A muscular bouncer got up from a neighboring table. He placed a protective hand on the singer’s shoulder and said softly, “Perhaps you should leave.”
The Countess took out her badge and held it out under his nose. “Is that a threat?”
The man remained calm. “No, it’s not a threat. I’m not stupid enough to mess with the police but perhaps you should leave anyway. She doesn’t want to talk to you and if you stay here she won’t be able to talk to you. And anyway, you already got your answer. Look at her, for fuck’s sake. Can’t you put it together for yourselves?”
The women looked at each other. Then they got to their feet. The Countess pulled out a card and laid it on the table. She nodded toward the weeping singer.
“In case she changes her mind, or if anyone else can help.”
The bouncer still remained calm. “I don’t think so. We can’t stand child molesters in this town.”
People clapped as they made their way to the exit.
Chapter 38
In Kregme, at Arresø, Stig Åge Thorsen was following the police car with his eyes as if slowly crawling up the country lane and he smiled when he saw it stop at the fire. He used the extra time to review his instructions once again.
Avoid long answers, only answer when you are asked a direct question. Don’t say anything if there’s any doubt in your mind. Don’t say anything if you are confused and ignore any kind of a threat. Silence is your friend, these lines are your message.
He could almost hear Per Clausen’s voice and his smile widened. He wasn’t nervous, which surprised him a little, and he walked out into the yard to greet them. A pale afternoon sun emerged from the heavy skies. It was chilly and he shivered.
The patrol car rolled into the driveway. He nodded to the driver and watched as he parked the car parallel to the farmhouse, close to the stone wall as if anything but ninety-degree angles and straight lines were an insult. To his annoyance, he realized that he knew the officer. It was an old classmate. Or had he been in another class in the same year? He couldn’t remember but would have preferred it otherwise, it would have been easier. The policeman stepped out of the car and walked over to him. He was in uniform.
“Hey there, Stig Åge.”
“Hello.”
“I’d like to talk to you about that bonfire of yours out in the field. We’ve had a complaint.”
It wasn’t a question, so he remained silent.
The policeman glanced uncertainly at him when it became clear that no answer was coming, and he retreated almost imperceptibly before he tried again: “What is it you’re burning out there?”
“A stranger turned up and gave me twenty thousand so he could dig a hole on my property. He wanted to set fire to his minivan. I dug the hole and made sure there was a good oxygen supply. Drove out the fuel, sacks of coal, wood and kerosene, before I went on holiday. When I came back, I tended to the fire twice a day. That was the deal.”
He said his piece loud and clear without trying to conceal that he had prepared it ahead of time.
The policeman took another step back and stared at him with skepticism. The word minivan had triggered something and he was thinking hard-apparently in vain-while he scratched the back of the head as if he wanted to scratch it out. Finally he said, “What is it you’ve gotten yourself involved in, Stig Åge? Is this the minivan they’re looking for in Bagsværd?”
“A stranger turned up…” The piece was delivered exactly as before.
“You’re coming down to the station with me.”
“Am I under arrest?”
“Nah, no, I was thinking you could come of your own accord.”
“Absolutely not.”
The policeman scratched himself so hard that one would have thought he had fleas. “Can you repeat that part about the bonfire?”
Just as before, he recited the piece word-for-word, and the officer got into his car while Stig Åge Thorsen waited patiently. Through the window he saw that the man was talking. A certain amount of time went by, then the car window was lowered.
“Stig Åge, I’m placing you under arrest. It is Saturday, the twenty-eighth of October, and the time is two fifty-three P.M. Please be so kind as to get in.” He scratched his head again, then added, “Up here next to the driver’s side.”
Stig Åge Thorsen obeyed, without saying a word.
Chapter 39
The Countess was awakened at quarter past five Saturday morning, when the night receptionist called and announced unceremoniously that the police were at the front desk with mail for her. The time of day was most clearly a little act of revenge from all the people that she had whipped into working overtime the day before, which she couldn’t really hold against them. She therefore did not complain when she staggered downstairs and received the envelope from the motorcycle officer. Otherwise she might have questioned the fact that the packet was addressed to her while Berg was allowed to sleep.
The report was exhaustive and extremely detailed, almost sixty pages about the Ditlevsen brothers’ lives, so there was some work in separating the wheat from the chaff. A bath rid her of sleepiness and two packets of peanuts stilled the worst of her hunger. She sat down to read.
A couple of hours later, in the car, her head start was massive. Berg sat beside her, in the passenger seat, and skimmed the material.
“Good work, don’t you think? Are you almost done?” the Countess teased her.
“Done? Are you out of your mind? It’s impossible to absorb all this in fifteen minutes.”
“Oh, I don’t think it’s so hard. Just concentrate on the essentials and forget the rest.”
Berg nodded and leafed defeatedly through the papers.
The Countess came to her aid: “Should I go over it with you? Then you can follow along at the same time.”
“Can you remember it?”
“Of course not, only the main points.”
“How can you? I just don’t understand.”
“I had peace and quiet to concentrate before you came down to breakfast. You’ll pick it up along the way.”
“You mean, if I supplement my magazine reading with a trip to the library now and then.”
The Countess shrugged, somewhat uncertain of where the conversation was headed. Her colleague’s confession was not part of the plan. Nonetheless, she kept her three hours of work to herself and hurried on.
“It wouldn’t hurt you, but all right, let’s get started. Frank Ditlevsen was born in 1952 in the village of Ullerløse in Odsherred and his younger brother three years later. They had no other siblings. The mother left the family in the summer of 1956. She emigrated to start a new life in Leeds, in England, where she had a childhood friend. Perhaps she was fleeing from the father. It’s not clear.”
Berg confirmed this. She was following along in the papers and felt inadequate.
“Life in the home was austere. The father, Palle Ditlevsen, supported himself as a worker, a hired hand, if you will. Did some work under the table here, some small things here, seasonal harvesting, temporary positions for the county. Repaired bicycles, once also selling them-stolen bicycles. There are two police reports but no prison sentence or fines, so matters were probably settled amicably. The boys are neglected and occasionally the father enjoys the bottle too much. The county checks up on the family and things are not good. The file is brutal reading, there are five reports. The first from 1962, the last one from 1967. The boys ought to have been removed, but the need of the children takes second place to that of the taxpayers. The county takes their time and the brothers grow up.”
The Countess gave her passenger time to confirm the details. Berg turned the page and read, this time purposefully. When she had finished, she said, “That is all correct, go on.”
“Frank Ditlevsen gets an apprenticeship position and in 1971 he is a fullfledged lithographic printer. His life appears stable. The same employer until 1986, when the business might as well hang up the keys as new technology is devastating the industry. Ten years earlier, Frank Ditlevsen got married. The bride was a housecleaner from Rørvig. The couple’s only child was born later that same year. That was our singer from yesterday. Allan Ditlevsen follows his father’s footsteps, if I can call it that, apart from the fact that he doesn’t drink. From 1971 to 1993 he has records at the tax authorities with no less than forty-six different employers. Unfortunately, positions such as ‘teaching aide’ and ‘day-care assistant’ are on the list.”