The man must be close to retirement age. The Countess observed him without making any secret of her interest. He was on the chubby side, with warm-looking eyes and a friendly manner. He wore an old-fashioned charcoal grey three-piece suit, and had trimmed his moustache and exuberant sideburns so that they were neatly restrained. He could probably best be described as sober-looking. Calm and considered would also apply.
For over ten years he had been chief administrative officer in the Ministry of Finance with a brilliant career behind him and in all likelihood an even more spectacular one to look forward to. Then suddenly, from one day to the next, the stress of the job broke him. It was all very unpleasant, mainly for him but also for his colleagues. If someone like him could be so badly affected, one day they might be the ones who went down. After his convalescence it was clear that reinstatement at the Ministry was out of the question, after which a job was found—or rather, created—for him in the National Bank.
Here he sat now in the coin department, officially called the Royal Mint, with an address in Br?ndby. His workplace was on K?bmagergade, however, at Marskalg?rden, an eighteenth-century Baroque palace, and if you wanted to you could visit the Post & Tele Museum on your way up. His coin-related duties were manageable to say the least, so for most of his working day he did as he pleased, which was mainly to advise any colleagues or associates in need of a little insider guidance to the highways and byways of Slotsholmen. His knowledge was considerable, and his good advice to anyone and everyone who passed by his little garret office correspondingly insightful. He was called the Oracle from K?bmagergade in bureaucratese, and there were more than a few who in the course of time had discreetly consulted him. High and low, student assistants, department heads, they all came here. Even cabinet members occasionally.
The Countess had been interrupted in her introduction by her cell phone, which she had forgotten to turn off. She quickly ended the call and apologised.
“You’ll have to excuse me, but that was my boss.”
“Your boss, your lodger, your lover . . . a dear child has many names.”
His voice was slow and characterised by an oddly displaced phrasing, as if his words and sentences were not coordinated. She concealed her surprise with a brief laugh and said, “As usual you are exceptionally well informed. Well, where was I?”
“Telling me that Helmer Hammer visited your lodger at Police Headquarters, half an hour after Bertil Hampel-Koch left you in anger.”
The Countess reported further on how Konrad Simonsen now summarised the murder case in daily emails to the general director of the Foreign Ministry. When she was done, she paused; her host noticed her hesitation and said quietly, “These are very influential people you’re talking about. If I’m going to help you, it’s a good idea to tell me the whole story.”
His argument was irrefutable; she pressed on.
“I believe that Bertil Hampel-Koch was in Greenland in 1983 and impregnated the girl who was later murdered on the ice cap.”
He gave himself time to digest the statement then said neutrally, “That is a theory of a quality I don’t hear every day. Now you’ve made me curious. But if you think he killed that girl, you’re mistaken.”
“No, he hasn’t killed anyone, I know that perfectly well. Besides I’m still not sure about the other thing. As I said, it’s just something I believe.”
“Do tell.”
The Countess told him about the conversation with Allinna Holmsgaard and then about her theory.
“When the professor told about Steen Hansen’s voice, or more exactly Maryann Nygaard’s unknown lover’s voice, it struck me that I had heard a voice like that recently, namely Hampel-Koch’s. Obviously it’s all speculative, but the connection between the director and Chief Administrative Officer Helmer Hammer made me think, not to mention Hammer’s peculiar interest recently in Homicide Division cases . . . Yes, it makes more and more sense, the longer I think about it.”
The man asked curtly, “You don’t think their involvement makes sense otherwise?”
“First Bertil Hampel-Koch almost forces his way into our investigation, by citing international complications between the Americans, Greenlanders and even the Germans. Then he stalks out of the first meeting he attends, after which Helmer Hammer shows up faster than you can say agreed in advance. I refuse to believe that the realm has a top executive in the Foreign Ministry who behaves so impulsively, not to say foolishly.”
The man smiled briefly.
“That’s what I like about you police people. It’s harder to pull the wool over your eyes than it is with most people. But the rest of us can also put two and two together, and Bertil’s voice is simply not enough to go on. You must have something more or you wouldn’t be sitting here. Have you taken a close look at him?”