The head of DSIS got up and left the office. Shortly after, Simonsen followed his example. The Countess watched him, her mouth set in a hard line, and thought that sometimes her boyfriend was a fool. It would have been so easy for her to have let Pedersen continue. All she’d needed to do was ignore the SMS. But the decision must be Simonsen’s and no one else’s. That’s why she had looked away. She tried to convince herself. For that reason only.
The night porter at the hotel was a little too quick to open the door when Arne Pedersen showed him his police badge through the glass. That should have warned him. And if not that, then in any event when with virtually no explanation needed, he was given a universal access card and shown Andreas Falkenborg’s room number. The young man behind the counter pointed.
“Number twelve, that way, third room on the left.”
Pedersen took a deep breath before he carefully opened the door and entered the room. While his eyes grew accustomed to the darkness, he got his truncheon out and took the few steps through the little entryway. Carefully he felt on the wall for a switch, after which the light came on. His surprise was complete. On the bed sat two men of his own age. There was a third standing not far from him.
“Good evening, Arne.”
He turned towards the door by which he had just entered. The man at his side said quietly, “Spare yourself the trouble. There are two more officers outside.”
Pedersen let go of the truncheon, which fell to the floor with a dull thud. He asked despairingly, “So what now?”
“Nothing, except that we’re driving you back to Simon. Don’t worry, we completely understand how you feel.”
CHAPTER 59
The next twenty-four hours told on the employees of the Homicide Division and made them old before their time. Even the head of DSIS, who, according to rumours in Police Headquarters, had been involved in a bit of everything in his career, adopted the same shuffling gait and anguished look as Konrad Simonsen, Poul Troulsen and Ernesto Madsen. Only the Countess got through the crisis without making a display of her desperation, which was surprising. She was the one most closely linked to Pauline Berg, if you didn’t count Arne Pedersen, who was now spending most of his time in his office, staring unproductively into space along with a young officer who had been designated to keep an eye on him. Malte Borup also felt weighed down, but was functioning more normally, especially on Friday morning when he caught the Countess at a table in the cafeteria, where she was sitting by herself having breakfast.
“May I sit here?”
“Of course you may. Tell me, aren’t you having anything besides Coke? You can’t live on that. What do you eat, by the way?”
“Not much, I’m afraid.”
“Are you short of money?”
“No, it’s not that. I’m just not hungry.”
The Countess buttered a roll from her own plate and pushed it over to him.
“Eat that.”
The student politely obeyed, eating without great appetite. Between bites he asked, “What good is a DNA test like that really? I mean, are we completely sure she’s dead?”
“A DNA test is one hundred per cent valid, but the only thing we are somewhat sure of is that Jeanette Hvidt is dead. Her DNA was found in the lipstick he used to put a mark on his mask. We don’t know whether Pauline is alive. I thought you knew that.”
“That’s what I understood. Do you think she is dead too?”
“It’s impossible to guess, I don’t think anything.”
“I think she’s alive. I firmly believe that.”
“That’s good.”
“I wish we could bring the murderer in and beat him until he tells us where he’s hidden her. I know we can’t, but that’s what I wish. Or maybe inject something into him to make him tell the truth.”
“It doesn’t work that way.”
“No, unfortunately. It’s crazy, Pauline may have to die because we will protect a psychopath who has murdered five women. If I was the one to decide, then . . . well, obviously it’s not fun to think about, but better that than Pauline dying.”
“It won’t happen.”
“That she dies?”
“That’s not what I meant, but let’s talk about something else.”
“What would that be? That Falkenborg guy is just driving around and around, when he’s not snoring in his hotel room. I don’t understand why we’re going to keep on sitting and staring at that. I can’t stand being down in the control room or whatever you’re calling it, it’s like being at a funeral. And I just don’t understand why we’re letting him be.”
The Countess thought that the vast majority at Police Headquarters would agree with him. Simonsen was having a harder and harder time maintaining that surveillance of Andreas Falkenborg was the right strategy, even though she and the head of DSIS were doing everything in their power to support him. But he needed time to get his under-the-table agreement with Marcus Kolding completely in place.
“Maybe something will happen today.”
“What would that be? Do you know something?”
“Wait and see, Malte.”
“They say it’s going to be just as hot as yesterday, and that’s not good either, right?”