“When an employee thanks me after I’ve told her what’s what, I know I must be getting old. Get going.”
No sooner had Pauline Berg left the office than the Countess appeared. Ironically, given what he had just told Pauline, she was asking him to break his own rule. The Countess got right to the point.
“You’re going to have to cut me some slack in this case, Simon. I have a line of inquiry I have to pursue but it may take some time.”
“And what line is this?”
She shook her head at him, refusing to be drawn. “No more than the rest of the week. It won’t take any longer than that. And you have to trust me when I say that I will inform you if necessary.”
“Which is not now, I take it?”
“No, preferably not.”
She smiled and added with a note of appeal in her voice, “This is not something I usually ask for. When I think about it, I believe this is the first time.”
He muttered to himself and then unwillingly gave his consent. After which he quickly added, “This is a decision that can be reversed at any time if I can’t do without you. I also want you here today while we research Andreas Falkenborg. Besides, ten minutes ago I gave Pauline a lecture for working a bit too independently.”
The Countess’s expression turned sceptical.
“She didn’t look very upset by it.”
“No, I’m too nice. When we’re through with the helicopter pilot, then see about getting started on what you’re going to do, whatever that is. And you’ll have to explain yourself to the others. Goodbye.”
“Are you throwing me out?”
“That’s exactly what I’m doing. Get out of my office. One of us needs to do some proper work.”
CHAPTER 9
The day was productive, and for the first time since Greenland Konrad Simonsen felt as if the inquiry was on course. Even if the visit to Ingrid Thomsen had not gone terribly well, it felt as though a burden had been lifted from him once it was over. He had also talked to his daughter via video streaming for almost half an hour, and that too had put a charge in his rundown batteries. This evening he would pack his clothes and move in with the Countess for a while, which to his own surprise he was looking forward to. He threw himself into his work.
Bit by bit the mosaic of Andreas Falkenborg’s life was being pieced together and developed by Malte Borup as a website. The collaboration between the student and the homicide chief was going splendidly. Simonsen had feared he would be left out and not be the one in the middle gathering the threads spider-like, as with the old whiteboard method, but that worry quickly proved to be unfounded. The fact that Malte was never quite sure what was important and should be entered, and what should be filed as background material, possibly cross-referenced, meant that Simonsen had constantly to make decisions about the material, which kept him just as updated as he usually was in these situations. He was also freed from a number of practical tasks and could concentrate on more essential things, mainly prioritising their resources through Pedersen and Troulsen on a regular basis, and deciding which people were assigned which tasks.
Malte Borup briefed him on the timeline they had already established for Andreas Falkenborg.
“Born in 1955 in Hiller?d, grew up in Holte north of Copenhagen, primary school with secondary school examination, graduated from Holte High School in 1972, the same year starts at Denmark’s Technical College, parentheses nowadays DTU. Graduated as an engineer in 1979 with a good degree and a specialty in audio. Is that okay? There are a lot of fancy words about his final project, do you want those included?”
“No, make a reference, and delete the parentheses about DTU.”
“Should I put the particular subject he graduated in into the timeline—that is, in his combined chronology?”
“Yes, excellent, but can you make the details less bold?”
“I’ll make them grey.”
Malte typed, Simonsen thought, and shortly thereafter their division of labour produced the day’s first bonus.
“Malte, there’s a gap in his student years in 1977,” said Simonsen, staring at the screen. “Is that an error?”
“No, he doesn’t pass any examinations then.”
“Email or text Arne, I want to know what Falkenborg was doing that year. All of his other exams sit regularly placed like pearls on a string, with excellent results, so something must have happened to him then.”
The student typed away.
“I’ve emailed and texted, and now the overview of his addresses is done.”
“Let me hear, but not the addresses, only the cities.”
“That would be Holte, that is, at home, until 1973, student residence in Lyngby until 1979, and then four different places in the Copenhagen area until today: Frederiksberg, ?sterbro, Drag?r, and finally Frederiksberg again. Do you want the years?”
“No, thanks, but write that down in the chronology, and make links to the actual addresses.”
“What about summer houses?”