‘And there’s any number of other possible scenarios. But you’re looking back into Kramer Nielsen’s past, and only back.’
His reply was infuriatingly evasive.
‘I’m fixing a hole where the rain gets in, filling cracks I should have mended a long time ago.’
‘Your own?’
He put the roller down in the tray and elaborated on the case.
‘It doesn’t really matter that much if I’m right or wrong. It may be a blind alley, and it may not. Remember, no one in the world showed the slightest interest in Jørgen Kramer Nielsen while he was alive. Now I am, after he’s dead. And as for myself, I’m spending time on a lot of things that weren’t important to me before. As it turned out, reality and circumstances conspired to give me the chance all of a sudden. Where it’s going to take me I don’t know. But as long as I’ve got you and Anna Mia, I’m pretty sure I can’t go wrong.’
The Countess laughed, a bright, disarming sound, and threw caution to the wind with respect to her cardigan. The paint was surely water-based anyway and could be washed out if need be. And if it couldn’t, then she would have an excuse to go into town and buy a new one. Two, even.
‘That’s sweet of you. I was afraid you couldn’t keep the two areas separate.’
‘Of course I can. I just don’t want to, that’s all.’
The Countess stroked his shoulder, then stepped back and looked at him.
‘I hear you’re having trouble with Pauline.’
It was true, but he’d decided to put the issue off until tomorrow. Besides, he wasn’t as worked up about it any more. On the one hand, Pauline was only doing what he would have done himself, if he’d cared to look at Juli’s death like that. On the other, it was completely unrelated to his current inquiry. In either case it would have to wait. He just couldn’t be bothered to think about her at the moment.
The Countess accepted his explanation. It was reasonable enough. And it was important he didn’t do too much at once. She indicated the posters at the far end of the room.
‘What about her?’
He turned and looked at them.
‘There’s no need for me to be jealous, I hear,’ added the Countess.
‘How do you mean? I didn’t even know her. Anyway, to all intents and purposes Arne got the priest to confirm that she was dead. That loft is her memorial.’
‘And now you’re making her a new one?’
There was a pause before Simonsen replied, and when he did he tried to make it sound casual, jokey even. It didn’t work.
‘She’s used to light.’
‘What about Rita? Was she used to light, too?’
The name pulsed in the air between them. She had guessed, but then it had only been a matter of time. He didn’t know what to say, so he said nothing.
‘The girl with the flowers, the one you hit on that demo. You met her again, didn’t you?’
‘Yes.’
‘And her name was Rita?’
‘Yes, but it’s my story and I won’t tell it until I’m ready. Right now I want to get this painting done.’
To his mind it sounded reasonable, but the Countess ignored him.
‘Is she still alive?’
‘I don’t know, I suppose so. But if you imagine I’m viewing the girl in the posters as a substitute for Rita, you’d be wrong. Is that what you’re thinking?’
‘It’s what I’m afraid of.’
He went over to the posters and tried to make contact with the face in the clouds on the one facing out.
‘She was prettier than Rita.’
‘Prettier than most, I’d say.’
‘Am I declared of sound mind?’
‘Yes, you are. And your reward is broccoli, cauliflower and tomatoes in half an hour.
‘What would I have got if I wasn’t?’
‘Broccoli, cauliflower and tomatoes in an hour.’
He had met Rita again two days after the demo. At the time he was living in a flat in Brønshøj, and when the doorbell rang he was in the middle of washing the dishes from the day before. He remembered it vividly. A long, aggressive ring on the bell. He opened the door and two young girls were standing there. Neither would say how they had found his name and address, and to begin with they wouldn’t tell him their names either. They had come for the sole purpose of showing him what he had done. Even now, thirty-five years on, he recalled his embarrassment and shame when Rita without warning pulled her blouse over her head so that he could see her bruises. In those days, bras were out. Fortunately so, too, were the majority of his neighbours, but when he heard a door being shut on the floor above, followed by footsteps on the stairs, the only thing he felt he could do was to drag the girls inside and close his own door. Lewdness on the staircase was not the kind of thing that was tolerated in the social housing blocks of the Danish welfare state, and certainly not if you happened to be a police officer and were supposed to be safeguarding society against the subversive activities, moral as well as political, of the younger generation.
It took him a while to make his uninvited guests understand that he had struck out because he had been scared. At first, they thought he was lying. The pigs were fascists with secret orders from the government to beat up as many protesters as they could. Draw your truncheons and lay into them! Could he not remember the shrill voice coming from the loudhailer, while people were being clubbed and the blood was beginning to flow? He stuck to his guns since the truth was he hated demos, as did nearly all his colleagues. And standing there in the police line, before he hit her… well, he couldn’t recall ever being so frightened in his life. Or rather, he could, because all he had to do was think back to the demo before that.
Eventually, they believed him, though without letting him off the hook quite so easily. What about the people of Chile? Weren’t they frightened, too? Weren’t they scared of Augusto Pinochet’s henchmen after the CIA had overturned and murdered President Salvador Allende? Or was it some other issue they had harangued him about? He wasn’t quite sure now. Rita always had some oppressed people or other to hold up in front of her while she waved her fist. Maybe it was the Palestinians who had been frightened. Yes, that sounded likely. They argued again, but even they could see that no matter how oppressed the people of Palestine happened to be, it still didn’t make him any less scared on the streets of Østerbro. It ended up with them grudgingly accepting his explanation, and he apologised to Rita. He was really sorry, and his words were genuine.
And that was that, or so he thought. Surely they would leave him alone then? But instead of saying goodbye they started nosing around in his flat. Without inhibition, as though it were the most natural thing in the world to rummage around in another person’s belongings. Rita went into the bedroom and inspected his wardrobe. He followed her, feverishly hiding away the night’s underwear that had yet to find its way into the laundry basket. Her friend called out from the kitchen. Where does he keep the salt? she was hungry and had put some rice on to boil. He helped her, until called from the living room. Rita had put on his police uniform. It was several sizes too big and swallowed her up, but it didn’t seem to bother her one bit.
She stood outside on the balcony, informing passers-by on the street below that they were under arrest. He tried to pull her back in, but she resisted and kept tight hold of the railing. People were jeering at him, and he smiled forcedly, apologising to his next-door neighbour who had appeared on his own balcony, and then the rice boiled over. Her friend blocked his way back to the kitchen. Is that really you when you were little? How cute! She’d found his family album. He turned down the gas and managed to save the rice, while Rita was busy auctioning off his police cap to the cluster of people who had gathered below. It’s all going to Cats’ Protection. Who’ll bid twenty kroner for this fine item? Cats’ Protection. Twenty kroner I’m bid. Who’ll give me twenty-five? How about you, man in the tie, you look like you can afford it? Twenty-five kroner?