“My daughter is coming. My daughter is coming now.”
“There, there.”
She gave her a hug and stroked her back. The woman calmed down. After that she let the wet towels fall to the floor and started to rub lotion onto her in soothing circular motions. The old woman opened her eyes and hummed softly, and she continued the rubbing a little longer than strictly necessary.
“We have to remember to brush your teeth and make sure that it doesn’t end up like last week.”
She deftly grasped the woman’s upper dentures and pulled on them. The last time she had bathed her the old woman had lost her teeth and she had become very anxious-not that she needed much to set her off. She brushed the set in hand soap while the old one rinsed her mouth.
“My daughter is coming to visit me. Is it Thursday today?”
“It is Tuesday today. Your daughter is coming over the weekend. It’s a long time until then,” she snapped without wanting to.
The woman reacted immediately.
“Call my daughter. She should come now. Is it Thursday today?”
“Shut up, you senile old fool.”
The old one wept heartrendingly.
Jørgensen couldn’t recall having struck a patient before. Never ever, not even a light slap like the one just now. She needed something to calm herself down, a pill or a drink or both. This was a stressful time.
Chapter 17
Arne Pedersen and Pauline Berg strolled along the sidewalk. They got along well with each other and liked to break off alone when given the chance, as in this case, although they were very busy. Berg was in a bad mood so there wasn’t much conversation but they did stroll. Perhaps it had become a habit.
In contrast, Pedersen’s mood was wonderful. The meeting at Forensic Pathology had given the investigation if not a full-blown breakthrough then at least a new dimension, and on top of it he was a cheerful sort. He differed in this way from his companion, who walked half a step in front of him and looked like a scolded child. All his experience with women told him that it was best not to talk to her and to let time work on her mood instead of trying to intervene. Sooner or later she would be back to normal, that was almost always the way, so in the absence of conversation he took the opportunity to admire her backside. It was not such a bad alternative and he slowed down a little more.
When they reached the corner, where Berg’s car was parked, they found a ticket on the windshield and, what was worse, the citation officer. He stood a couple of cars ahead of them, making note of a new offense. Pedersen decided to study the price list in the window of a laundromat, already firm in his decision not to get mixed up in the situation-a position he abandoned when Berg’s objections quickly escalated from a discussion to a disagreement, and the color of her face indicated a continued escalation. He forced her away from the parking officer, managed to get the keys from her after some work, and hastily drove them away.
For a time neither said anything. She was the one who finally broke the silence.
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. Do you want to drive?”
“No, it’s fine.”
They continued a bit farther in silence, then Pedersen reached for the newspaper between them. He propped it up on the steering wheel and said, “Listen to what that journalist Staal says about Simon.”
Berg looked disapprovingly at him. To read while driving did not seem a sensible combination.
“I would like to arrive in one piece.”
He let her finish, then read, “Chief Detective Inspector Konrad Simonsen was more for decoration than substance at the press conference. He had clearly been muzzled. The leader of the investigation sat as meekly as a lamb on the outer-”
He got no further.
“Stop it, Arne. I feel terrible. It’s like the whole thing’s gone wrong and I feel like a complete failure.”
He tossed the newspaper into the backseat with an attitude of defeat, then placed a hand on her thigh.
“Don’t you think you just need a man?”
“Why do you behave like a simple swine when you’re not?”
She sounded upset. He removed his hand and regretted his words. He tried something closer to the truth.
“Because you’re silly, Pauline. Simon took the psychologist from you for the simple reason that you weren’t managing her well enough. That’s all. You’re in a homicide unit, not a weekend trip with your girlfriends, and you may recall that Troulsen was missing, so it seems to me that you’re making far too much of yourself by playing reprimanded or glum or whatever you are. Whatever it is, Simon hasn’t got time for your childish games. That is to say, if he knew you had them, but he doesn’t because he’s not a mind reader. And remember that in the situation you broke down completely and went along with his decision without protest although they hadn’t helped you. But you chose to get upset afterwards and ten minutes ago you tried to reduce Denmark to a banana republic when you tried to use your police status to get out of a parking ticket. For heaven’s sake, Pauline, what kind of society do you want to live in? And now you’re blubbering as if you were thirteen and I was your dad, which I am not. So all in all, I’m more attracted to your body right now than your spirit.”
She didn’t answer, staring glumly into the traffic while she tried to shake off her bad mood. She had to admit that it wasn’t the end of the world and after a couple of kilometers she had more or less collected herself. She thought about suggesting that they split the ticket-that would be fair-but on the other hand she knew he was always in financial straits so she decided against it. She smiled sweetly, which required effort. Then she made her voice an octave deeper and asked, “Do you want to know what I dreamed last night?”
Pedersen noted that she had regained her equilibrium, which was good, although the question was less so. Normally he was fairly honest but in this situation he did not dare tell her that there was hardly a man in possession of his senses who willingly listened to women tell their dreams-if one excepted therapists, who were, after all, paid.
“Yes, of course. But we’re going to be there soon.”
“Do you remember our summer party?”
He remembered it very well. Their unit threw parties with Narcotics, but unfortunately also with administration personnel and the executives. It was rarely much of a laugh. There were too many chiefs and too few Indians for that. At the last event they had rented space in the city. The party room was fancy and had high ceilings. Very high. The architect had indulged himself without paying any attention to maximizing usable space or taking heating efficiencies into consideration. Five floors had been taken out and replaced with glass, with gigantic inch-thick windows overlooking the water. A glass ceiling floated above them, which gave a clear view of the starry sky as the evening progressed. Unfortunately, he had to leave early as the twins were sick and he had promised not to be too late. It was a little frustrating. He had wanted to introduce Berg-completely new at that time-a bit more thoroughly to the rest of the unit. His noble intentions had to give way to familial duties. Later, he had introduced her during their trip to Skanderborg. Two times, in fact.
“Of course I do.”
“In my dream I am dancing with you. It is about half past eleven, the party is at its peak, and we are one couple among many, twisting and turning around each other. Everyone is smiling and happy; some are wasted but not us. From the outside we look like all the other dancing couples but I have a plan, a plan you don’t know about. Suddenly we find ourselves in front of the stairs. That is the plan, or to be more precise, part of it. I have deliberately, step by step, led us to it. Do you remember the stairs?”
He did. It was a broad, winding staircase placed in one corner, which was connected to a bridge running across the length of one wall right under the ceiling. A chain marked this as a closed area. He nodded and wondered where she was going with this.