“Four days in July? That is several months before Maryann Nygaard was murdered.”
“Yes, and as mentioned he is absolutely not the only one from the base we have spoken to. In addition, Hampel-Koch got to know Maryann Nygaard during his stopover.”
“Can it be said that Hampel-Koch has been involved in gathering concrete evidence in relation to your indictment?”
“It is not the job of witnesses to gather evidence, but it can be said that he has helped us a great deal. As I said, along with a number of other people.”
It was evident that the subject did not hold the gathering’s interest. Some comments were murmured but no one seemed concerned. This changed markedly with the next question, which came from the Cossack. His loud, sonorous voice reached all the way around the room when he asked, “Why did director Bertil Hampel-Koch travel to Greenland under an assumed name?”
The words “assumed name” made everyone prick up their ears. Perhaps there was a story within the story that was about to unfold. Vigilant eyes were directed towards the Countess as she explained the connection. She concluded elegantly, as she almost apologetically noted to Simonsen, “But I don’t know how relevant this is.”
She didn’t escape that easily, however. The Cossack followed up.
“It seems strange that at the same time he maintained he was a geologist. Can you also explain that to me?”
The Countess thought for a moment and began her response with the standard line that would attract the attention of any journalist. She said hesitantly, “I don’t think you need to write that.”
Then she told them about Hampel-Koch’s sudden opportunity to act like a bachelor again for four days, without fear of a long-lasting relationship.
Most of her audience agreed with her. It was uninteresting as well as personal. An alert female reporter guessed the connection and asked the tactless question, “Was it Bertil Hampel-Koch who got Maryann Nygaard pregnant?”
The Countess swooped on her without mercy. She pointed at the journalist with an accusing finger.
“That’s an incredible supposition that belongs in the gossip columns, I don’t think—”
Simonsen cut in authoritatively, “Now stop this prying into other people’s bedrooms! I have a murder case with at least two victims, and I don’t care to waste my time on such nonsense.”
The Fourth Estate pounced on Simonsen’s feigned slip of the tongue. The Countess sensed the hunger in the gathering before the questions mounted in an ugly cacophony. At least two women killed, what do you mean by at least two?
The Countess was forgotten, Bertil Hampel-Koch was forgotten, everything was as it should be. She looked towards her two journalists again. The suspicious one threw out his arms in despair, and shortly after that they both left the room. She did not feel any particular triumph as her eyes followed them to the door. She thought that was what you deserved when you habitually used words for your own ends and lied without quite saying an untruth. The world was reduced to a game, a game without joy. Then she thought about Simonsen, who had borne the full brunt of it, and about what she would make him for dinner.
CHAPTER 39
“The criminal justice system is an overrated crock of shit.”
Poul Troulsen said that at every opportunity the next couple of days, and everyone was tired of listening. It was irritating, even though they all knew he didn’t mean it and that it served as an outlet for his frustration. Along with the rest of the Homicide Division he was slaving away at full steam to produce evidence that might connect Andreas Falkenborg to his crimes and thereby prolong his imprisonment. The returns so far were meagre. The key figure refused to be questioned, so it was not possible to continue that route. A large portion of the man’s current and past circle of acquaintances had been tracked down and questioned, an extensive but fruitless process. No one could contribute any information the police did not already know.
What remained was technical evidence, and here recovering possible DNA traces from Maryann Nygaard’s grave in the Greenland ice cap was their best chance. Theoretically such traces could be well preserved in frozen condition, even though almost twenty-five years had passed since the crime took place. Perhaps it was still possible to determine that a helicopter had once landed close by the grave. There was nothing wrong with optimism, but it had no basis in reality. On Friday afternoon Simonsen came back from a meeting with Kurt Melsing, head of the Forensics department. He went to the Countess’s office, where Troulsen, Pauline Berg and the Countess were eagerly waiting for him. One look on their boss’s face, however, told them that the meeting had not gone positively. Simonsen was clearly in a lousy mood, and their spirits plummeted before a word was spoken. The Countess commented, “It didn’t go too well, I see.”