Twenty seconds later Simonsen’s cell phone rang. He took the call and relayed the conversation as he listened, talking in turn to the others and to the Countess. It worked well, everyone could follow what was happening.
The Countess said, “The timing is going to be close, Simon. He’s still sitting in his car, but if he leaves, and the DSIS people spot him, the whole thing is messed up. And where are Doctor Cold’s gorillas? I don’t see any sign of them… Wait a moment, here they are now.”
Simonsen relayed to his listeners:
“She says that he felt touched, he seemed almost contrite and depressed. His attitude was completely resigned. He waved her away because he was starting to cry. Now he’s circling his car, apparently at a loss about what to do.”
The police commissioner wrung her hands and let out a short, “Yes.”
Simonsen instructed the Countess.
“No, you must not approach him again, leave him alone for a while.”
She said, “Now Doctor Cold’s people have caught up with him. It went fast, and no one noticed anything, but the timing is bad… No, now the driver is going to the truck where I put the transmitter. So you might as well continue.”
Simonsen informed the gathering.
“He is walking around the parking lot, now she can’t see him because of a bus… Then he comes out again, he goes back to his car and gets in… And now she says that he’s driving away.”
The head of DSIS pointed up at the big screen and said, “We can see that for ourselves, Simon.”
Simonsen shook his head slightly then said to the Countess, “No, you shouldn’t follow him, come back to HS. We have him tracked.”
The Countess answered Simonsen, “Keep your fingers crossed that the surveillance team doesn’t notice his car when it leaves the parking lot. See you in a bit.”
The optimism lasted for almost an hour; Falkenborg was on the move, driving on the South Freeway that led to Rødby on Lolland, and everyone was anxious when he turned off it; some more than others, however. Troulsen said, “Soon he’ll be at the Farø Bridge, where do you suppose he’s hidden her?”
The police commissioner was somewhat more subdued than before.
“Maybe he’s in flight, that’s also a possibility.”
The Countess, who had joined them, answered, “I don’t think so, he seemed very, very affected.”
“But when will he exit the freeway? This is almost unbearable to watch.”
Suddenly the head of DSIS said, “Something is wrong, he is driving too slowly. My people are a kilometre behind him, I’ll ask a team to drive up.”
It took a long time before he came back. Not until Falkenborg was stopped at Falster just before Guldborgsund did the security chief come into the room again, trembling with excitement.
“We lost him, that’s not even his car. He tricked us at the parking lot in Solrød and put the transmitter on a German truck that’s going to Rødby.”
Everyone was shouting at each other. Except for the police commissioner, whose face turned ash-grey and who dabbed her cheeks with her mineral water. No one had seen that happen before. There was confusion for a while until Simonsen became the focal point of everyone’s gaze. He said calmly, “Go and put out a search for him again, Poul, there’s nothing else to do. And this time we’ll bring him in when we find him.”
Troulsen left, and the head of DSIS consoled the police commissioner.
“Your order to cancel the close surveillance was correct. I am almost certain that it will be backed up everywhere, even though you have no operational experience. Unless there is a major investigation… but it shouldn’t concern outsiders who orders who to do what. I will personally take responsibility, so long as I don’t have to lie to an official inquiry. What do you say, Simon?”
“Naturally we’re in agreement on that, and I would have done exactly the same. Can’t we just avoid putting the command in the minutes? It’s not reasonable that only one of us takes full responsibility.”
The police commissioner livened up a little.
“Thanks, I won’t forget that.”
Neither of the two men believed there’d ever be an official inquiry, however; these things would obviously be taken care of internally. Or perhaps simply forgotten.
The story of the fiasco spread like wildfire through Police Headquarters. Gradually people began to gather in the control room. Individually or in small groups, the officers came in silently and took empty chairs or lined the walls. No one spoke, and the spontaneous gathering had no purpose. It felt simply as if everyone was used up; four days and nights of unbroken high-pressure effort had finally culminated in this. No one imagined Pauline Berg had any chance left now. Her rescue was beyond the scope of the police and could only be achieved by an even higher power. An older detective understood that better than anyone; he knelt and said a prayer, while others in his vicinity lowered their heads and, according to conviction, supported him as best they could. Arne Pedersen left the room, his caretaker followed. Both of them were crying openly. In the midst of the confusion sat Simonsen and the Countess, holding each other’s hand and waiting in anticipation. And then all at once the prayer was answered. The big screen suddenly changed its image, and a green circle appeared on a map of Denmark. One voice shouted excitedly above the rest.
“That’s the damned forest road to Avnsø, I know that place. It’s deserted out there, what do you suppose he’s doing?”
And another interpreted the green, blinking figure.
“He’s talking on his cell phone.”
The ring tone from Simonsen’s inside pocket was timed so that no one needed a closer interpretation. The homicide chief took the call, while everyone in the room held their breath. Simonsen listened; Doctor Cold’s voice was business-like, as usual. Simonsen, who by now was used to misleading anyone observing him, said aloud, “It’s him.”
He listened then added, “Between Källna and Össjö, right on the highway in a little birch grove, yes, I got that… And that’s where you buried Liz Suenson?”
The Countess was ready with pen and paper and wrote that down.
“Bunker in Hareskov between Skovbrynet Station and Hareskov Station, I follow you… No, you mustn’t… Yes, you’re sick, and we can help you. Stay where you-”
Simonsen dropped his cell phone and shouted, even though everyone was hanging on every word from his lips in advance.
“Malte, are you here?”
The student answered and instantly received his orders.
“Air-raid shelter from 1955, rented from Værløse Municipality, it must be Furesø Municipality today, at the end of a forest path near the S-train. Find the address, as quickly as you can. Poul, you get hold of an ambulance, use the emergency number, say that they should dispatch it from Herlev Hospital, that’s the quickest, and make sure there is a doctor along with it. Tell them they should drive toward Hareskoven and that the driver will be given the exact destination en route.”
Troulsen ran out, and Simonsen gave further commands.
“We should also have some patrol cars… that must be Gladsaxe Police District, someone take care of that… and also cars for Falkenborg. He is at… well, you can see that on the map, but it had better be quick, he’s about to do harm to himself.”
Several officers hurried out of the room.
The first report back came verbally and a good deal faster than anyone had expected. An officer called in.
“Andreas Falkenborg is dead. He poured gasoline over himself and the inside of his van, a lot it sounds like. He is burned beyond recognition, but there is no doubt that it’s his car. The fire department and several patrol cars are on their way, but that will take some time. The officers that are there now just happened to be in the vicinity.”