Troulsen dropped the subject with a sigh and said instead, “Yesterday the wife and I babysat the grandchildren and I didn’t have a minute to spare, so unfortunately I don’t really have a good grasp of what we’re doing right now. I was wondering if you would care to give me a run-through.”
Simonsen consented; the alternative was that they change roles so that he drove while Troulsen read, and he had no desire for that. Besides, he could hardly reproach the man for having a personal life. Normally he was well prepared, and rarely complained about his hours.
“Where should I start?”
“Preferably from the beginning.”
“Okay. Annie Lindberg Hansson, age twenty-four from Jungshoved on Pr?st?, disappeared on the fifth of October, 1990. She worked at an office in Vordingborg, from where she took the bus in the evening towards Pr?st? and got off at her usual stop four kilometres from home. Her bicycle was waiting for her on the hard shoulder. Since then no one has seen her. The reason that she is interesting to us now is her appearance. Have you seen her picture?”
“Yes, I got that far. She resembles Maryann Nygaard and Catherine Thomsen.”
“She does, yes. Same black hair, same brown eyes, body build and pretty face with fine features and high cheekbones.”
“And Andreas Falkenborg lived in the area at the time she disappeared?”
“In August 1990 he bought a summer house in Tj?rnehoved, which is less than five kilometres from Annie Lindberg Hansson’s home, and you must allow for the fact that this is a sparsely populated area, so five kilometres is not that much, if you see what I mean. Besides, the area is not a typical place at all for a summer house.”
“How did she disappear?”
“Basically as I told you. There’s not much more to say. She got off the bus at eight o’clock in the evening, and since then she’s been missing.”
“What about her bicycle?”
“Never found, but if you stop interrogating me, I’ll tell you about the circumstances at my own pace. I do believe I’m capable of covering all the essentials.”
“Sorry, it’s in my genes, as you know. And then the heat—it’s almost unbearable.”
Simonsen’s sympathy was lukewarm, he had his own concerns. A couple of sores on his ankles were itching like hell, small, bright red blotches that would not heal, and made him feel ridiculous, almost embarrassed. In contrast the morning’s usual round of sweating had not materialised, probably due to the nutritious breakfast the Countess had served him. All in all moving to S?ller?d had worked out beyond his expectations. He had most of the second storey in the big house to himself. The Countess helped him unpack, showed him around, insisted on taking care of the practicalities, and not least—the awkward episodes he had feared in advance would arise between them had quickly faded into quiet cosiness, yes, even laughter. He enjoyed it, not least being fussed over a little. It had been a long time since he’d really laughed, and it had also been a long time since he’d slept so well. Not until now in the car did regret for his past mistakes around the murder of Catherine Thomsen gnaw its way in again and with that the longing for a cigarette. He leaned over to scratch his sores, thought better of it, and concentrated on updating Poul Troulsen.
“Annie Lindberg Hansson lived with her father, who is a bit of a social case, reading between the lines, but we’ll soon find that out. Their house is isolated, out by Jungshoved Church, a place where there’s not much besides sheep, water, and then the church and Lindberg Hansson’s little homestead. This meant that Annie had to bike alone most of the way home from where she got off the bus, and you can hardly imagine a more perfect route on which to assault a young girl: dark, deserted, and a bicycle light you can see from far off.”
“I’m liking this case less and less.”
“We don’t get paid to enjoy ourselves. Well, where was I? Yes, that evening the father reported his daughter missing and again the next morning. A search was put out for her, but the police efforts were pretty half-hearted, and I think I’m being kind saying that.”
“Why? Didn’t they believe him?”
“Keep quiet now, damn it, you’re being a pain! So, everyone expected that the daughter would soon show up again, presumably in Copenhagen. She and her father had had some heated discussions before she disappeared, because she wanted to move to the city and get ahead—or perhaps more precisely get started—with her life. He on the other hand thought that she had a duty to remain living there and more or less take care of him, since his wife had died a year before. For a long time therefore the authorities assumed that she had settled the disagreement in her own way by abandoning him, and that she would later make herself known again when she was established and her father had grown used to the idea. Even though the father regularly visited the police in both N?stved and in Pr?st?, for a long time he was more or less ignored and the case was correspondingly downplayed.”