‘Tell me about your childhood.’
‘I most certainly will not.’
The Countess stepped in, visibly seething.
‘You most certainly will. Unless you want us to call a patrol car and have a couple of uniformed officers drag you out of here in handcuffs.’
Simonsen and the Countess both noted the momentary tremor in the woman’s upper lip before she turned back to Simonsen.
‘My childhood was quite ordinary. I grew up in Vallensbæk. My father was a baker and my mother helped out in the shop. We lived in a flat. Two children, me and my older brother.’
‘What school did you go to?’
‘Gammel Vallensbæk Skole.’
‘What was the name of your class teacher?’
‘We had two. Miss Juncker from Years 1 to 6, then after that Miss Guldbrandsen.’
‘Were you bright at school?’
‘Fairly.’
‘After Year 9 you went on to the gymnasium school, is that right?’
‘Yes.’
‘Brøndbyøster Gymnasium, maths and science stream.’
‘Yes, but I don’t remember anything from that time.’
‘Only from your comprehensive school?’
‘That’s correct.’
‘So when does your memory kick in again?’
‘At medical school.’
‘And the gymnasium is a blank?’
‘That’s very accurately put, yes.’
‘You were involved in a group calling yourselves the Lonely Hearts Club, popularly referred to as the Hearts for short.’
‘I don’t remember that.’
‘But you do realise how unlikely it sounds that you should remember nothing at all from that time?’
‘It can’t be helped. I remember nothing. I think I smoked a lot of cannabis in those days. But my memory’s rather vague about that, too, I’m afraid.’
Simonsen got to his feet in frustration.
‘Very convenient. You’ve done a good job thinking all this through, and now you’re sitting there wondering what I’m going to do about it, isn’t that right?’
He went over to the window and looked out, pretending to be giving the matter some thought. He opened the window and lit a cigarette. It tasted like soap, strong and unpleasant. Brummersted protested immediately.
‘You’re not allowed to smoke in here.’
‘Too late, I already am.’
He saw her suddenly thrown into turmoil by his refusal to co-operate, then after a moment she decided she didn’t want any unnecessary confrontation. She opened a drawer, took out an ashtray and placed it in front of her before lighting a cigarette of her own. Simonsen sat down again.
‘We’ll smoke one only, after that you’ll have to wait,’ said Brummersted.
‘I’ll smoke as many as I like,’ Simonsen replied. ‘Now look at this photo.’
She did as he said.
‘So what’s your question?’ she asked after a moment.
The Countess answered.
‘There is no question.’
‘So we’re finished, are we?’
‘Not by a long chalk. I think you’re scared.’
The woman said nothing. The Countess continued:
‘Deep down, you know perfectly well it doesn’t matter how much prestige you’ve got, how fancy your education and your job, how many scholarly associations you’re a member of, how many friends you’ve got in high places – because none of it’s going to help you with this one iota. The only thing you’ve got to cling to is the flimsy claim that you can’t remember.’
‘I’m not scared in the slightest.’
‘And I don’t believe you. I think you’re very scared indeed that word of your convenient loss of memory is going to get out and people are going to know.’
‘And how would that happen? You’ve no right to…’
‘Ah, touched on a soft spot, did we? Your voice is trembling. But just like we can’t do much about your not being able to remember, you’ve got no influence on what the papers say.’
‘You wouldn’t dare.’
This time it was the Countess who got to her feet. She picked up the ashtray and dropped it out of the window.
‘What a stink. Anyway, where were we? Oh, yes. You think we’re nice, decent people who’d never dream of tipping off our friends in the gutter press about a juicy little scandal involving a well-respected consultant. Well, I’m telling you, we’re not. The question is, of course, whether it might jog your memory a bit?’
‘Are you threatening me?’
‘As a matter of fact, I am.’
Hanne Brummersted clenched her teeth and stared into space. Eventually, she spoke.
‘I don’t remember.’
The Countess altered tack.
‘Lucy Davison was seventeen years old. Doesn’t that affect you in any way?’
‘I’ve no idea who you’re talking about.’
‘Both her parents are still alive. They live in Liverpool. For years they travelled around Scandinavia trying to find their daughter. Praying to God and saving up so they could come back and search for her again. Now they’re too old, and their only hope is that their daughter’s remains can be returned home before they die.’
‘Someone ought to tell them God apparently decided to leave their daughter somewhere other than where it suited them.’
The Countess’s eyes flashed with rage. She leaned close to the other woman’s face, stared her in the eye and said in a voice as quiet and as cold as ice:
‘I’m going to make you cry for that. I’ll make sure of it.’
CHAPTER 10
‘Can you please take me to people who know something about Jesper and Pia Mikkelsen?’
Simonsen’s voice was firm if somewhat weary. He was seated in a conference room he’d borrowed at Aalborg’s Hotel Budolfi, from where he could see out over the waters of the Limfjord through the window on one side, while on his other sat two officers of the Aalborg Politi. The policemen had gone on for half an hour about the city’s nightlife, a matter with which they seemed very familiar, though without their seemingly encyclopaedic knowledge encompassing even the smallest crumb of information on what interested Simonsen, which was the Mikkelsen couple. Next to him, lounging in an armchair, was Pauline Berg, who now chipped in.
‘It’s not your fault. You didn’t ask to get sent over to us, and you can’t help it if you’ve never heard of the couple we want to know about. But the thing is we’ve been promised we could speak to some people who have, and obviously they sent us the wrong ones.’
She could have added that it was no wonder Aalborg, the country’s fourth-largest city, comprising some 125,000 inhabitants, was having a hard time trying to combat problems of violence, drugs and prostitution, but she refrained. Instead, she paused before she painted them a very unflattering picture.
‘So, basically, I think it would be a good idea if you got back to your station and told your superiors you’re a non-starter. And then you can say from us that if someone doesn’t get their finger out sharpish, they can look forward to a word of encouragement from the National Police Commissioner who I’m sure…’
Simonsen intervened.
‘Thanks, Pauline, that’ll do. I think we’ve all got the idea.’
He thanked the two officers half-heartedly for their time and showed them the door. As they were leaving, one of them hesi-tated.
‘If you’re out on the town questioning, it’d be a good idea to take some back-up along. Were you thinking of going tonight?’
‘Yes, we were, as a matter of fact, and thanks for the offer. If we need any help we’ll get in touch. What we want for the moment, though, is some background on Jesper and Pia Mikkelsen.’
‘If you want us to organise a raid on Rainbow Six, it’ll be tomorrow at the earliest, maybe Saturday. The place’ll be heaving then, though. Thursday tends to be fairly quiet.’