The Countess asked carefully, “What is the meeting’s agenda?”
“Something meaningless about information sharing, I think. It was the police commissioner who called it, and that could easily be a pretext she thought of on the spot when I asked. That would be just like her. When the mighty whistle, she’s not exactly the type who asks impertinent questions, and certainly not about something as petty as an agenda.”
“Do you mean that you’re not coming?”
“I told her that I would do everything in my power to find a qualified co-worker with a gap in their calendar, but that it was especially hard, considering the circumstances.”
“What did she say to that?”
“Nothing. I don’t think she even got what I meant. But that’s her problem.”
The Countess looked at her watch and decided to let the matter rest a while. Instead she asked about the map on the floor.
“Are you thinking about putting the whole machinery in motion around that chapel? I mean, we don’t have much to hang that information on. And there is nothing to indicate that Andreas Falkenborg has any particular religious affiliation, or am I wrong there?”
“No, that’s correct. Actually I’m dropping our chapel line of inquiry to start with. Despite the fact I can’t bear to think that maybe later that will turn out to be a mistake. But I simply don’t have the resources at the moment.”
“Resources? We have plenty of resources. Our colleagues are reporting for work voluntarily on a large scale. Ordinary people too incidentally.”
“Yes, but that doesn’t help much here and now. Tomorrow and the day after tomorrow our main priority is to get a super-effective covert surveillance of Andreas Falkenborg established, once he is recognised. There is hardly any doubt that he will be, if he so much as sets foot in a public area. We have a network of experienced people stationed in strategic places in the capital so that regardless of where he is discovered, we can shadow him on a large scale within fifteen minutes. That’s crucial. Under no circumstances must he slip away from us again, and if he discovers that he is being followed, that’s just as bad. For obvious reasons.”
“You don’t want to bring him in?”
“No, I don’t. My guess is that there is a greater probability of finding the women if we shadow him. That’s my assessment, and that’s how it will be to start with.”
The Countess supported the decision. Simonsen continued.
“If he isn’t found by Wednesday at the latest, we have to assume… assume that it is more reasonable to initiate a search for where he has concealed Pauline and Jeanette Hvidt. But it has to be organised. A lot of well-intentioned people, running around aimlessly, does more harm than good. And there we have the core of the problem, because those who can organise are mainly the same people now keeping themselves ready for surveillance. I’m giving up the white chapel search because otherwise I risk being torn between two things, not because the tip is dubious. Crypts and chapels may well be an excellent place to start, because we don’t have anything better at the moment.”
The Countess let out a meditative sound and then said as casually as she could, “No, I can see that. We’re stymied, even though maybe Madame is right about her chapel. It’s so annoying that we can’t borrow people from the intelligence service. They would be tailor-made for that surveillance task.”
Simonsen muttered, “They’ll never agree to it. Think of the risk to the security of the realm in the meantime.”
“But maybe someone could convince them to help us out?”
About to get to his feet, he turned his head slowly and caught her eye. For a long time they looked at each other. Finally she said, “Madame called you a porcupine.”
“Hmm, I’ll have to bring that up with her. When I’m dead. Fetch Ernesto Madsen, I want him along, and let’s see about getting out of here.”
CHAPTER 50
The meeting was held in the Ministry of Justice on Slotsholmsgade in central Copenhagen, and its timing alone indicated the seriousness of the situation. All the participants could easily have found a more pleasant way to spend a mild September evening. But the kidnapping of two young women, presumed to be in mortal danger if not already dead, demanded the attention of even the highest-ranking members of the Danish bureaucracy. Or so Helmer Hammer said. The story was high-profile in both print and electronic media, and all the participants wished to be, or at least feel like they were being, updated about the police effort.
The police commissioner, national chief of police, head of the Danish Security and Intelligence Service and the public prosecutor for Copenhagen and Bornholm were present, in addition to a chief administrative officer from the Ministry of Justice and the Minister of Justice’s personal secretary, as well as Bertil Hampel-Koch from the Foreign Ministry and Helmer Hammer from the Prime Minister’s office. The only participants in the meeting actively involved in the search were Konrad Simonsen, the Countess and Ernesto Madsen, whom Simonsen had insisted should take part, to which no one had objected.
The police commissioner smiled across the table at her homicide chief. She was dressed in a brown dress with grey-white flounces and resembled a muffin. She looked nervous to find herself in such company. Simonsen smiled back. Director Bertil Hampel-Koch suggested himself as keeper of the minutes and noted down his assignment before anyone could object, after which out of respect for the hierarchy he gave the national chief of police the floor.
The chief was a handsome man, well-proportioned with a classic profile and a mass of silver-grey hair, which always seemed to be freshly trimmed. He habitually wore a serious expression that meant few could relax in his company. Added to that were his expensive, gold-rimmed glasses, which he removed when he thought his viewpoints were especially important, basically every time he opened his mouth. In writing he was either a genius or an idiot. At Police Headquarters and all over the country his subordinates cursed his vague orders, which always left plenty of room for interpretation and correspondingly released him from any responsibility if something went wrong later.
This evening he surprised them however, not only by keeping his glasses on but also by giving the floor in turn to Konrad Simonsen without unnecessary preamble.
“I hope that this meeting will be as brief as possible,” the homicide chief began. “I acknowledge your right to be informed of our progress, but I also believe you will understand that every minute I’m sitting here takes away from time spent on locating police detective Pauline Berg and the student Jeanette Hvidt, and time is the most critical factor at the moment. So if this meeting does not proceed both quickly and constructively, you will have to manage without me and my associates.”
There was no ambiguity about this declaration, and given Simonsen’s comparatively low rank it was also slightly provocative, but the majority of the participants nodded their acceptance. Only the Minister of Justice’s secretary commented sourly, “I’m sure others can take over from you in the meantime.”
She was a younger woman with short, light hair and a pair of large, red plastic earrings that, oddly enough, suited her. Simonsen sent her an angry look without quite knowing how else he should respond. Support came from an unexpected quarter. The head of DSIS, who was not known for his forbearance, growled curtly, “Nonsense. Simonsen is right. Let’s get started.”