“That you and a lot of others were wrong?”
“She believed in her husband the whole way through, never doubted his innocence for a moment, and she called me a dog. Just think, that was the strongest expression she would allow to cross her lips even though I’d destroyed her life, or more precisely the final remnants of her life, after her daughter had been assaulted and strangled.”
“Do you think it’s a good idea to visit her?”
“I’ve thought about it a lot, and yes, I really think it is. Besides it’s the least I can do, after making her husband a judicial victim.”
“He was never convicted.”
“He would have been, the evidence was overwhelming.”
“But he wasn’t.”
“Suicide was hardly a better option.”
“I’ll go and see her with you. Do you have an appointment?”
“Yes, we’re supposed to be in Haslev at four o’clock.”
“If things don’t go as you expect, I'll drag you away, regardless of whether you whine or howl. Now you know. Believe me, I’ll get you out of there if I have to.”
He shrugged slightly and asked, “Will you do one more thing for me? I have an appointment in H?je Taastrup later today with . . . a woman. Can I ask you to call and cancel it? Then I’ll just have time to go and freshen up a little.”
She nodded sympathetically. He wrote a telephone number on a slip of paper and gave it to her.
“Thanks, let’s go down in five minutes.”
He left, and the Countess phoned. She knew exactly who she was calling. Simonsen’s propensity for occasionally discussing his cases with a psychic from H?je Taastrup was the Homicide Division’s worst-kept secret, although in front of the boss all the officers had the good manners to act like they knew nothing. The Countess had no particular feelings about clairvoyance herself, so the form the call took frightened her.
Hold on to Steen Hansen, Baroness, don’t let him go, no matter what. Stick to him like a burr, nothing must shake you off. This is a matter of life and death. No matter what . . . no matter what, Baroness, there is nothing more important than that.
She had been given no explanation, nor any context for these remarks—only the insistent request. Like a call for help, twice, three times, five times, she did not remember how many, only that dry, rasping voice even after she’d promised to do as she was asked. And then the form of address—Baroness—was close, unpleasantly close. She stared meditatively into space for a while and decided two things. First, that she would say nothing to Simonsen about the call, he had enough to deal with; and second, she would go and freshen up a little too.
There was so much they hadn’t had time to talk about that once the opportunity finally presented itself, en route to the lecture hall, Simonsen abruptly came clean. He said carefully, “I’m afraid of starting to cry when I talk about her. A blubbering homicide chief—that would really be weird.”
“What if you take the first half of the review and then leave the rest to Arne? You need to rest, I can see that.”
“Okay, that’s what we’ll do.”
The answer was so surprising coming from him that she had to clear her throat to hold back all the arguments she’d held in reserve.
They passed one of the cleaning staff. With a colourful feather duster attached to a long bamboo pole she was capturing spider’s webs from the ceiling. As if by mutual agreement they fell silent as they went past. The woman smiled at them fleetingly while with sparing movements she continued her work. When they were out of earshot, the Countess continued.
“And then you should consider coming home with me and staying for a week. I think that will be good for you.”
The proposal was surprising. They had not yet reached this point. Or so they thought. But Simonsen did not even hesitate. “I’d like that,” he said.
Sometimes life was no more complicated than you made it. She held him back with a gentle touch on his arm. Normally they never kissed at work and seldom even in private. Now it happened: chastely, at a proper distance, with pursed lips, like characters in a vaudeville act.
CHAPTER 4