“No, that’s not very good.”
“It’s hard to drink anything yourself, when you think about her. But actually I came over to ask you if I could slip home for a couple of hours during the day. It’s Anita’s birthday, and I haven’t even bought her a present.
“No, Malte, you have to stay here. We may need you at short notice. In return you can do what you want while you’re waiting, so long as you keep your cell phone on.”
Half an hour later frustration at Police Headquarters over Simonsen’s delay hit a high point in the form of a dozen officers who forced their way into the homicide chief’s office, some in uniform, most in civilian clothes, all with serious expressions on their faces. Simonsen was sitting behind his desk, fighting off sleep, when the group arrived and quickly filled the office.
An older officer, known for his controlled manner and with broad support in all camps, was the spokesman for the group. He stood quietly by the door and waited until everyone was inside. Then he said, coolly but clearly, “This can’t go on any longer, Simon. It will soon be twenty-four hours since we have known where Falkenborg is, and it is obvious to everyone besides you that he does not intend to return to the place where he has hidden the two women. So either you arrest him, or we will—with or without orders.”
Simonsen stared at him and the other man held his gaze without wavering. The chief inspector picked up the phone, got hold of the Countess and ordered in a clear voice, “Arrange for the national chief of police to come down to my office as quickly as possible.”
Then he took a report at random from his desk and started reading it. The waiting men became more and more restless. One left the office, another attempted an explanation but was stopped by Simonsen’s raised hand.
Less than a minute later the national chief of police arrived, and Simonsen asked, “From what I understood at the meeting yesterday, I have operational responsibility for the Falkenborg investigation. Or perhaps I’ve misunderstood?”
For once the national chief of police spoke clearly.
“No, you have definitely not misunderstood. It is your responsibility, and yours alone.”
He looked around at the gathered police officers, slowly removed his glasses and added angrily, “What’s the problem? Is there anyone here who hasn’t understood that? Or perhaps still can’t accept it?”
“That I don’t really know. But if it is the case, do I have your support to suspend them until this is over?”
Again the national chief of police observed the men, this time with an expression like thunder. Then he hissed, “You have my permission to fire them without pension if they put any obstacles whatsoever in your way.”
Simonsen looked up at him and said quietly, “Thanks. I’ll manage the rest myself.”
The national chief of police put his glasses back on and left, the homicide chief concentrated on his report again, and soon he was alone in the office.
A short time later Simonsen, the Countess, the head of DSIS, Madsen and the police commissioner met. The head of DSIS had also brought a secretary along, an impeccably dressed young man who said nothing but efficiently tapped on his noise-reduction keyboard, even before the meeting had started. Everyone was tired of the wait, which seemed to lead nowhere but to a steadily increasing state of frustration. Only the police commissioner seemed fresh. She was in a gaudy tailor-made suit that made you think of a street juggler or a parrot. She looked at the secretary and asked the head of DSIS, “I thought this was an informal conversation, why have you brought someone to take minutes?”
“You and Simon are using a lot of my resources at the moment. It’s bad enough that my budget is shot to pieces without me having the slightest thing in writing later on.”
“But this meeting is not about finances at all.”
“Everything is about finances.”
“What a lot of nonsense.”
“It’s about how my resources are being used, I have to be able to document that at the end of the year.”
Anyone who knew the police commissioner could see that she was angry, but she was able to maintain her composure. She said flatly, “I want the minutes for review before they are distributed.”
The head of DSIS agreed, and the meeting could begin. Simonsen was first to speak.
“I know that we’re all tired and frustrated. The last few days have been hard, and none of us thinks it has been fun to sit and watch that screen without being able to do anything, while knowing that Pauline’s situation is perhaps getting more and more—”
He stopped mid-sentence and thought to himself that this was the most miserable introduction he had ever given a meeting, and that basically he didn’t care. Then he continued.
“Sorry, I’m tired, and I got tongue-tied, but I'm sure you understand what I mean.”