Simonsen continued chewing without showing any desire to corroborate this. His relationship to Troulsen was mainly professional, a fact he did not wish to change, and as Troulsen had nothing more to say, he went on his way.
During the course of the afternoon one small breakthrough followed another, while the gaps in the Homicide Division’s knowledge of Andreas Falkenborg’s life became smaller and smaller. Simonsen commandeered Malte Borup as if the student were an extended version of the computer he controlled so easily.
“Malte, you entered his applications to Greenland a couple of hours ago. Look those up and tell me when they were sent.”
A couple of clicks later came the answer.
“You mean his applications to Greenland Contractors?”
“Yes.”
“Okay, I have them here. Do you want all the dates? There are seven applications. Apparently he applied for any available position.”
“No, just give me the first one.”
“It’s dated the eleventh of March, 1982, and it was for a position as a receptionist.”
“Good. And when did Maryann Nygaard go to Greenland? Do you have that date anywhere?”
“She is employed as of the fourth of March, 1982. I don’t know when exactly she goes up there.”
“Direct from her position at the nursing home?”
“Yes, if you mean that she didn’t have another job in the meantime, but not all the case files on her have been digitised.”
“I’m aware of that. Get Pauline to find out more about Falkenborg’s helicopter course. It seems like a very short time to get his pilot’s licence. Has anything arrived yet from the Jehovah’s Witnesses?”
“No, but there’s another thing. Do you want to hear it?”
“Definitely.”
“It seems that Carl Henning Thomsen—you know who I mean?”
Simonsen sighed and forced himself to answer calmly.
“Absolutely. What about him?”
“Carl Henning Thomsen apparently did some moving for Andreas Falkenborg.”
“Apparently?”
“I can’t really figure out what they mean. Well, wait a moment . . . now I see. Carl Henning Thomsen had a transfer from a warehouse in Herlev to B?kkevang 19 in R?dovre, but B?kkevang 19 doesn’t even exist, the road only goes to 17. The next house in the row, which should have been number 19, is a corner house with an address on Bakkeh?jvej 45, which B?kkevang runs into.”
“The half of the duplex that Andreas Falkenborg bought and sold again right away?”
“Yes.”
“Give me the date of the purchase and also the date Catherine Thomsen disappeared.”
“His share of the house was bought on the fourth of December, 1996; Catherine Thomsen disappeared on the fifth of April, 1997.”
“Get Arne and the Countess in here.”
Simonsen took advantage of the wait to study the picture of Andreas Falkenborg he had received half an hour ago and immediately put up on his bulletin board. An amiable man in his early fifties smiled back at him. There was something anonymous about his face, and Simonsen thought that it could serve as representative of the general Danish public in any advertisement.
Pedersen was the first to arrive; he brought positive news with him and was in a good mood besides.
“We’ve found a witness who makes a link between Falkenborg and Catherine Thomsen more than probable, actually a double witness, namely a Jehovah’s Witness witness.”
The witticism was lost on Simonsen, and the Countess, who had just come in, did not seem inclined to joke either. Pedersen hurried on.
“There is a man who possibly partnered Catherine Thomsen in the movement’s door-to-door campaign, and he is quite sure that he has spoken with Andreas Falkenborg. Not because he remembers his face but the officers spoke to him in the stairwell of the apartment block where Falkenborg lived at that time, and he clearly recalls seeing a picture hanging on the wall outside the main door—a picture he looked at for a long time while his partner spoke with the inhabitants of the apartment. Unfortunately he is not equally certain who his partner was that day. It was probably Catherine Thomsen, but he is not completely sure.”
The Countess asked in wonder, “Who hangs pictures in stairwells?”
“It’s not really a picture but a kind of decoration. Its purpose was to cover a window into a bathroom, and don’t bother asking me why such a window was even made because I don’t know. The picture depicts a horse, by the way. One of the men took a photo of it. He’s the meticulous sort.”
“Is it possible that the other potential Jehovah’s Witness partners can confirm that they haven’t visited the place? I mean, so that Catherine Thomsen is the only possibility?”
“That’s being worked on, but bear in mind that when you do outreach you visit a good number of addresses every day. And the episode is over ten years ago.”
“What about a date?”
“Not exact, but it would have been within the first three weeks of June, 1996, and he is sure of that.”
“That is, over nine months before she was killed?”
“Yes, that must be right.”
The Countess shuddered.