“But what help is this? I mean, this leaves me no further forward.”
“Exactly! The English, or to be more exact American, designations of the different classes of serial killers are thrill killers, lust killers, and power seekers. If we refuse to group Andreas Falkenborg in any of these categories, the obvious question of course is what groups remain. There are four, but none of these fit our man. If we look at them individually—”
Pedersen interrupted the survey.
“Okay, none of the remaining four groups can be applied. Maybe we should be more interested in what we don’t know that we don’t know, than in what we know we don’t know.”
Pauline Berg turned her head and gave him a friendly nudge.
“I didn’t understand a word of that. What in the world do you mean? And can you stop drinking my coffee? You have your own.”
Simonsen took out his cell phone, stood up and turned his back on the group. Shortly afterwards he said, “I’m sorry but I have just received instructions that can’t wait. We’ll have to take a ten-minute break. Arne, can you help me?”
CHAPTER 21
The room adjacent to the meeting room was used to store cleaning supplies. With a light hand between Pedersen’s shoulder blades Konrad Simonsen pushed him inside, turned on the light and then closed the door behind them. At the far end of the room stood a solitary chair. Simonsen pointed towards it, and Pedersen sat down.
“Tell me what the problem is, Arne.”
Pedersen avoided his eyes.
“Nothing important, I just haven’t slept very much. Look, this Andreas Falkenborg guy, are you thinking of arresting him soon?”
Simonsen did not answer at first. That was not the topic he had taken his subordinate aside to discuss. Then he changed his mind.
“That’s the plan, but first I want to hear all that the psychologist has to say. Later today I’ll discuss the case with the district attorney, but she’ll only tell me that at the moment we’ll be lucky if the judge will let us keep him more than three weeks on remand. Will you please look at me when I’m talking to you?”
“But we will get a search warrant?”
“Certainly.”
“So we have to hope we find out something more.”
Pedersen’s gaze wandered around the room, first here, then there, and his hands were restless.
“Yes, we have to hope so. Are you ready to tell me what’s wrong?”
He was.
Simonsen waited patiently and did not interrupt his colleague as Pedersen related his nightmare in unnecessary detail, and explained about his resulting insomnia. He concluded despairingly, “Two days without sleep is okay. I even think it was an advantage to me yesterday, when we were playing chess. Strangely enough. But three . . . ”
He shrugged his shoulders.
“Now you sound completely normal. What does Berit say?”
“That I should see a doctor if it continues.
Simonsen refrained from seconding that advice, however reasonable it was. He knew that Pedersen’s marriage was not always harmonious, and Simonsen himself didn’t care much for Berit, which he was always careful not to show. Instead he took a dishtowel from the shelf beside him, soaked it in cold water and wrung it out before handing it over. Pedersen took it and dabbed at his temples.
“I’ll get someone to drive you home, Arne. And I don’t want to see you here again until you’ve slept. Do you hear me?”
“I hear you, but there is one thing. That is, I know you need to get back to the meeting—”
“Out with it then, they will wait for me.”
“It’s Pauline. Well, I’m sure you’ve noticed that she resembles . . . them. She mustn’t meet him.”
Simonsen had noticed the resemblance and was well aware that it was the topic of lively discussion in the whole Homicide Division, without anyone seeming to comment that Pauline Berg was also light-haired and blue-eyed—not insignificant in connection to this case. The talk irritated him. He would never dream of playing roulette with a co-worker’s safety, but it was obvious that if Andreas Falkenborg had not been quite so particular during his whole life over his choice of victims, they would have found two dozen and not two dead women in his wake. Or three, if they were counting Annie Lindberg Hansson, which they probably should. Jeanette, Rikke Barbara Hvidt’s grand-daughter, would of course be kept at least ten kilometres away from Andreas Falkenborg, but Pauline Berg . . . that was simply an over-reaction. On top of that, Simonsen was not the least bit interested in hearing about Pedersen and Berg’s relationship, if they even had one at the moment. On the other hand he had not intended to use Pauline in an interrogation situation anyway, she was still far too inexperienced for that.
“You would prefer that I keep them separated when we confront Falkenborg, is that it?”
“I’ve been imagining all kinds of things, even during the day, and her house is very isolated. It’s right next to the forest, so unless we can spare ten men—”