“Cool.”
“Yes, I suppose you could say that.”
It turned out that it was a matter of opinion if the dead were completely gone. A woman who turned up in a taxi brought a whole new perspective on the matter.
Simonsen was stubbing out his cigarette in an ugly black streak on the exterior wall of the gymnasium when he saw the car. He was on edge, almost irritable. The night had been too short and his head was about to run over with information that he was expected to handle. Big and small all mixed in together and every time something left his hands something new turned up to take its place. It was always that way in the beginning of a case, especially something of this nature, which was, mildly put, a high-profile case, but knowing this was hardly a consolation. On top of this, he had forgotten to call Anna Mia yesterday although he had gone to great lengths to promise her, and he had forgotten to thank the Countess for the chess book, which he had gone to great lengths to promise himself. But he had not been able to remember either of these, and as if that were not enough, he had, in a fit of terrible dietary planning, decided to subsist on a bowl of yogurt for breakfast, so now he was also famished. He tried on a smile that was far from genuine and walked up to meet his guest.
She was a weathered little woman who blended into the asphalt. They greeted each other formally. Her voice was dry as talc and without inflection as she started to dissect his current desires-and as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
“I sense a strong attraction to fish filets.”
He knew she was teasing him. Sometimes she used her special abilities to stir up his rational world, just because. He had been through it before.
“Thoughts don’t make you fat. That’s just how it is.”
Simonsen was a rational man. He did not believe in the Klabautermann, in the power of crystals or of earth power lines, and his window box had to make it through the winter without iron as a precaution against supernatural creatures, so when he nevertheless incorporated the little woman’s talents into his regulated universe it was because she regularly produced precise, correct, and relevant facts that lay miles beyond what simple guesswork could have produced. However, from time to time she was wrong and at other times she had nothing to say. How she came by her information he had long since given up trying to understand.
They usually met in her home in Høje-Taastrup, where she and her husband managed a lucrative but discreet consulting business. Her husband called himself Stephan Stemme and produced strange stories for online advertising. Once in a while Simonsen received an e-mail with an audio clip from him. He usually deleted these. When he consulted with the woman he always brought an object related in some way to the case in which he was seeking assistance. That was crucial. Like a police dog, she had to have some material to work from, but in this forensic investigation he had no physical objects to present to her. The agreement was that she would simply walk around the scene and see if the spirits were willing.
It turned out that the spirits not only were willing, they were lining up to have a chance to speak.
The second after she stepped into the gymnasium she tentatively stretched out her hand and glanced alternately at the ceiling and the floor, as if it were raining. Whatever it was she saw, it contorted her face.
“A man has been castrated by his own son. There are drops of blood on the floor.”
Suddenly she jumped back and was about to fall on top of Simonsen.
“Thank you. Who are they?”
Then it took hold of her. She stared in desperation down the length of the room, her hands pressed to her head, without words, apart from the occasional exclamation, but her gestures and facial expressions reflected an intense and unpleasant scene. The visions went on for quite a while. From time to time she covered her eyes, at other times her ears, and once she put her palms together and pressed her fingertips against her chin as if she was listening or praying. On one occasion she turned away in disgust.
Then all at once it stopped and she was left staring vacantly into space.
Simonsen was tense but remained silent even when one minute followed another and she stood there without sharing what she had seen. The first move had to be hers. Her response turned out to be as disappointing as it was surprising. That it was also a lie, was something he had no power over. The shadow world could not be consulted.
“Unfortunately I’m not getting anything else, and I would like to go home.”
Chapter 12
The face was fleshy and pale with tiny beady eyes, and the thin girlish mouth looked painted on. The gaze was directed downward and the features crumpled into wrinkles as many people have the habit of doing when difficult decisions need to be made. A sour fish-face.
The head filled two-thirds of the frame, and the headrest, decorated with the Danish flag, made up the rest.
For a brief second nothing happened, then the face broke into a grin while an eager tongue tip flicked out a couple of times and moistened the red lips.
Something was said, whereafter the video sequence froze and caught the man in an unflattering grimace.
Anni Staal-reporter at the Dagbladet, whom Simonsen preferred to see banned from the country-was disgusted. The flag and the man made her feel unclean even though she did not know who he was or hear what he was talking about. She halfheartedly looked around for her headset and realized that as usual someone had taken it. At which point she gave up. The message accompanying the video had been anonymous. The sender was only noted as “Chelsea,” which she didn’t know what to make of. Anonymous messages were nothing new. She received several every day, so she shouldn’t really be wasting more time on a single one.
The telephone rang. She grabbed the receiver and smiled when she recognized the well-known voice. After a short while she said, “I certainly remember Kasper Planck and that will be a sensation, so you’ll get two thousand if we have a feature on him tomorrow.”
She gave a time and a place and added, “All right, we’ll say twenty-five hundred, but tell me something while I have you on the line. Arne Pedersen-you know, Konrad Simonsen’s right hand-there’s a rumor that he has gambling debts. Do you know anything about that?”
Again she listened, though not for as long this time, then she said, “I know, I know. With regard to Kasper Planck, do you think that I can get a comment from either Simonsen or Planck himself?”
While she listened to her answer, she deleted the e-mail and read the next one. She received two new messages before she wrapped up the call.
“I think I’ve got the right little Lolita-Anita for the job. The girl has such high morals she should be studying to become a minister rather than journalist, so she meets both of your criteria. And for God’s sake, call me back soon.”
She hung up and called out into the editorial cubicle area, “Anita!”
Chapter 13
There was nothing charming about the Pathology Institute in Copenhagen but through the years there had been many times when Simonsen had felt a certain relief upon entering the place. Perhaps it was the ubiquitous smell of rodalon that stung the palate and nostrils, but that nonetheless did not manage to conceal the heavy odors, or else it was the strange mix of hypermodern machines and gray-white organs in holding jars from an earlier era that appealed to him. The institute was a locked world where only a few insiders belonged, and he was not one of them.
Arthur Elvang went through the preliminary autopsy results. The board was soon covered and in a little while he would wipe it clean for the fourth time. Simonsen glanced at Arne Pedersen and Pauline Berg, who were sitting at his side and were following the professor’s discourse with great concentration, in contrast to the head of Criminal Forensics, on his other side, who was sleeping. His name was Kurt Melsing and he was respected for his abilities. In contrast to the professor, he was a likable man. From time to time he nodded or gave a little snort, waking for a brief period of time, after which he soon fell back asleep. He had been up all night and none of the others wanted to interfere with his nap.