He picked up the receiver and said calmly, “Welcome back, Ms Bahn, and now listen—either we talk calmly and quietly together or else I’m hanging up. It’s your choice. But I don’t have time for another monologue on your part, and I also think I’ve had my quota of swear words here this morning, so if you will please try to observe a basic level of civility, I would be very grateful.”
He listened and then said sharply, “Until you go bankrupt or until you tell me about your time in the house with the Falkenborg family back in 1965, and you will not get a krone, only the joy of conducting yourself like an upstanding citizen.”
Shortly after that he hung up.
“Ms Bahn is ready to see me in private in half an hour.”
“Should I go with you?”
“No, I’ll deal with her alone. The more of us there are, the greater the possibility that she will revert to her default frame of mind. She’s only just managing to control herself.”
“That’s too bad, I really wanted to meet her. So Pauline was right. With Bahn greed outweighs everything else.”
“Yes, evidently. But can you gather people together for a meeting this afternoon? I’m seriously thinking about bringing Andreas Falkenborg in tomorrow or the day after. We have him under close surveillance, as you know, but of course I don’t like the fact that he’s on the loose. On the other hand we don’t have much on him as yet, so I would like to discuss the situation with all of you before I make my final decision.”
“How democratic.”
“Go to your perch and do what I ask.”
“Yes, sir, I’m gone already.”
Ms Agnete Bahn’s appearance surprised Konrad Simonsen. He had expected an old harpy in cheap, gaudy clothes and with the cold manner of a whore, but instead he was met by a presentable older woman dressed in a demure tailor-made suit. She had an attractive, middle-aged face only lightly enhanced with makeup and—if not absolutely accommodating—a businesslike attitude. It was difficult to recognise the hetaira who less than an hour ago had gathered a thistle bouquet of the worst words in the language for him. She led him to a couch and fetched a can of cold juice, which she placed before him along with a glass. Then she got to the point.
“Do we have an agreement that you will remove the three cars parked in front of my home if I tell you about when I worked in the household of factory owner Alf Falkenborg?”
“Yes.”
“Then let’s get going. We’re both interested in getting this conversation over with as quickly as possible.”
Simonsen got his Dictaphone ready and placed it between them. Agnete Bahn looked distrustfully at the machine and said, “And we’re only going to talk about back then?”
“Only about back then, yes, I am completely indifferent to what you’ve been doing otherwise, Ms Bahn.”
“Fine, and just call me Agnete, it’s simpler. What do you want to know?”
Simonsen told her about the murders and his suspicions about Andreas Falkenborg without elaborating on the concrete evidence he had. She was not unduly concerned to hear the accusations against the child she had cared for long ago. Apart from nodding occasionally as a sign that she understood, she showed no interest in the story. Simonsen continued.
“Do you have a picture of yourself when you were young that I can take with me?”
The woman’s surprise was unfeigned.
“What the hell do you want that for?”
He had made up his mind that it was unlikely she would go to the press. He answered her honestly.
“I think that your appearance as a young woman has imprinted itself on Andreas Falkenborg’s mind, and later he has chosen his victims based on the way he remembers you.”
Simonsen thought that perhaps she would be angered by his supposition, so he spoke quietly, almost earnestly. Agnete Bahn remained unaffected.
“My looks then are the role model for the girls he’s butchered. Is that what you’re telling me?”
“Yes, it is, apart from the fact that he hasn’t butchered anyone.”
She thought briefly and then said, “It’s going to take a little time. I have to go up in the attic and take one of my employees with me, I’m not that young any more. But if it’s necessary . . . ”
“It’s necessary.”
“All right, I’ll call for one of them, they’re just sitting around anyway. You can pass the time by going below and—”
Simonsen cut her off.
“No, thanks.”
Her laughter was dry and joyless, almost scornful.
“That wasn’t what I was going to say, although you would be surprised how many men there are in positions higher than yours who wouldn’t refuse—”
She glanced at the Dictaphone again.
“—a turn on the couch, so long as they don’t have to pay the bill for it afterwards.”
“I believe that.”
“You’d better. But what I meant was that you can go down and get a newspaper or two in reception, so you have something to do while I’m in the attic. And I forbid you to snoop around my home.”
“Thank you, but that’s not necessary. I have some papers I can read in the meantime.”