“Why was that?”
He spoke about his uncle, who at that time was Danish defence chief, and about his fear of the negative impact the family relationship might have on his companions during the sled journey. The Countess thought that the explanation sounded convincing and was presumably true. Then she asked the only question to which she did not know the answer in advance.
“You also maintained that your position was that of geologist. Why is that?”
Bertil Hampel-Koch’s cheeks took on a pink glow, and he did not answer immediately. Not until he had regained his normal colour did he say, “Yes, that’s also a little embarrassing.”
The Countess interjected soothingly, “Don’t worry about that. Regardless of what you tell me, I’ve certainly heard it before. Besides, it’s not my task to judge you. And definitely not on something that happened twenty-five years ago.”
The words helped. He told her in a low voice, “At that time I was newly married, and we were expecting our first child. That was good news, of course, but also a little frightening. So I suddenly got the opportunity to be anonymous on that base, and I thought that if on top of that I lied about my job, no one could trace me when I left. Although . . . well, that proved not to be the case.”
She didn’t respond, letting him dig himself deeper.
“In that way I could be a bachelor for a couple of days, if you know what I mean.”
“Yes, I think I’ve got the point.”
“Good Lord, I was twenty-eight years old. I would never behave that way now.”
He looked imploringly at her, and she discovered to her surprise that he was angling for sympathy. She said casually, “No? Married men’s way of thinking usually grows a bit more relaxed over the years. You met a nurse, Maryann Nygaard.”
He lowered his eyes.
“Yes, and I got her—”
The Countess interrupted him quickly.
“Now, now, you don’t need to go into detail. This has no relevance to me. I’m only interested in the big picture.”
She thought that she might just as well have said that from there on she was only interested in passing the time, until she could reasonably maintain that he had been questioned. He answered, relieved, “Well, then. I guess you are.”
He was a miserable witness, which did not make the next twenty minutes any easier. To put it mildly, he could not remember much about his stay at the base, and not a thing that the Countess could use. She concluded by presenting him with a picture of Andreas Falkenborg from the year 1983.
Bertil Hampel-Koch looked at the picture for a long time. There was no doubt that he really wanted to help, but was unable to.
“No, unfortunately.”
“His name is Andreas Falkenborg, but he went by the nickname Pronto.”
He shook his head apologetically.
“Falkenborg was a trained engineer and employed at the base as an assistant electrician. He also flew helicopters.”
Again a pause, and again a shake of the head.
“So you don’t know about any connection between him and Maryann Nygaard either?”
“Unfortunately not. The only thing I know is that there was a kind of group around Maryann and her Greenlandic friend. I can’t remember the name of the girl, but she was just as pretty as Maryann and . . . that is, Falkenborg was not part of that group.”
Not part of . . . The Countess wrote down the information in block letters followed by four exclamation points. Then she thought that she should stop while the going was good. She closed her notebook.
“You have been a great help. Thanks very much for sparing me the time.”
He frowned and scratched his neck thoroughly with one finger. Then he said seriously, “I truly hope you catch Maryann’s murderer. When I heard that she had been killed, I was both shocked and relieved at the same time. It’s a very strange feeling that I’ve never had before. For many years I believed that she . . . died because of me. That wasn’t the case, but . . . ”
He stopped short, and she waited politely until he continued.
“I can’t find any words that are suitable, so I’d better not try. In any event I won’t forget this, I can promise you that. I hope one day to be able to reciprocate.”