 1983.