The first combined review of the investigation was held in one of the large lecture halls at Police Headquarters. This was not due to the number of participants but to the availability there of an enormous screen that could display two images at once, extremely useful for photographic comparison. And parallel images of two different female murder victims made up the weight of this morning’s message. How the Homicide Division would re-open the old case would have to await discussion in a closed forum, though today’s meeting was originally intended to clarify the procedure. But that had been before the Foreign Ministry announced its interest in attending, and since then the office of the national chief of police as well. The rest of the attendees were Homicide Division people, of whom Pauline Berg and Arne Pedersen were among Konrad Simonsen’s closest associates. In addition the department’s student employee and resident computer genius Malte Borup controlled the images from an operator booth set at second-storey level behind the rows of seats. He was also in charge of the technical aspects of the presentation.
Simonsen arrived twenty minutes after the scheduled start time and nodded curtly at his audience. Mostly they occupied the first or second row of seats, Berg and Pedersen with a bit of space around them out to one side. The Countess took a vacant seat alongside Pedersen, but got up again when the man from the Foreign Ministry went after her boss before he had even started.
“Let me say right now, Chief Inspector Simonsen, that this is absolutely the last time you arrive late to an appointment with me. I hope you understand that.”
The man was relatively short, middle-aged, and appeared harmless enough at first glance, dressed in a scruffy suit and with his hair badly in need of a comb. Strange, considering his place of employment. But something understated and ominous in his tone suggested that normally he was obeyed without any objection being raised. Not even his peculiar high-pitched voice, which sounded almost like a child’s, detracted from the impression that this was someone you did not want to pick a fight with. Perhaps it was the calm way in which he spoke, the conviction with which he made the subtle threat.
The Countess tried to take the blame for the delay. You didn’t need to be a fortune teller to predict that an unstable homicide chief and a conceited bureaucrat were not a good mix. Rescue came, however, from an unexpected quarter in the form of a secretary from the front office of the national chief of police, who was usually known for her friendly manner. With a completely unaccustomed show of aggression she spoke up, and there was no doubt as to whom she was addressing, even if she pointedly remained seated.
“The national chief of police asked me to say that you are a guest here, and if you can’t behave properly, you can shove off. The last is a direct quote, which he specifically asked me to use, and afterwards to apologise for the fact that unfortunately he has not been schooled in diplomacy.”
The Foreign Ministry representative got to his feet and left the room in dignified silence, ignoring the slide of Albert Einstein sticking out his tongue, which Malte Borup had conjured up on the big screen like lightning. Immediately afterwards the secretary also left, saying her presence was no longer required.
As the door slammed behind her, Pedersen spoke for them all.
“Well, that was edifying. Without our visitors’ presence we might even get something done . . . and then we’ll have to face the music later, because there will be trouble. That gnome isn’t to be trifled with. Malte, you could get five years’ deportation.”
Simonsen, who had not said anything throughout, suddenly took control.
“Then we’d better make good use of the time we have. Malte, give me the first images. The floor is open if anyone has anything sensible to contribute. No need to stand on ceremony.”