He threw the papers down on the table and the others bent over to read them. Afterward, no one said anything except Borup.
“I can bomb their pages off the Internet if I-”
Berg laid her hand over his mouth and he blushed more than ever. Simonsen’s cell phone rang.
He answered brusquely and listened. When he hung up, everyone was hoping it was not another piece of bad news. For once, their hopes were realized.
“Troulsen has found the woman in red and it sounds promising. They are both on their way here.”
Chapter 51
The owner of the temp agency turned out to be a friendly woman. Poul Troulsen knew her age already, she was in her late twenties. But he was wrong in the rest of his expectations of her. His image of a polished, self-confident career woman was shattered by someone both jovial and plump who did not spend unnecessary resources on her appearance or the interiors of her establishment. She led him into a conference room that looked more like a homeless shelter, and without asking him she handed him a plastic cup of lukewarm coffee. He took it and thanked her politely. It tasted terrible.
“As you know, this is about Helene Clausen’s high-school years. I have heard that you were one of the girls who was most engaged in what was going on in class.”
“You could say that. I was a terrible bitch actually. At the class reunion there are still some girls who hate me but I can understand why. I was not particularly pleasant but you’re right when you say that I was well informed.”
“And you were in the same class as Helene Clausen for a year?”
“Yes, until she drowned, but I can’t remember her very well and I have to think hard even to remember her-you know, conjure her up in my mind’s eye. I can remember that when I first saw her I was on my guard. She was both pretty and smart so I spotted a potential rival.” She shook her head. “Unfortunately, that was how I was. Well, I didn’t need to have worried. Helene turned out not to be very social and after that I didn’t pay much attention to her. I remember her death clearly of course. We made a lot of noise but forgot her almost immediately.”
“I have a picture of her if that would help.”
“No, that’s okay. I’d rather not. But anyway, we weren’t particularly tightly knit. Helen wasn’t close to anyone in the class.”
Troulsen thought that the observation was largely corroborated by the reports that he had read.
“You aren’t the first to say that,” he told her.
“No, she kept mostly to herself. That’s why I almost called and canceled, because I didn’t think I had anything to tell.”
He pricked up his ears. “But you didn’t?”
“No, I didn’t, because maybe I can help after all. At least a little. You see, in those days I kept a diary, and after you called, I looked in my old journals. It was no pleasure and there wasn’t much about Helene. Almost nothing. But it got my thoughts going and I suddenly remembered something. There was one time when Helene and I drove together. I can’t remember what we were doing or if anyone else from the class was with us, only that she insisted that we both put our seat belts on. I must have asked about it, but in any case she told me about a girlfriend who had been in a car accident. A really bad one. It was interesting that she used the word girlfriend. But unfortunately that is all that I can contribute.”
This did not trouble Troulsen.
“Don’t be sorry,” he said. “That may turn out to be an important piece of information.”
“This is about the murders at Langebæk School?”
“Yes.”
“I don’t know if I want you to solve them.”
“Well, you wouldn’t be the only one. You’re honest, at least.”
Troulsen stood up. She remained seated.
“I think it’s hard. On the one hand a crime has been committed, but on the other hand… it’s complicated.”
“I don’t share that opinion, but thank you for your time and thank you for your help.”
She followed him out.
Next, Troulsen drove to Helene Clausen’s old school, whistling happily. The reports did not mention a girlfriend from elementary school so he must have gotten something.
The Tranehøj School was an institution of the classical style. A four-story block of a building with two wings and a blacktop playground, bells on the walls, and dismantled water receptacles for thirsty children of the past. Signs to the school office were prominently placed, and in the front office he found a woman in her late forties. She had earphones on and was typing. Troulsen had to clear his throat a couple of times to get her attention.
“Sorry, I didn’t see you. Have you been here a long time? What can I help you with?”
“No, I’ve just turned up. Are you the school secretary?”
“The one and only.”
He took out his badge. “Poul Troulsen, from the Crime Division.”
She put the earpiece on the desk, where it kept burbling. “Well now, that sounds serious.”
“Not really. I’m here to get some information about a former pupil.”
“By the name of?”
“Well, you see, that’s the problem. How long have you worked here?”
“Longer than I care to think. I’ll be celebrating my twenty-fifth anniversary next year.”
“That sounds perfect. Ninth grade in 1992-93 and it is a girl.”
“We’ve had more than a couple of those. I hope you have a little more information.”
She had a heartwarming smile. Troulsen smiled back in return.
“Yes, I do. She was in a car accident, apparently serious.”
He was prepared to go on, to talk about the friendship with Helene Clausen, but the woman shut her eyes and held a finger up in the air. He waited.
Shortly thereafter, her face relaxed.
“Emilie. Her name was Emilie. Yes, it was a terrible accident. Both of the girls were hurt. It happened up by Helsingør, and it was Emilie’s own fault. She was speeding and had been drinking. But in the end they both recovered.”
Troulsen frowned. It didn’t add up. Students in the ninth grade did not have their licenses, but the secretary explained the discrepancy before he spoke.
“That was the older sister. She was a fair bit older than the younger one, maybe four, five years or so, and she was the one I remember. She was here at a school-anniversary celebration and we chatted a little bit. I can’t remember anything about the little sister, only that she was in the accident, and it was just after she had left the school.”
“Last name?”
The secretary shook her head. “No, but she became a doctor, in case that helps. It’s strange. I can see her so clearly but the little sister is completely gone. We should take a trip to the basement.”
“The basement?”
“Yes. If you come along I’m sure we’ll find her last name and whatever else we have on her. I keep the old yearbooks down there. I know it isn’t exactly the National Archives but it’s not uncommon that I can help track down former pupils. You know, for reunions and the like.”
A deep, powerful voice interrupted them.
“Tell me, what’s this all about?”
The principal was standing in the doorway to his office, broad-chested and imposing. Troulsen looked at him. His considerable belly stretched his red suspenders nearly to the breaking point. His face was fleshy and grim, and a pair of steel-rimmed glasses were pushed up on his bald head.
“I’m from the police and I’m trying to get some information about a-”
“I heard you,” the principal broke in. “What are you going to use the information for?”
“What I’m going to use it for? I’m going to use it to solve a crime.”
“What kind of crime?”
Poul Troulsen answered with some irritation, “That’s not relevant.”
“I think I know what kind of a crime it is. I’ve seen you on the Internet.”