“I’ll be damned. More?”
“Nothing that stands out. We’ve found two keys whose purpose we can’t identify, but one is possibly to a safe deposit box. The other is very special with a number of some kind on it. And then Falkenborg withdrew a large amount of cash from his bank last Friday, which we can’t find either, more than eighty thousand kroner.”
“No mask, I assume?”
“No, no mask.”
“Microphones in his apartment?”
“Yes, and they are state of the art; little devils no bigger than an aspirin tablet with transmitter and all, and which can be hidden anywhere, voice-controlled and super-sensitive. They’ll be the same ones he uses when he’s at work . . . spying on people, that is.”
“If you say so. But what about a receiver, or whatever it’s called? I mean, there should be something that stores the conversations.”
“In his apartment he used his computer, or more precisely one of his six computers. But we found a brochure, and those mini-microphones can communicate with a small battery-driven box that forwards the signal over the mobile network, and a box like that is not much bigger than a matchbox, so it’s not difficult to hide. Four of his computers are password-protected, incidentally, and our technicians are working on those at the moment. One of them, the one with the picture of Jeanette Hvidt, they’ve got control of. There is a lot to suggest his expertise is not confined to audio and microphones. Advanced computer knowledge is also part of his repertoire.”
“So it’s not certain that the rest of his computers can be investigated, is that what you’re saying?”
“Oh, no, it’s only a matter of time . . . and hardly more than two or three days. I’m just saying, he’s also skilful with a PC. And by the way, we’ve uncovered how he did his trick of breaking into the house of the witness who by bad luck had given him an old access card. Do you remember him?”
“Yes, I do. How did Falkenborg do it?”
“He had computer access to the security company, access he presumably stole in connection with their using him for a short time as a consultant. Is that something we should pursue further?”
“Have we informed the company?”
“Yes, and they’ve changed their systems.”
“Excellent, so there’s probably nothing more to do. What about a warehouse? Doesn’t he have some place for the equipment he sells?”
“Yes, I’m sure he does, but we don’t know where. The only thing we do know is that it doesn’t need to be large. A garage would be sufficient.”
Simonsen concluded gloomily, “We haven’t got much out of this search. Do you have anything else?”
“We can’t find his car. That is, one of them. He has two: a blue 2001 Mercedes E210 and a white 2004 VW Multivan, both registered as personal vehicles. The VW is a commercial vehicle with sliding doors, and that’s the one we can’t locate.”
“Put a search out for it.”
“I’ve done that.”
“Anything else?”
“Not a scrap, but we’re not finished. Should I head out again?”
“No, I would rather have you help Poul with Liz Suenson.”
“The Swedish ghost girl, who exists only in the imagination of Andreas Falkenborg and Ernesto ‘Che’ Madsen?”
“Yes, the Swedish girl who perhaps is the breakthrough we so desperately need.”
“Who, if she exists, has been shovelled into a grave in a forest in Sweden, and there are quite a few of them there. I have a hard time seeing that as a breakthrough.”
“This isn’t up for discussion, and don’t insult her.”
“Okay, no offence intended, I’ll find Poul. How did he take the situation, by the way? I mean, with the media and all that shit.”
“He’s doing his job.”
“Stop pretending you’re indifferent because I know perfectly well you’re not. I’m guessing you backed him against the sea witch on the top floor. By the way, have you seen that she’s coming out with a statement this afternoon?”
Simonsen stood up. Surprisingly enough he didn’t feel particularly tired, and even the itching on his ankles had stopped. On the other hand he was craving a cigarette.
“No, I’m not indifferent, but I prioritise double murders higher than things I can’t do anything about. Yes, of course I backed him up, what else would you imagine I’d do? No, I haven’t seen that the police commissioner intends to make a statement, and to get to your next question in advance—no, I don’t know what she will say. Now I’m going into my office to review the interview with Falkenborg again. See if you can’t produce some good news, I need it.”
Simonsen got barely ten minutes alone before Pedersen had, if not good news, at least something new to tell. He slogged into his boss’s office with a taciturn Poul Troulsen in tow. Simonsen took off his earphones and gestured to the two men to sit down. A superfluous gesture, as neither of them waited for permission.