“And picture number four—I haven’t told anyone about that.”
“No, but two freelance journalists have been calling around a lot of the people who were on the base in that time, and they’re looking for him so I assumed you were too.”
He removed a photocopy from his wallet and unfolded it. A young, crew-cut man smiled out at them. The Countess asked, “Where did you get this picture from?”
“The journalists visited me at home two days ago. They gave me this, but didn’t say who it is.”
“Did you help them?”
“No, I didn’t much like them, and I also don’t think that murder is entertainment. Poor girl, imagine being killed that way.”
“Well, I can hardly disagree with you about that. May I have that piece of paper?”
“Please, I have no use for it. But who is that really?”
“A man from the Foreign Ministry who has done nothing illegal. Do you know the names of the journalists?”
“No, but one of them left a card. I can call you about it when I get home.”
“Please do. Did they say specifically why they were interested in the man in the picture?”
“No, just like you’re not either.”
A paranoid thought suddenly struck the Countess.
“The former museum director, why was he discharged?”
“Hmm, that’s a very long story, and there are many truths in that matter, but it has nothing to do with these pictures, if that’s what you’re suggesting.”
“Okay. I didn’t really think it had.”
“Basically it was bad luck for all of us. There was no one like him for telling tall tales from Greenland; all kinds of delightful stories, some of them even true. Now the whole thing has been made the responsibility of the Agency for Cultural Heritage and various museum politicians, but the majority of visitors here are regular people, and they would rather hear the tall tales.”
“Do you know any of them?”
“Lots, but I’m no good at telling them. Not as good as my former boss anyway.”
“But you practise?”
The man blushed.
“Yes, a little. For my own amusement.”
The Countess glanced at the window, where the rain had started to drum against the glass. It was no weather to go out in. So she looked at her watch and said, “Why don’t you tell me a story?”
CHAPTER 27
The weather changed on Saturday afternoon. The sultry heat that had settled over Copenhagen was released in thunderstorms and rain as the train approached Roskilde. Pauline Berg found the outburst liberating, although it made no difference in the coach where her clothes still clung to her body. She looked out of the window and saw the faraway cathedral with its twin towers lit by sharp flashes of lightning under the leaden sky. Shortly after that the rain hit the train and obscured the view.
For a while she observed the irregular tracks of the water down the window and wondered why some drops remained in place while others pelted across the glass at a furious speed. Then she turned towards her neighbour and fellow passenger. He was a soldier, and in Copenhagen she had just beaten him in the race to get to the window seat first. Since then he had tried to initiate a conversation the whole way, but she had rejected him with monosyllabic answers or else simply ignored him. Now he was one of the first passengers to stand up, obviously eager to get away. She smiled at him, which she had otherwise been careful not to do during the journey, and noticed how he considered sitting down again. It remained just a thought, however. He returned the smile and left.
Roskilde station was the oldest in the country. Opened in 1847, it was constructed to serve Denmark’s first railway between Copenhagen and Roskilde. Pauline Berg had prepared herself on the Internet. On Saturday, 5 April, 1997 just after nine o’clock, Catherine Thomsen arrived on the regional train from Copenhagen. Several other passengers had seen her and could confirm that she was travelling alone. In Roskilde she got off at platform one, closest to the station, which was also confirmed by witnesses. From here she would take a short walk through a tunnel that led under the tracks and up on to platform six, where the train to N?stved by way of Haslev would arrive in seven minutes. No passengers had seen her on the N?stved train, and most likely she never got on. The weather that day had been rainy and windy with temperatures in the mid-forties. So it was unlikely that she left the station area, unless she had an errand to run.