“He is always guided by expediency. Otherwise he wouldn’t be in the exalted position he now occupies.”
“If I receive a written instruction from the police commissioner that I have to . . . get to know your friend, then we can reach an agreement. That is, not from the national chief of police, it has to be from my direct boss, Gurli—”
“The instruction is waiting on your desk alongside a business card with the telephone number you should call concerning this evening’s arrangements. There is also his email address.”
The agreement was in the bag, and like a couple of old horse traders they shook hands on it. Simonsen had another question, however, now that he had the chance.
“Tell me one thing: who actually decided I should lead this investigation? I mean, all the stories about the chancellor, they’re not for real, are they?”
Helmer Hammer shook his head, smiling.
“No, I can promise you that they’re not. It’s always amazing what garbage the media can get people to believe.”
“So who was it?”
“It was me.”
“You! Why in the world . . . ?”
“Because you’re capable.”
“Nonsense. Others are too. Did you know I was about to go on holiday?”
“Yes, unfortunately. But I was not aware that you were in poor health, I’m sorry to hear that.”
“Hmm, it’s no worse. But you haven’t answered my question. Why me, and why are you involved in this at all?”
“I’m doing my job, and it wasn’t nonsense when I said you were chosen for your competence.”
“But there are other things behind this too?”
“If there are, it’s not something that involves you or your investigation. You can count on that.”
Helmer Hammer consulted his watch.
“See, what did I say? That took only eight and a half minutes. Now I just need to find my way out.”
He looked around in confusion. The building’s maze of curved corridors, which all looked identical to the untrained eye, had him temporarily at a loss.
“That’s only possible when you’ve worked here a dozen years. I’ll accompany you . . . no, wait a minute, damned if I will. You’re not going to win on every point, that’s not healthy for anyone. It will probably be more beneficial to your mental health for you to wander around in confusion for at least fifteen minutes.”
“Everyone a winner . . . therein lies the politician’s art! Very well, I’ll try and find my own way out. Greetings to your daughter. I hope we meet again soon. And sleep well, Simon.”
CHAPTER 5
While the boss slept, the break in the Homicide Division’s review of the Nygaard and Thomsen murders dragged on. People had a lot to talk about, and besides, Arne Pedersen, who would be continuing the review solo, could use a few extra minutes of preparation. He had stepped aside and was studying the PowerPoint slides in conjunction with Konrad Simonsen’s notes. Pauline Berg went up to him. He glanced up quickly and waved her away.
“Whatever it is, Pauline, it will have to wait.”
She snatched his ballpoint pen.
“Damn it, do you always have to push the boundaries with me? Can’t you understand that I need to run through this? Or maybe you’d like to take over. You do the review while I sit and listen.”
Pauline gave him her sweetest smile. Not without effect.
“You’ll manage,” she told him.
“I’m pleased you have so much confidence in me. Of course I’ll manage . . . if you’d just let me get on with it! Oh, all right then,” he sighed. “What is it? Are you spooked because you resemble the two murdered girls? There’s nothing I can do about that, although I understand perfectly well why you reacted as you did once you’d noticed it.”
“It’s creepy all right, but I’m blue-eyed not brown-, and my hair colour doesn’t match either. I just felt a little uncomfortable when it occurred to me. Everyone was looking at me, without saying anything.”
“No one was looking at you. What is it you want?”
“That thing on the screen, what is it?”
Pedersen looked up and saw that Malte Borup had the starting image ready: a photograph of a peculiar building that resembled a drilling platform about to swallow a giant egg. He suppressed his irritation.
“That’s DYE-5, as you can read below.”
“But it wasn’t that big surely.”
“Not that big? I’d say it was! The building stood on eight gigantic pillars and was six storeys high. The dome on top was the radar installation, covered in plastic, that’s why it’s white. If you look at the woman you can see in front of the far-left pillar, you get an impression of how big it was in reality. It was a tough job to build out there, when you think that every piece of kit had to be transported by air. ‘Eyes of Freedom’ is what the Americans called their radar stations.”
Pauline waved away the information, as if swatting a fly. Pedersen continued undaunted.
“The whole building can be raised if there is more snow and ice. That makes the design many times more—”
She interrupted him, irritated.