“Why don’t we meet down there when I’m through here? As I said, it won’t be very long. There’s no reason to stay inside on a day like this.”
Half an hour later the two women were sitting on a bench at Gaswerkshavnen with a view over Kalvebod Brygge. The distorted reflection of a glass facade caught the sun at an unfortunate angle and momentarily blinded them. From time to time one of the broad canal excursion barges passed; then they had to smile and wave, while tourists from far and near photographed them for their scrapbooks, and the tour guide’s school English interrupted their conversation. The two women hit it off from the start. For instance, even when they were ordering something to drink, they both agreed that it was too early in the day for white wine, after which they each ordered a glass anyway. They talked about architecture; it was a difficult subject to avoid when they were sitting where they were, and they could have talked for a long time about everything under the sun if the situation had been different. They both felt that way. The Countess took hold of herself first; she was in the midst of a murder investigation after all.
“Were you and Maryann Nygaard friends in Greenland?”
“We were, yes. Very close. It hit me hard when she died, or disappeared rather, but we knew perfectly well what that meant. For a long time I hoped against all the odds that she would be found alive, even though deep down I knew that wouldn’t happen.”
“But you didn’t suspect she was the victim of a crime?”
“Absolutely not. It came as a shock when I read that, and I’m still pretty upset. It’s disgusting to think about, but hard not to.”
“Yes, unfortunately it is disgusting. In your email you said you have information that you think might interest us. Would you like to tell me about it?”
Allinna Holmsgaard drummed her fingers on the table. Her nails were cut short, but nevertheless the sound irritated the Countess.
“When I sent the email, I meant it. But after thinking things through I’m not so sure how important it is.”
“Let me decide.”
“So, you do know that Maryann was pregnant when she . . . disappeared.”
Just this morning the Countess had read about the pregnancy in the autopsy report. It had surprised her and raised a few questions. She said, “We know that, and it makes us wonder a little.”
“Why is it so strange?”
The Countess could have bitten out her own tongue. Allinna Holmsgaard did not need to know anything about the tampon, but now the revelation was hard to avoid. The Countess vainly tried an evasive manoeuvre.
“Things don’t work that way between us. I ask, you answer. Not the other way around. Tell me about . . . ”
The sentence faded out, the professor had guessed the reason for the Countess’s surprise. The finger drumming stopped, and she said in distress, “Maryann’s pregnancy was not proceeding normally. She was bleeding, although she shouldn’t have been, and was flown to Holsteinsborg for a closer examination but there was nothing wrong. She was menstruating when she died, is that it?”
“Yes, that’s how it was. Do you know the child’s father?”
“No, I don’t. That is what I thought might interest you. You see, the whole thing was very mysterious, almost cloak and dagger, and Maryann did not want to come out with it when she finally found out. His name, that is.”
“Maybe you should start from the beginning.”
“Yes, of course. Maryann got pregnant about ten weeks before she died. It was by a geologist who was staying at the base for a few days while he waited for good weather, so he could continue on to Thule. They fell in love, just like that, like you read about in romance novels. Or in any event, Maryann did. I have my doubts about what it was like in reality for him. His name was Steen Hansen, he maintained, but that was a lie—”
The name struck the Countess like a blow from a hammer. Her jaw dropped and then her glass too. The stem broke, and wine spilled over the table. Allinna Holmsgaard asked worriedly, “What’s the matter? Are you all right?”
The Countess pulled herself together. With all her strength she tried to repress the dry female voice that was suddenly echoing in her head. Hold on to Steen Hansen, Baroness. Hold on to Steen Hansen, Baroness. The psychic’s words, and even on the phone they had been unnerving. Now it was much worse.
“No, it’s nothing, just go on.”
“So, I did not find out that the name was false until later, but there were other strange things about him . . . things that didn’t seem right. I remember that we women said that we had never seen such a well-dressed geologist. They usually resemble something they dug up. It was unusual besides that the Americans provided an aircraft for him alone when the weather cleared up. We speculated like that without really getting into it very deeply. There were always all sorts of stories in circulation, it was a way to pass the time.”