CHAPTER 1
Konrad Simonsen, chief inspector in Copenhagen’s Homicide Division, squinted up at the polar sun, hanging low over the long line of the horizon. Where sky met ice, clear pastel greens and blues hinted at more hospitable locations than this one, far, far away. What a place to be killed, it was plain wrong, he told himself, before dismissing the thought. As if it made any difference to the victim.
For a while he observed his own shadow in front of him, holding up one arm and letting its unnaturally extended counterpart reach impossible distances towards cracks in the ice. Eventually he grew tired of this game and glanced again towards the hazy sun, which seemed to radiate cold instead of heat. He found it disconcerting. The sun ought to rise and fall, not drag itself monotonously around the firmament, making day and night one and the same.
In a vain attempt to chase tiredness away, he closed his eyes and turned his face to the wind. He had not slept more than three hours in the past twenty-four, and it seemed unreal to him that a new day had begun. He rubbed his face with the palms of his hands and enjoyed the momentary darkness. He wondered if, in her last moments, the dead girl had thought about spring flowers, warm, sandy beaches or maybe a Midsummer bonfire? Probably not. All the same there was something terrible about the fact that she had had to die out here in this vast unfamiliar place where human beings did not belong. In a sense it was a double violation.
He glanced at his watch and noticed that the Danish time was seven-thirty. What that was in Greenland he could not immediately work out. He smothered a yawn, and realised he was more than usually exhausted. This morning he had forgotten to take his pills, or more correctly—there was no reason to lie to himself—he had forgotten again to take his pills, and now he was suffering the consequences. Desire for a forbidden cigarette gnawed at him cruelly. Just one or maybe even a half, a few restorative puffs to keep him on his feet a while longer. He tapped the chest of his padded jacket to reassure himself that his cigarettes were in the inside pocket. A year ago—or was it two?—he had been diagnosed with diabetes. The illness and the concern it had caused others had forced him to re-examine some of his bad habits. Or at least try to.
An unfamiliar feeling of anxiety made him consult his watch again. As before it meant nothing to him here. He turned to the man standing next to him and asked, “Do you know what time it is?”
The Greenlandic detective constable took a quick glance at the sun and answered curtly, “Almost three.”
He was a man who said no more than was strictly necessary, which had not made the wait any easier. He was called Trond Egede, and that was about all Konrad Simonsen knew about him. He considered returning to the light aircraft that had brought them here and trying to get a little sleep while the crime-scene technicians finished up. The hard, uncomfortable seat that he had cursed on the trip over from Nuuk seemed tempting to him now. A little sleep was better than none at all and there was no sense in standing alongside a mute colleague staring at four people, who worked neither faster nor slower because they were being watched. But it might offend his taciturn partner if Simonsen abandoned him, and establishing good relations with the Nuuk police was essential if they were to crack this case together. Or he could always say to hell with procedure and join the technicians in their search. It was unlikely he could do much here to contaminate the scene of the crime. On the other hand he risked being turned away, which would be humiliating for him as well as making him appear unprofessional, so the conclusion he reached was as clear as it was depressing—he must remain where he was.
For want of anything better to do he tried to start a conversation.
“How can you know exactly what time it is just by looking at the sun? I mean, you don’t have any landmark to work from here, just flat ice all around.”
With difficulty the other man took off one glove and rolled back the sleeve of his polar jacket over his wristwatch. After he had laboriously put his glove back on, he said, “The time is thirteen minutes past three.”
“So you were right.”
“Yes.”
“Based purely on the sun? Without any fixed reference point?”
“Yes.”
Simonsen backed down and concentrated on setting his own watch correctly. It made the time pass anyway. Suddenly an unpleasant suspicion struck him, a nagging little doubt. This place had completely disoriented him. It was embarrassing to show it in front of the other detective.
“So . . . that’s three in the afternoon?”
He aimed to make his voice as casual as possible but could hear that he had not succeeded. The Greenlander turned and looked at him appraisingly before he replied.
“Yes, in the afternoon. Are you sundowning?”