“The IP address is unknown but being worked on, whatever that means. But we can say with certainty that he was at Ulrikkenborg Plads in Lyngby at twenty minutes to one.”
Simonsen asked, “Do we know if he has been on his server earlier today, and how often he goes in and checks?”
“That data is being generated. It hasn’t been easy to trace him. It only became effective when Interpol started monitoring directly in England, where the server is physically. He has circumvented the barriers here by going across the US. I admit I’m just echoing here what others have tried to explain. I apologise.”
“It doesn’t matter, so long as you can tell us what the result will be.”
“That we can see where his laptop computer has been, and as he presumably has it in his car, then where he and his car have been, under the assumption however that he has regular contact with the server.”
“When?”
“They promised it within an hour, and it’s been almost that long, but it doesn’t help to pressure them. They’re working as fast as they can.”
“Pressure them anyway.”
Troulsen obeyed. He took out his cell phone and went outside. Shortly after that he was back.
“Five minutes, then we’ll have a map and a list, they’re sending it up.”
Simonsen ordered, “Tech has a woman who is expert in geographic information systems, I think it’s called. She can extract relevant conclusions—”
Troulsen interrupted. “She is already waiting in my office along with two mathematicians from the University of Copenhagen.”
“Brilliant. Then I have something to say about the key, but unfortunately it can’t be done quickly. The number on the key’s rivet goes with a corresponding padlock, and the set was sold by a hardware chain about ten years ago. The product was obviously intended for people who have a lot of padlocks in one place, but sadly it doesn’t help us find that place.”
There was a knock on the door; the Countess opened and received an envelope from an officer. She pulled out the contents, unfolded a map of the capital region on the table, and quickly read through the accompanying list while the others studied the map. Troulsen said, “It’s unbelievable that he can drive around like this when everyone is searching for his car. I mean, it’s not just us. There are taxi drivers, postal workers, bicycle couri-ers . . . anyone with eyes in their head.”
Simonsen said, “It’s just a matter of time. Maybe he’s been lucky so far. Some of the calls we’ve received certainly tally with our map here. How many points are there?”
The Countess checked her list and answered, “There are sixteen, five of which are from today.”
“Ernesto, what is he doing basically? He drives around, as if he thinks he’s invisible, apparently aimlessly. Can you explain that?”
The psychologist attempted.
“So long as he has not killed the women, he presumably is not thinking about anything else, including his own safety. What he will do afterwards is hard to predict. I don’t think he knows that himself, but presumably there will be a phase where he is more or less confused, and as long as that lasts, he is not likely to move far from the places he knows.”
“And when he is no longer confused?”
“He will probably flee. My guess is to Sweden, which he apparently has visited before. But how long—”
Simonsen’s cell phone rang. He said, “Be quiet, they’re only calling if it’s top priority.”
They were silent while he listened and shortly afterwards said thank you. Then he said, quietly and without discernible joy, “We have him, and DSIS has set up an iron ring he won’t slip out of.”
“Where?”
“The bank in Lejre. He has returned his mask. There is a team of technicians en route, but this is bad . . . on the inside he puts marks, red marks with lipstick. Four of the marks are old, but one mark is quite fresh. It was put there very recently.”
Troulsen asked quietly, “You mean that one of the women is dead?”
The police officers looked at Madsen, who stammered, “Yes, one of the women has been killed in his usual manner. I thought that he would totally distance himself from—”
He was interrupted.
“And the other?”
“I have no idea. But he put the mask back in the safe deposit box, so something has not gone as planned.”
The Countess, on the verge of tears, asked Simonsen, “How long will it be before we have an answer?”
“Not until tonight, they’ll call me.”
Madsen asked, “Answer to what?”
“DNA test, to see which of them the lipstick was used on.”
The Countess was now crying openly, but at the same time was sufficiently composed to think about others too.
“We won’t tell Arne or their families either. Not until we have an answer.”
The psychologist asked, sniffling, “How long can you survive without food and water, if we assume that one woman is still alive?”