“The surprising thing was that he gained access without a card. Normally that should be impossible, or so I had been promised. At our last meeting he showed me some film clips and played a couple of conversations concerning my wife . . . ”
He looked imploringly at Simonsen.
“I would rather not relate them in detail.”
“There’s no reason to.”
“No, but then I realised that he must have set up cameras and microphones in at least five different rooms in my house. That is, the living room, the dining room, the kitchen, the bathroom and, well, our bedroom too. But everything had been removed again, I’ve assured myself of that with two separate inspections.”
“How did he show you this material?”
“On a laptop computer, and he only played the beginning. The other parts he was content just to refer to. It was very thoughtful of him to spare me like that.”
“Didn’t you get the recordings delivered to you?”
“I got the whole thing on a flash drive, and I think it was the only copy. He made a big fuss about the fact that there was no way for me to get an extra one.”
“Do you still have the flash drive?”
“I have the drive, but I deleted the contents. I didn’t see the point of keeping them.”
His listeners agreed and had no other questions.
When Troulsen had shown the witness out he returned to Simonsen’s office, where his boss was in the process of methodically munching through a large plate of vegetables. Malte Borup had returned and resumed work. Simonsen complained between mouthfuls, “I’ve grown used to the taste and basically I don’t miss my old diet, but I never get used to the time it takes to eat. You really have to work to feel full and healthy. Interesting witness by the way. It’s disturbing to imagine Andreas Falkenborg with a job that primarily consists of eavesdropping on women, but it fits hand in glove with the listening devices found in Catherine Thomsen’s apartment. On the other hand it seems strange to me that he didn’t remove those. We’ll have to look into that in the next few days. Another thing I can’t get to add up either is that his annual income, or what he has declared, is quite significant, compared with his requirement for cash payment. That reeks a long way off of under-the-table work. Do you know anything about that?”
“His father was a manufacturer of microphones. Had a factory in Valby. In the early 1970s the operation was restructured from production to importing and distribution, still of microphones. Then his father died in a shooting accident in 1983. That is, while Andreas Falkenborg was in Greenland. Mother and son continued the operation, but little by little the product range was changed to what can best be described as amateur spy equipment. They served as wholesalers and sold to mail order companies, later on the Internet. It’s a more or less suspect enterprise where you can buy everything you need to spy on your neighbour or perhaps have a long look through his daughter’s bedroom window.
“The business was not very big; in that period there were from three to ten employees, all of whom were fired in 1992 when Falkenborg’s mother died and he became sole owner. Currently he doesn’t have anything other than a VAT number and presumably a customer database. At the present time I don’t know more than that, but I have a couple of men on the case, and hopefully they will produce a more detailed account before the day is through.”
Troulsen looked at Simonsen, who was diligently chewing his cud and thereby limited to non-verbal communication.
“Unfortunately, I also have an unpleasant announcement to make,” continued Troulsen.
His boss twirled a finger in the air, which Troulsen had no difficulty interpreting.
“The listening devices that were found at Catherine Thomsen’s are gone, or more exactly at the moment no one can find them, and the only thing we have in writing is a meaningless note that mentions finding of listening devices. That is, no details whatsoever. They are searching high and low in the archive, but no one knows whether they’ll find it.”
“Damn it!”
“Yes, it’s the pits. If we can’t get him solidly connected to the other murder, then it’s even more doubtful we can put together something that will hold up in court. Greenland is a long time ago, and I seriously doubt we’ll arrive at anything there that will carry an indictment. I also have to admit that I would like to confirm that Falkenborg at least knew Catherine Thomsen, mainly for my own peace of mind. Even though I’m quite convinced we are only searching for one killer, I still am not quite certain Falkenborg is our man, despite his business and the listening devices in the apartment. This time we really have to get it right. I feel bad when I think about Carl Henning Thomsen, but I don’t need to tell you that.”