“What does it look like?”
“I got your message. You did an amazing job today, and this is such a nice house. May I look around while you get ready?”
“Wait a little. Are those flowers for me?”
“That was the idea, as a housewarming gift.”
“They’re really beautiful, thank you. Would you mind setting them in the sink and putting a little water in the bottom? I’ll try to find a vase later in all the moving mess.”
He did as she asked. Then she told him to sit on the chair beside the bathtub. The house he could see later. She related her talk with the home care nurse in Roskilde and described the website where she had found the helicopter pilot.
“I’ve also cross-checked that he was the one who flew Maryann.”
“How could you do that?”
“The DYE-5 employee in the wheelchair, I found him at ?sterbro. Strange man, almost impossible to get away from, but he was quite sure about it. At Roskilde Library I printed out twelve random faces and put the helicopter pilot in the middle, and the man in the wheelchair recognised him right away.”
“Brilliant, Pauline. They’ll be surprised tomorrow. I’m really happy for you. But you’re going to call Simon this evening, if you haven’t already done so.”
“Why is that?”
“Because that’s what you do when you’ve found out something important.”
“Okay.”
“By the way, I spoke with Greenland. They’ve found the remains of DYE-5 and you were completely right about the coordinates.”
“I’m good, aren’t I?”
He grinned.
“Do you happen to know how far it is between the two places?”
“I made it thirty-one kilometres,” Pauline told him.
“Thirty-one point three is what they got.”
“Greenland is welcome to those three hundred metres.”
She blew a puff of foam at him and slyly released the plug with one foot.
CHAPTER 7
Ingrid Thomsen did not say a word when she answered the door to Konrad Simonsen and the Countess. For a brief moment she silently assessed them both from head to toe, then turned on her heel and went inside, leaving the door standing open as a sign for them to follow her.
The living room was as Simonsen remembered it from ten years before. Minor details he had forgotten in the meantime were now brought back to life before him. They made him feel sad. The light red imitation marble of the windowsills that clashed with the flowered curtains. The bric-a-brac shelf with the polished conch shells, neatly arranged by size and shape. A picture of Jesus over the sofa posing in a jewel-studded purple tunic, an abundant halo around his head. And then her hands. They were bony like she was, red and strong, hands that were used to hard physical work. She twisted them around in a slow, methodical movement, as if all the pain in the world could be kneaded away between them. That’s how it was then, and that’s how it was today. He tried to ignore the movement, holding her gaze while he explained rather clumsily why he had come. She listened without comment.
He sat down on the couch alongside her. The Countess had chosen a chair by the dining table at the other end of the room. She did not get involved in the conversation. From time to time he sneaked a glance at her and every time felt a sting of irritation at her presence. She should have stayed in the car. This situation was hard enough for him and superfluous listeners did not make it any easier. He explained about Greenland and then compared the killings of Maryann Nygaard and Catherine Thomsen. Twice he confused the victims’ names without noticing it himself. Ingrid Thomsen listened, condemning him while saying nothing. His legs were tingling worse than ever, which for once he welcomed. It was as if he deserved the pain. Suddenly Ingrid Thomsen interrupted him.
“That’s just the way it is.”
Those were the first words she had spoken since they arrived. Her voice was dark and melodic, and suited her poorly. He had also forgotten that. She repeated the statement in slightly varied form.
“Things can’t be done over again. That’s the way it is.”
He did not know if he should continue his monologue, but chose to remain silent, while still looking her in the eyes. The pause was long and awkward, and finally she continued speaking.
“What is it you really want? My forgiveness for what you did to my husband? Is that why you’ve come? Or do you expect sympathy perhaps?”