“Anything interesting?”
“No, not really. You’ll have to go down to the switchboard, Arne, and reorganise the system. This isn’t working. I think they’ve deployed some inexperienced people in one of the chains. They’re afraid to make decisions and are transferring calls to me just to be on the safe side.”
“I’ll do that as soon as we’ve finished speaking.”
“We haven’t even started, as far as I recall. What was it you had?”
“Two things. First look at this, I want to show you a video.”
Pedersen had rigged his laptop. Simonsen stood behind him and muttered, “I hope it isn’t long.”
“It will take thirty-two seconds.”
“Okay, what is it we’re looking at now?”
“A safe deposit box in Roskilde Savings Bank in Lejre, at ten minutes past nine yesterday morning. Are you ready?”
The film started and for a couple of seconds showed a room that was empty apart from rows of bank boxes. Immediately afterwards a man came on to the premises, unlocked the door of one box and carried out a drawer. Only when he turned around could you see that it was Andreas Falkenborg. He set the drawer on a table in the middle of the room and took out an object. Simonsen asked, “What is that he has?”
“You can see it more clearly in a bit, but it’s a Belphégor mask. Look there.”
He froze the image, and the demon’s gruesome face looked out at them from large, empty eyes.
“A technician has gone over it, the image quality is minimal, as you can see, but she improved it by putting several frames together, so that-”
“I don’t care what she did, Arne. What is the result?”
“That he made the mask himself, presumably as a child. As far as we can see, it’s constructed from cardboard and papier-mâché.”
“The original mask that he wanted to scare Agnete Bahn with in her time?”
“Yes, I believe so. It must be his dearest possession. It’s probable that he has used it every time he has committed a murder.”
“We have to assume that. Make sure there’s a man assigned to the bank. No, make that two, and plainclothes of course.”
“It’s done.”
“Excellent, and then I want Falkenborg’s picture distributed to all the financial institutions in Zealand and shown to every single employee, in case he rents or has rented another box. If he comes into a bank, they should react to it like a robbery attempt. But bear in mind, for heaven’s sake, that he shouldn’t be held, only shadowed. To start with, this is our best chance to find the girl.”
“This will produce a series of false alarms all over the country.”
“Not if the personnel know his appearance, but we’ll deal with that. Find a reasonable man to put on the case, and make sure he gets help from the police commissioner. She’s good at this sort of thing and will love giving us a hand in this situation, count on that.”
“I’ll go up and see if she’s free, as soon as we’re done.”
“First the switchboard, then the commissioner, and if she’s not around, get her out of the meeting she’s probably in.”
“Yes, boss.”
“You’d better also get her to contact the Swedes and see whether they can be talked into a similar effort in the Malmö and Helsingborg region.”
“It’s noted.”
“Good, more about that?”
“No, but I have something else.”
“Which is?”
“The Countess and I were discussing that it’s strange he would know where Jeanette Hvidt was. Almost nobody knew, and we have also spoken with his lawyer about how she could show up out of nowhere, and it turns out that he had recorded a message on her answering machine on Tuesday afternoon, which she only heard on Wednesday at just past noon.”
“What did he say in that message?”
“That he would be arrested early Wednesday morning and brought to a place called HS.”
The phone rang. Konrad Simonsen ignored it and almost shouted, “What in the world is that you’re saying? Did he say HS?”
“Yes, like we say, and not Police Headquarters, like most people do. But he said ‘a place that’s called HS… ’ Clearly he doesn’t know what that is. And, well, that information… that is, that he was going to be arrested… if possible that’s even more confidential than Jeanette Hvidt’s uncle’s whereabouts in Helsingør. So I’ve been playing around with a chart, to see which one of us knew what and when. And, unfortunately, it was unambiguous.”
Simonsen was well aware of where this was heading. He asked anyway.
“Who is he eavesdropping on?”
“You.”
The homicide chief’s reaction was subdued. From his briefcase he found his personal keys and set them in front of Pedersen.
“Make sure if you can that these are people who don’t know me personally. If they find anything, then leave the shit there. Maybe we can use it to lure him out. Also have a check done with Poul, with yourself, with Pauline, and you might as well include Malte too. And the same applies as with me: let the equipment stay there, if there is any, and if those concerned consent.”
“I’ll do it right away.”
“Stop that nonsense! You can’t do everything right away. This has third priority, no one’s at home right now. Anything else?”
Pedersen looked crestfallen. It was no time for praise but he hadn’t expected criticism, even if perhaps it was justified.
“No, nothing else.”
“Then you’ll be busy.”
There was no let up for them the rest of the morning, but unfortunately without a trace of the man the whole country was searching for. Simonsen showed no emotion when he was informed that Pedersen’s suspicions held water, and that his own as well as Pedersen’s and the Countess’s homes had been broken into and bugged with tiny microphones plus associated central receivers, which transmitted all conversations over the cell-phone network to an English server on the Internet. Presumably they had been there ever since Simonsen’s Greenland trip. Not even when the case took on a new, far more personal turn in the afternoon did he let himself be distracted by his personal reactions to this invasion of his privacy.
The same could not be said however about his two closest co-workers. Pedersen and Troulsen came rushing into his office with every sign of panic in their eyes. Simonsen interrupted his phone call by simply hanging up, while at the same time he prepared himself to hear that Jeanette Hvidt’s corpse had now been found. Troulsen’s words dragged Simonsen right out of his delusion.
“He’s got Pauline.”
For a moment time stood still, as if Simonsen did not really want to let the message sink in. Finally he said, “Tell me.”
Pedersen started crying, so it was the older man who had to explain.
“We haven’t been able to get hold of her, so the microphone technicians-they’re from the intelligence service-drove to her house. Her car is still in the driveway with the door open, a window in her house is broken, she’s nowhere to be found, and her cat was thrown alongside the car.”
“Thrown alongside? Explain.”
“It’s dead, and it has plastic wrapped around its head.”
“The cat has been smothered, did I understand right?”
“Yes… no, not completely.”
“Then express yourself properly, man.”
Troulsen had to make a violent effort. Simonsen’s anger did not help him maintain his composure, more like the opposite.
“Its neck was broken, after which plastic was wrapped around its head. The plastic probably comes from a roll in her kitchen cupboard, they’re in the process of taking fingerprints now, but everything suggests that he has been all over her house.”
Simonsen’s next question was the most difficult he had ever asked. Nevertheless he managed to keep his voice neutral.
“Do we have any idea whether she is dead?”
“No, more likely he’s taken her with him, but we don’t know that for sure. There are dogs en route.”