“Then you’ll be busy.”
There was no let up for them the rest of the morning, but unfortunately without a trace of the man the whole country was searching for. Simonsen showed no emotion when he was informed that Pedersen’s suspicions held water, and that his own as well as Pedersen’s and the Countess’s homes had been broken into and bugged with tiny microphones plus associated central receivers, which transmitted all conversations over the cell-phone network to an English server on the Internet. Presumably they had been there ever since Simonsen’s Greenland trip. Not even when the case took on a new, far more personal turn in the afternoon did he let himself be distracted by his personal reactions to this invasion of his privacy.
The same could not be said however about his two closest co-workers. Pedersen and Troulsen came rushing into his office with every sign of panic in their eyes. Simonsen interrupted his phone call by simply hanging up, while at the same time he prepared himself to hear that Jeanette Hvidt’s corpse had now been found. Troulsen’s words dragged Simonsen right out of his delusion.
“He’s got Pauline.”
For a moment time stood still, as if Simonsen did not really want to let the message sink in. Finally he said, “Tell me.”
Pedersen started crying, so it was the older man who had to explain.
“We haven’t been able to get hold of her, so the microphone technicians—they’re from the intelligence service—drove to her house. Her car is still in the driveway with the door open, a window in her house is broken, she’s nowhere to be found, and her cat was thrown alongside the car.”
“Thrown alongside? Explain.”
“It’s dead, and it has plastic wrapped around its head.”
“The cat has been smothered, did I understand right?”
“Yes . . . no, not completely.”
“Then express yourself properly, man.”
Troulsen had to make a violent effort. Simonsen’s anger did not help him maintain his composure, more like the opposite.
“Its neck was broken, after which plastic was wrapped around its head. The plastic probably comes from a roll in her kitchen cupboard, they’re in the process of taking fingerprints now, but everything suggests that he has been all over her house.”
Simonsen’s next question was the most difficult he had ever asked. Nevertheless he managed to keep his voice neutral.
“Do we have any idea whether she is dead?”
“No, more likely he’s taken her with him, but we don’t know that for sure. There are dogs en route.”
Pedersen said suddenly, “Her cat’s name was Gorm.”
This absurd outburst was directed at himself. Simonsen took a look at him and then commanded, “Poul, you drive to Pauline’s house and take command, and that applies whether there are intelligence service people there or not. Make sure the technicians don’t delay you, not even if they howl about contamination of the crime scene and threaten you with Melsing’s wrath. Speed is far more important than evidence for us. Do you follow me? I hardly need tell you that this is the most important job of your entire career. If decisions must be made, then make them, and make them quickly. I’ll back you up regardless. Understood?”
“Yes.”
“This morning Arne placed some experienced people as second chain on the switchboard, take all of them with you.”
“Okay.”
“If Pauline is alive, time is the most critical factor.”
“If kidnapping victims aren’t found within twenty-four hours, there is a high probability that—”
“Yes, yes, yes, so let’s get going.”
Troulsen hurried out of the office. Simonsen turned towards Pedersen.
“Arne, you’re going home, but I’ll find someone you can talk to first.”
“A psychologist? I’m just upset about this, why should I—”
“A colleague and perhaps a nurse, but I don’t have any more time to argue. Come along.”
Pedersen stood up meekly and let himself be led to the door. Tears were rolling down his cheeks. He made no attempt to brush them away.
“Promise me you’ll find her, Simon?”
“You can count on it. I’ll find her for certain.”
“Quite certain? Do you swear? Quite, quite certain?”
“Quite, quite certain. You can be sure of that.”