Simonsen shook his head insincerely.
“No, you can’t, but we’re covering the same ground without getting anywhere. Tell me, do they cry out from inside the bag, do they scream out their fear, or do they use their last bit of oxygen to beg for mercy? What does a dying woman’s voice sound like, when her air passages are blocked by plastic? Resonant, shrill, distorted? I don’t know, because I’ve never heard it. But you have, and I get hopping mad thinking about it.”
Falkenborg asked in a whimper, “You want to hear about Rikke, right?”
“Yes, I would like that very much. Among other things.”
“So it doesn’t matter that I’m sweating?”
“No, it’s all the same to me.”
Falkenborg’s story about his attack on Rikke Barbara was reasonably consistent with what the woman herself had told Simonsen last Thursday. Almost all the particulars fitted, which was good news, but nothing concrete connected him to the later murders, as the attack—even if brief—had been described on the Dagbladet website in Jeanette Hvidt’s interpretation. Unfortunately also including the bizarre pretend nail clipping, a detail the police otherwise would have withheld. The same did not apply to his use of lipstick, but on the beach in Kikhavn he hadn’t had time to use it before he was interrupted. In addition his strange way of talking had not been disclosed. The problem was that possibly he didn’t know himself how he talked. Simonsen probed, but without much success.
“You dug a grave on the shore. When did you do that?”
“A few hours before I attacked her.”
“And she was going to be buried there?”
“Exactly, but she got away from me.”
“But you intended to kill her?”
“Yes, that was the idea, but it didn’t happen.”
“How did you want to do that?”
“I think in a plastic bag, like the two women that were murdered in Greenland and at Stevns.”
“You think, you say, but wouldn’t you have to know that?”
“So I know that.”
“Did you have a plastic bag with you?”
“Yes, two bags.”
“Where were they?”
“In my pocket, I think.”
“In your pocket, are you sure of that?”
“No, I can’t remember.”
“Where could they have been otherwise?”
“In my other pocket, maybe.”
“No other place?”
“It could be, I can’t remember, it was a long time ago.”
“Why did you have the mask on?”
“Because I like scaring them.”
“Them . . . who do you mean by ‘them’?”
“The ones I scare. I liked to scare Rikke.”
“It’s nice for you to see Rikke, and other women who resemble her, get scared?”
“Very nice, as scared as possible. Really, really scared, that’s nice.”
“You pretended you were clipping her nails, why is that?”
“My mother used to do that to them, I think that’s where it comes from.”
“Explain that to me.”
“Yes, they just had to stand there and get their disgusting claws clipped. It served them right.”
“Where did you have the scissors?”
“In my pocket.”
“Also in your pocket?”
“I think so, couldn’t they be in my pocket?”
“You decide that.”
“Then it was there.”
“Tell me, how did you get Rikke Barbara Hvidt to show you her nails?”
“Out with the claws, stupid girl, he wants to see her nails. I said something like that.”
“Did it work, did she show her nails?”
“No, she didn’t, she was contrary, she didn’t want to obey.”
“What did you do then?”
“Said it again.”
“Said what again?”
“Out with the claws, stupid girl, he wants to see her nails. But she held her hands behind her back and drilled her nails down into the ice and was beside herself.”
“You were patient, you just stood in front of her with the scissors and repeated your sentence?”
“Yes, that’s how it was.”
“But not with the flashlight, that wasn’t necessary.”
“No, no flashlight.”
“Where did you get light from?”
“Maybe the lighthouse, there was a lighthouse.”
“No, there wasn’t, where did you get light from? A fine, sharp light.”
“From the helicopter. The helicopter had lights in front.”
“Exactly, but not all of them held their hands behind their backs, did they?”
“No, you’re probably right. Not all of them.”
“One of them was difficult for you.”
“She didn’t want to behave.”
“In what way didn’t she want to behave?”
“Maybe she clenched her fists, then it’s impossible. And hit.”
“I don’t believe that. It wasn’t impossible, just difficult. Why was it difficult?”
“Maybe she folded her hands.”
“So you had to cut the way she was?”
“Yes.”
“Why did she fold her hands?”
“She was praying to God.”
“Yes, she did that, and what was her name?”
“Liz maybe.”
“There is no Liz, stop lying.”
“I’m not lying.”
“You’re sweating and shaking.”
“I’m nervous.”