“Isn’t there anything positive at all?”
“No.”
“What have you done with Arne? Wasn’t he there with Melsing?”
“He went round to see the prosecutor, to convince her to try to get the arrest extended. But she’ll never go along with that. We have nothing new, and she doesn’t like to be made a fool of, for which you can’t blame her.”
Troulsen said, “There are still a couple of days. We’ve got to try and pick up the pieces and then hope for a miracle. Should we do a status report and divide up the tasks?”
Simonsen agreed, without enthusiasm.
“Yes, we’d better do that, but let’s wait for Arne. Pauline, I have a special task for you. You will go to Hundested and speak with Jeanette Hvidt. I want her either out of the way or concealed. And go up there this evening. If you have other plans, then cancel them.”
Pauline Berg nodded. Although it clashed with her personal plans, it was obvious that she had no choice. Instead she said carefully, “Can’t we hold him for other things? Maybe tax evasion. What about the fact that his customers always pay in cash and without an invoice?”
“The Al Capone model.”
It was Troulsen trying to be witty. The Countess shook her head despondently.
“The idea is actually not that bad. It’s just way too late. We have no earthly chance of producing something sustainable before Sunday. But I have thought of a different possibility. We know that he bought half of a house and arranged a move, just to get Carl Henning Thomsen’s fingerprints on a plastic bag. Isn’t that correct?”
Simonsen confirmed that half-heartedly.
“Know is perhaps saying too much, but we strongly assume that. He spares no efforts once he has selected a victim. Where are you going with this?”
“He places the plastic bag he later murders Catherine Thomsen with over his Mozart bust, after which her father sets his fingerprints on it during the move.”
“Yes, that’s what we believe. And what he more or less confirmed during his interview. Why is that interesting now?”
“Because the Mozart bust is connected to Falkenborg, and the plastic bag is connected to the murder of Catherine Thomsen… ”
She let the sentence remain open. Simonsen concluded hesitantly for her.
“And if we can connect the plastic bag to the Mozart bust, we have him. The idea is interesting, go on.”
“There’s not much more to say. I am thinking that the fingerprints are logically dependent on the surface on which they are placed, or in this case pressed against. Maybe the contours of the bust can be found on the impressions. Or maybe the technicians can find unambiguous traces of the bust on the inside of the bag. Because I assume that it still exists in some archive or warehouse.”
The others nodded. It was the best suggestion they had so far been given on how they could move ahead. Although time was very short.
Troulsen asked the obvious question.
“Why didn’t you say this before?”
The Countess answered him without hesitation.
“Because I just happened to think of it now.”
The three others looked at Simonsen. He concluded, “In any event, it’s worth asking Melsing about. Call him, Countess. Get hold of him no matter where he is. Poul, you find out where the bag is. And make sure someone can deliver it, if we’re going to use it this evening.”
Fifteen minutes later the Countess was back with good news from Melsing.
“There are some chances of linking the bust to the plastic bag. Melsing had a couple of ideas, which I did not completely understand. He and his department are ready to get started, as soon as they have both objects. The problem is time. Twenty-four hours is far from enough for the ongoing investigations. A week is more realistic, and then only if they work around the clock, but… ”
She smiled. Simonsen and Berg were hanging eagerly on every word.
“If they can find traces of plaster inside the bag, and they can determine that tonight, Melsing is willing to talk up his findings to the judge. And that will guarantee us a week more to work with.”
Simonsen struck a clenched fist against the tabletop and exclaimed, “Yes!” Then he added, “So we got our miracle after all.”
It lasted for five minutes. Then Troulsen came back, almost exuding frustration.
“The plastic bag no longer exists, it was destroyed. I’ve spoken with the Næstved police, and Catherine Thomsen’s murder was considered solved, so in 2002 when they got new space for the archives-”
Simonsen interrupted him.
“I don’t care what happened. Is it certain that it’s gone?”
“Yes, unfortunately.”
CHAPTER 40
“Someone has to stop him.”
Jeanette Hvidt’s brown eyes flashed with anger, but the girl’s outburst also contained a touch of anxiety. Pauline Berg did not answer; she did not know what to say. Jeanette repeated, this time almost shrilly: “Someone has to fucking stop that crazy psychopath.”
The two women were sitting on a lawn with a view of the Isefjord. A fresh breeze from the water was blowing towards them, and Berg had its salty taste in her mouth. The shadows were long, the late-summer day waning. A short distance away, out of earshot, sat a handful of young people drinking beer. They were Jeanette’s third-year classmates at the Frederiksborg High School in Hillerød, who were patiently waiting for her. The group was on their way to a party when Pauline Berg caught up with them and after a brief discussion isolated her witness. A young man turned his head and watched for a long time when he saw Jeanette waving her hands in the air, but it was doubtful he could hear what she had called out. The wind snatched away the words. Berg noted that despite his age he looked big and strong, and thought that was exactly the type of protector the girl could use. That is, may have use for-hopefully it would not be necessary.
“What about men… do you have a boyfriend?”
Berg indicated the girl’s friends with a toss of her head.
“Do you call them men? What does that have to do with you anyway?”
“Wait a minute, Jeanette. I didn’t come up here on a Friday evening just to annoy you, and you know that perfectly well. If it makes you happy, I had to cancel a date this evening that I’ve been looking forward to for days, but some things in life are more important than others, and at the moment you’re more important than my date. My boss thinks so, and I think so too.”
The girl thought for a moment and then said, “Your boss is named Simonsen, but you call him Simon, isn’t that right?”
“Yes, it is.”
“Is he a good boss?”
“Now and then he can be tough, but all in all, sure, he’s good.”
“I’ve met him, did you know that?”
“I know.”
“I liked him, he was really sweet with my grandma, in a nice, quiet way.”
“Yes, that sounds like Simon. It doesn’t surprise me.”
“I didn’t know she had been assaulted. No one ever told me that. It’s strange, there are so many people I know who knew it, but they never told me a thing. It feels kind of false-you think you know people, and then you don’t at all when it comes right down to it.”
“I know just what you mean. Some secrets are known by a whole generation, but never talked about, as if everyone would prefer to forget. I’m sure we’ll be that way ourselves when we get old.”
The girl looked at Pauline Berg with surprise.
“Do you think so?”
“Definitely.”
“I never looked at it that way. Would you like a beer?”
“No, thanks, I’m driving, and besides I’m on duty.”
“Don’t cops ever drink on the job?”
“Occasionally, it’s like with everyone. Most rarely drink during work hours. Tell me, where are you going exactly?”
“Copenhagen, the train leaves in half an hour. We’re going to a party.”
“Why don’t you go over and ask the others to leave without you, and I’ll drive you to Copenhagen when we’re finished?”