The questioning of Andreas Falkenborg began with silence. For a long time Konrad Simonsen stared down his prisoner, and watched the other man squirm under his gaze. It was evident that his discomfort at being observed made him restless and uncertain; he wrung his hands and stared down at the table like a guilty child. Simonsen let the other man stew and stonewalled the few times the prisoner looked at him, mutely imploring him to get the interview going.
Finally Simonsen recited the necessary preamble.
“Please state your name.”
“Andreas Falkenborg.”
“Birth date and place.”
“July the eleventh, 1955, in Copenhagen.”
“Where in Copenhagen?”
“The Municipal Hospital.”
“And where did your parents live?”
“Bispebjerg, when I was born. I don’t know the address, they moved shortly after.”
“That doesn’t matter. Andreas Falkenborg, you are accused of the murder of two women, namely the murder of Maryann Nygaard on September the thirteenth, 1983 near the radar station DYE-5 on the Greenland ice cap; and the murder of Catherine Thomsen on April the fifth, 1997 on Nordstrand outside Stevns Klint in Zealand. In addition you are a suspect in the murder of Annie Lindberg Hansson, who disappeared at Jungshoved near Pr?est? on October the fifth, 1990, and the kidnapping and attempted murder of Rikke Barbara Hvidt on May the sixth, 1977 in Kikhavn at Hundested. Do you understand these accusations?”
“Yes, but I haven’t done anything.”
“Do you also know that you have the right to a lawyer who can support you?”
“Yes, I know that.”
“Would you like a lawyer?”
“No, thanks.”
“I will make a note of that.”
A brief shudder ran through Falkenborg then, almost like a slight epileptic fit. Simonsen wrinkled his brow; that reaction was not in his script, and the last thing he needed was a suspect who did not let himself be questioned. Falkenborg asked, “Can I change my mind later? And get a lawyer then if I want?”
“Yes, of course you can.”
“And you won’t be angry with me?”
“My reaction is unimportant. If you want legal representation, just say so, and I will interrupt questioning until the lawyer has arrived.”
“Thanks.”
“You should also know that you have no obligation to speak. If you choose to do so, anything you say can possibly be used against you in court. Do you understand that?”
“Yes, I understand.”
“And even though you are not compelled to, you really want to talk to me?”
“Yes, I do.”
Simonsen noted to himself that now not even the most meddlesome defence lawyer could reasonably maintain anything other than that the man was well acquainted with his rights. Simonsen’s first actual question had been carefully chosen in consultation with Ernesto Madsen.
“You make a living by spying on other people. Do you like doing that?”
Surprisingly enough, the suspect answered honestly and without the slightest embarrassment.
“Yes, I think it’s fun. I’ve always thought that, ever since I was a kid.”
“Why is that?”
“I don’t know, it’s just the way I am.”
“You like watching people without them knowing it?”
“Yes.”
“Eavesdropping?”
“Yes.”
“Preferably on women?”
“Sometimes it’s men, it depends on who wants my help, and I also sell things . . . microphones, cameras, computer software and that kind of thing.”
“Would you call that spying equipment?”
“Yes, that describes it well, but it’s completely legal.”
“No one is saying it isn’t. Tell me, when you are spying on strangers, do you prefer them to be women or men?”
“Definitely women, I do best with them.”
“Why is that?”
“It’s easier. Women talk more than men, and I also think it’s more fun.”
“Why is it more fun?”
“I don’t really know, I’ve never thought about it, but I guess it’s because I’m normal.”
“Normal?”
“Yes, that is, like other men. I’m not abnormal.”
“It’s not normal to kill three women. That’s extremely abnormal.”
This time Falkenborg seemed ashamed. He lowered his eyes and answered, “I know that.”
“What you have done is very serious.”
“Yes, when you put it that way.”
“It almost sounds as if you’re sorry.”
“I am.”
“Well, that’s a start anyway. Tell me, why did you kill Maryann Nygaard?”
Andreas Falkenborg hesitated, trembled slightly and pulled back.
“I did not kill Maryann Nygaard. I didn’t do that.”
Simonsen noticed how he bent his neck and lifted one arm, as if he was going to sniff his own armpit.
“What are you doing?”
“Nothing . . . it’s nothing.”
“You’re lying to me. Why did you kill Maryann Nygaard?”
“I don’t know.”
“You don’t know? What do you mean?”
“I don’t know why I killed her.”