He understood, he told her. He did after all know the background, though he never mentioned it to her. The matter was taboo. A long time ago she had lost a child, her only one. That was all he knew, but it was more than enough. Now the shadow of her dead child fell upon their relationship and what was he to do? Nothing, apart from hope it would pass in time. He spoke again, in a voice he considered firm:
‘How did you know I’d been to the police station in Rødby and asked about Rita?’
She smiled wryly.
‘I worked that out when you were in the bath on Thursday morning and I heard a message on our landline from a sergeant in the Rødby Politi. Apparently, he’d informed you PET had been involved when Rita Metz Andersen was arrested for smuggling cash in nineteen seventy-two, but that wasn’t right. PET didn’t come in until a couple of months later. Something like that, anyway. You can listen to the message yourself.’
It was an explanation that relieved him somewhat. He’d been afraid of something more sinister. The rest of it they could work out, he felt sure.
‘I’d be glad if you could look her up and get it over and done with as soon as possible, Simon,’ said the Countess once they were in the car.
He was in no doubt she was talking about Rita. He promised nothing, nodding pensively in a way that could have been taken to mean just about anything.
As they got closer to home, the tension between them eased. They exchanged small, insignificant comments about the traffic and the weather.
‘By the way,’ she said, ‘I’ve been invited out to the theatre tomorrow. Goethe’s Faust. It’s the Deutsches Theater, they’re the guest company at the Royal.’
Simonsen sensed problems, though not quite as prickly as those of half an hour before.
‘Not me. It says in my calendar I’m staying in that night.’
‘Relax, I wasn’t asking you. I’m going with Stella.’
‘Who’s Stella? I don’t think you’ve mentioned a Stella.’
‘Stella is a very punchy woman. Mother of five – six, if you include Klavs. Upcoming member of the Parliamentary Cultural Affairs Committee. Apparently they get free tickets. Her husband’s probably just as anti-arts as you, so the ticket was offered to me.’
‘I see. What party does she stand for?’
‘No idea, never asked. I’m not bothered one way or the other.’
‘I don’t suppose it matters that much. Are you going to go?’
‘Of course I am. I like Stella.’
‘Now you mention Klavs, how did he get on organising that search for the summer house? Was it competent?’
‘Very, and he was glad we went over, too. Even if Pauline was a bit moody, not to say mute.’
‘So your view is he’s professionally capable? And I don’t mean just yesterday, but previously as well, when the two of you were working together.’
‘He’s excellent to work with, no question. We had a bit of a misunderstanding to begin with, though. He had to get used to the idea that working together means working both ways. Even with women. Once he got that straight, we had no trouble.’
‘That sounds a bit defensive to me. Is that the best you can say about him?’
‘He’s good. Methodical and creative. Is that any better?’
‘Much.’
‘One thing did impress me, I don’t think I’ve told you yet. The first time I was over there I had that touched-up photo of Jørgen Kramer Nielsen with me. It wasn’t like it was poorly done or anything. It was hard to see he was dead, but his eyes were funny, a bit creepy almost.’
‘The photo technician had to add in a pair of open eyes. On top of his eyelids, I mean.’
‘Right, and it was OK, too, in a strictly anatomical way, but in practice it made our job a bit more difficult. All the potential witnesses we asked to look at the photo all looked away again just as quickly. Most probably weren’t even aware they were doing it. But Klavs noticed, so second time around he’d had this drawing done that we used instead. That was what made the hostel manager at the Nørballe Vandrehjem recognise him, which she hadn’t the first time we asked. Anyway, no more talking shop today, Simon. I really can’t be bothered.’
‘All right. I’ll give Klavs a call and ask him if he wants to come over to HS this evening if he can.’
‘This evening? Can’t it wait? And surely you can talk to him on the phone without dragging him out there?’
‘Yes, it could wait, and yes, we could do it over the phone, of course we could. Only I don’t want to do it like that. You can come in with me if you want.’
She accepted grudgingly, and being in the mood to do it he called Klavs Arnold right away. Disagreeing with her wasn’t easy today.
Not even when the opportunity arose a couple of hours later. He was hoovering the car and she’d sat down on a folding chair outside with a book. He turned off the hoover and the Countess instantly took her chance to speak.
‘Since you’re going to be looking this Rita up…’
He cut her off:
‘I told you, I’m not sure I want to.’
‘And I’ve told you, you might as well get it out of your system.’
‘She might not even be in Denmark. In fact, I’ve a feeling she isn’t.’
‘Why not?’
‘She went to America. It was a dream of hers to go to San Francisco.’
‘And get away from Denmark?’
‘That as well.’
He had confronted Rita with what he knew about her having gone to Israel. With an apparently broken leg. And he had been ruthless. Hijackings in which innocent people were slaughtered simply because they were Jews or Americans, on account of politics in the Middle East over which they had absolutely no control – was that the kind of despicable business she was involved in? She could cry all she liked, it cut no ice with him. Did she really want to be responsible for the death of innocent individuals, random passengers on an aeroplane who’d never done her or anyone else any harm whatsoever? He had hit her, too. The flat of his hand against the back of her skull while she sat with her head in her hands weeping. Not once, but several times, and hard. He demanded answers. Eventually, she gave him a few. She had no idea who she was working for. There were two men, one a Dane, the other foreign – Syrian, she thought. They met up at various cafés where they told her what to do. On the trip to Israel she was to observe airport security measures. It was important for them to know if her ‘broken’ leg would be checked.
He pressed her for information, firing questions at her, scribbling down her answers without caring what she might think of him. Eventually he had no more to ask and she stopped crying, sitting there as though paralysed, staring into space with empty eyes. Then suddenly she spoke:
‘You can’t get out again. That’s not the way it works.’
He couldn’t remember what he said in reply, nor did he recall his response when a moment later she added:
‘Let’s get away from it all, Konrad. We can go to America and start again. They won’t find me there.’
The next day he called PET and phoned in his report. They thanked him for the information, but wanted more. He turned them down.
The emotionless voice of the Countess plucked him back into the present.
‘I think she came back.’
He emptied the car ashtray into a plastic bag. The cigarette ends were from the time when he still smoked.
‘Don’t tell me you’ve done a search.’