Simonsen returned and related the details of his conversation with the chief.
“The minister of justice is speaking for himself, and his suggestion that we should return to the usual chain of command is completely without any foundation. If it were to happen, it would have no impact anyway. I have reported to both the police director and the national chief of police as I want to. The idea behind a special group isn’t ours and will be viewed as a political stunt to signal to the public that extraordinary measures are being applied in this case. Mass murders are not an everyday event after all, and thank goodness for that.”
Pedersen asked skeptically, “Did Helmer Hammer really say that?”
“No, it’s my elaboration. He did, however, say that lawmakers have launched into debates regarding the current sentences for child abuse and that these may become more severe. The minister of justice and some of his cronies have put feelers out and this idea has been well received in the other parties. Most shy away from a quick-fix approach. At this time. But this doesn’t really concern us. We are going to continue our work and under no conditions comment on the political dimension. This applies mainly to myself. I was under a de facto muzzle, and now that is doubly the case.”
The Countess shook her head. “I don’t like working for such a fair-weather man.” These were strong words coming from her. She mostly only spoke well of people.
Simonsen stopped and stood in the middle of the group, broad-legged and powerful. “And you don’t. You work for me, and for democracy. If you are unhappy with the composition of our government, you can join a political party.”
He would have liked his words to be more carefully chosen. Touch on something that united them, but he didn’t know what that would be. And for that matter, how much did they even have the right to expect? He was neither a politician nor a minister. He stayed with what was down-to-earth, throwing his arms up in an awkward gesture and saying, “And we shouldn’t forget that it has been quite a productive day. We have definitely gotten new solid information to dive into. Especially with regard to our interrogation of Stig ?ge Thorsen tomorrow. I don’t yet know who is going to do it, probably it will be the Countess and me, but I want all of you to be extremely well prepared. In return, Arne and I will finish the television work by ourselves. We spent too long on it last time. I’ll be a little late tomorrow morning by the way, as I have a meeting. I may be able to secure an alternative and more reliable supplier for telecommunications data, which might be a good thing considering how maddeningly slow our official sources are right now. And then finally one last thing…”
He made short pause before he went on.
“As something tells me that our favorable resource situation will not last forever, I would like to invite all present to a fine and thunderingly expensive dinner with the state as the host, while I still can. And it will be a pleasure for me to send a copy of the check to the iron lady at the Dagbladet. Is anyone interested?”
The Countess accepted. Troulsen said no; he had been ignoring a flu with the end result that he was deadly tired and just wanted to go home and rest. Pedersen also had to pass. The following evening, he and Simonsen were to have dinner with Kasper Planck, which could not be mentioned in current company, but to spend two evenings that were not a professional necessity away from his family was simply not possible. A single event was hard enough to defend. Then there was Pauline Berg and Malte Borup, but for once Berg turned out to be quick on the uptake.
“Not us either. Malte has promised to take a look at my home computer. It’s been acting up and I need to have it fixed.”
Borup glanced up briefly from his formulas when he heard his name. As usual he didn’t understand anything. Not even enough to make him blush.
CHAPTER 57
The girl was sitting on a chair in the middle of the studio and looked like an angel. She was dressed in a simple peasant blouse of light-colored linen. She wore no jewelry except for an amber necklace that gleamed like summer on her white throat. Golden curls floated around her picture-perfect face but her clear eyes shone with life and were entrancing at first gaze. Natural as a dream, clean and pure, perfect, if one remembered to disregard her fashionably worn, tight jeans and sexy black leather boots. As the camera did.
Erik M?rk couldn’t look away, she drew his gaze like a dew-kissed flower.
The director was giving orders. Without looking directly at the girl, he focused on an oversize TV monitor on the back wall, where her upper half appeared. He gave instructions to the cameraman and interviewer: “We’ll run through that part about the abuse again.”
The girl grumbled, “It’s at least the tenth time.”