Simonsen shouted so that it echoed.
“No, he’s not coming in! And you, Ernesto, tell everyone who asks that you are certain he will return to his hiding place. I don’t care what psycho-babble you package it in, just do as I ask. I do not want him arrested now. Is that understood?”
They understood him.
At that moment Pedersen slipped in the door and placed himself without a word at the back of the room. The Countess asked him a question, but received only monosyllabic words in response. Troulsen tried too. He did not answer at all. They let him be, he was doing no harm. Shortly after that they got more news about Falkenborg. He was staying at the Hotel Grand in Herlev, a small hotel not far from the centre, where he had checked in three days ago.
Simonsen instructed the Countess.
“The head of DSIS is on his way, and you will be the one who liaises with him. I assume that he has some electronic gadgetry so we can follow Falkenborg’s movements on a screen. Get the big meeting room set up as a control room. I will be back in a couple of hours at most, but I’m turning off my cell phone so you can’t get in touch with me meanwhile.”
“What do you mean by control room?”
“I don’t know, it’s just an expression. But we should be able to follow his movements on the big screen. And get the staff restaurant to provide water and sandwiches… Damn it, do I have to arrange every single detail myself?”
“No, I understand. Control room is an excellent designation. Just get going.”
Troulsen asked in amazement, “Where in the world are you off to? What is more important than this?”
The Countess had herself fully under control. She cut him off brutally.
“Mind your own business, Poul. And trust that Simon is capable of minding his.”
Troulsen backed out. He had never heard the Countess talk that way before.
CHAPTER 56
Marcus Kolding and Konrad Simonsen met in Hareskoven, by coincidence less than three kilometres from where Pauline Berg sat alone in the bunker, fighting for her life. They left their cars and walked side by side through the forest in the pleasant sunny weather. Simonsen started by thanking the man for his assistance in identifying the Finnish girl, Elizabeth Juutilainen, and received an indifferent shrug in response. Their subsequent conversation was barbaric, primitive, but also rewarding for both of them. Life for one, death for the other -the comment by the head of DSIS to Simonsen after the meeting at the Ministry of Justice was about to become bloody reality. Marcus Kolding considered the homicide chief’s proposal for a long time before he summarised in a neutral tone.
“I kidnap and torture your mass murderer, until he comes out with where he has hidden the women. In return you tell me the name of the informer you say I have in my organisation.”
“Yes, that’s the deal.”
“What about the psychopath… What’s his name again, I’ve forgotten it?”
“Andreas Falkenborg.”
“Do you want him back alive?”
They walked a dozen steps before it occurred to Kolding that he would not get an answer. Then he said in a business-like way, “Okay, I understand.”
The only controversy between the two men was about when Kolding would get his information. Simonsen held firmly to his proposal.
“When you get him to talk-not before.”
“How do I know that you won’t cheat me? Although that would be very stupid of you, obviously.”
“You can’t know that, and stop threatening me. You have to trust that you’ll get what I’ve promised you.”
“Or that these aren’t false accusations against one of my employees that you have fabricated to suit your agenda?”
“They will be in a form which you can judge for yourself.”
“An audio recording?”
“You’ll have to see.”
Doctor Cold confirmed the horse trade by standing still and extending his hand. Simonsen took it with displeasure. They agreed on the practical details and soon they were back at the cars, where neither of them felt compelled to shake hands again. Simonsen left first; his interlocutor sat in his car and waited a few minutes, while in the meantime he rubbed his large snout with characteristic rotary movements.
CHAPTER 57
Pauline Berg was alone in the bunker. Andreas Falkenborg had killed Jeanette Hvidt before her eyes and buried the body in the concrete floor of the bunker. But her brain refused to process what she had seen. Gradually as she slipped into a state of exhaustion and dehydration, she felt certain that Jeanette was still sitting by her side. She patiently instructed her fellow prisoner.
“Try chewing on your gag. Many times but carefully, without hurrying. Then finally you can force it out with your tongue. You mustn’t give up, do you understand?”
She had a hard time making out the reply.
“Remember, you’re going to be a doctor. You will be a good doctor.”
Finally she sensed how Jeanette’s mouth slowly worked the gag, just as she herself had done it. The sound calmed her until another sound blended in-an extended scraping sound that made tears leak from her eyes without her knowing why. She concentrated on not remembering, resumed the encouragement to Jeanette Hvidt, again and again, then recited the days of the week, the months, the planets-all to divert her thoughts. Then suddenly the darkness was broken and again she saw Falkenborg, with a finishing trowel, smoothing the wet concrete over Jeanette Hvidt’s grave, so that it was level with the floor of the bunker. Other gruesome sounds and horrible images forced their way in, and she heard her screams die against the walls in a dull distortion, which better than anything else jolted her into awareness. Desperately she shook and tore at her chains, until fatigue forced her to give up and sit sobbing impotently for her parents to come and rescue her. Then the darkness once again became her friend. For a brief, clear moment she realised that time was running out, but that basically did not concern her. Then she excused herself to the woman no longer sitting by her side for her panic, and fell into a troubled sleep.
CHAPTER 58
The investigation had proceeded without help from Arne Pedersen for the last couple of days. He wandered around Police Headquarters as he wished, attended the meetings he wanted to, but no one counted on him or involved him in any decisions. Reports of his incapacity had quickly spread, with the result that wherever he was, he was treated kindly and considerately, but also as if he was not really present. The first twenty-four hours after the news of Pauline Berg’s kidnapping had obviously been terrible for him and he was of no use at all in an investigative capacity. Many of his colleagues encouraged him to go home, which he steadfastly refused. He wanted to be with the others until the whole thing was over; anything else would be unbearable. As no one really had time to get involved, they left him alone and got used to him. Like a daddy long-legs, he thought with bitter irony. Like a daddy long-legs.
To his own great surprise he had no problem sleeping. The nightmare about the witch, his mother and finally Pauline Berg, who perished in a plastic bag, was absent. Possibly because the reality was more horrific. He did not know the reason and did not care. He could sleep, for whatever reason, and that was the most important thing. All he needed to do was lie down on the floor in his office, and a few minutes later he was snoozing like a child, so it was hardly surprising that he was the most well-rested police officer in the whole complex and certainly in the Homicide Division. The thought pleased him, but he kept it to himself. He said nothing to anyone, about that or anything else. But maybe it was just by sleeping that little by little he got hold of himself.