Hampel-Koch read, and Helmer Hammer confirmed it. Again he looked at the police commissioner and the national chief of police, who both nodded acknowledgment. Only then did Hammer let the meeting continue.
Hampel-Koch immediately took the floor and in his high-pitched voice directed an extremely surprising question to Helmer Hammer.
“If this concerns the two women’s lives, and the serial murderer is not in the custody of the state, will you then admit that it may be necessary to use questioning of a particular type?”
The head of DSIS added, “That is, as a very last resort.”
Helmer Hammer shook his head with irritation and answered, “You are not specifying what form of questioning, so I do not think that your comments give reason for any comments on my part.”
Simonsen noticed sweat break out at the bottom of his back and feverishly loosened a few buttons on his shirt. Suddenly it was crystal clear to him why he was sitting here; why indeed the meeting had been called at all. Helmer Hammer’s comment was word for word synonymous with the sentence he had praised in such glowing terms in the Botanical Gardens less than a week ago—a sentence that now gave Simonsen permission to do the impermissible. The Countess also understood what had happened. They had just been given the green light to do whatever they wanted with Falkenborg when he was captured, so long as no one found out about it. Her jaw dropped open, a little trickle of saliva escaping from one corner of her mouth. The head of DSIS handed her a napkin without looking at her. Instead he turned to Ernesto Madsen and asked, “What do you think, based on your professional insight, the probability is that Falkenborg will let himself be questioned by the police if he is captured?”
“It is slight.”
“How slight?”
Simonsen could feel the heat rising in his cheeks. Ernesto Madsen answered, sounding mystified, “That I couldn’t say, just slight.”
The time had come for Simonsen to take the lead. He wanted DSIS people added to his surveillance effort, and thought that perhaps he had gained an unexpected ally in the form of the head of DSIS himself. The man was evidently quite clear about the under secretary’s underlying message. Presumably the only listener here besides the Countess, Simonsen and Bertil Hampel-Koch who was. Simonsen turned to him.
“I could use a large number of your people to help with our surveillance effort. They are better trained for that sort of thing than mine are.”
A miracle happened, the head of DSIS gave a positive response.
“Excellent, but under my command.”
“Yes, but you’ll report to me. An investigation doesn’t have two leaders. That’s a recipe for disaster.”
The police commissioner backed up Simonsen and plunged into a long rigmarole about unclear paths of command, which in her view was a disaster on a par with the plague and marginal tax pressure. She was interrupted by the head of DSIS, who growled, “I can live with Simon . . . that is, Konrad Simonsen . . . as chief for a couple of days.”
The matter was now settled. The final decision however lay with the national chief of police. He said hesitantly, “Yes, well, it could be that way, we should consider—”
He got no farther. The chief administrative officer from the Ministry of Justice made things awkward.
“This is a bad idea, which my boss opposes. The security of the realm must not be weakened by this diversion of resources.”
The Minister of Justice’s secretary added cynically, “This concerns only two human beings, after all.”
Her earrings bobbed in time as she nodded her head to underscore her argument. Simonsen said in an ice-cold voice, “If you make that sort of comment again, I’ll slap you. And don’t think that’s an empty threat, because you’d be wrong.”
Flustered, the chief administrative officer got up and moved away from the table, the national chief of police tried nervously to pour oil on troubled waters by postponing the matter to the next day, Ernesto Madsen, the head of DSIS and the prosecutor laughed openly, while the Minister of Justice’s secretary feverishly rooted through her handbag until she found an inhaler.
Finally Helmer Hammer cut through the confusion. Turning to the chief administrative officer, he said, “I think this is a good idea. If your boss has any objections, she knows where she can reach me.”
Then he directed his gaze at the national chief of police, who hesitantly stated, “Then let’s minute this then. Yes, we’d better do that.”
The Countess thought that a huge distance separated the courteous barefoot stroller she had spent time with in the Botanical Garden from the consummate powermonger she had just seen in action.