A quarter of an hour later, the Countess decided that the time was right. She leaned forward and placed her arms on the table.
“The twenty thousand kroner that you were given by your stranger—you in turn donated them via the Internet to an Indian help organization called Sanlaap. Why that particular organization?”
Stig ?ge Thorsen had apparently been expecting this question.
“I think I had seen it advertised on TV but I am not sure. Maybe it was a coincidence, I don’t know.” He crossed his arms. The subject was finished as far as he was concerned.
But not as far as Berg was concerned. She leaned toward him.
“Sanlaap operates out of Bombay or, to be more specific, the world’s largest bordello neighborhood, Kamthipura. There are two hundred thousand women and children for sale there. Down to seven years of age. The children are kept as sex slaves in dilapidated whorehouses and typically they have to serve fifteen to twenty customers a day. A large number of them come from Kathmandu, in Nepal, where they were kidnapped by various means by slave traders and brought across the border to India, where they are sold for use in bordellos. The first couple of weeks the children are beaten to shreds or outright tortured until they break down and cooperate in their new profession. When they are not being raped, they are hidden away by madams in small, dark places like crawl spaces or lofts so that the police won’t find them. Or else the police will demand to get their share of the profits. Most of the girls are HIV positive. They receive no treatment and develop AIDS. Many also get pregnant and raise their babies under unspeakably horrible conditions.”
She spoke slowly and clearly, directly to Stig ?ge Thorsen. He had pushed himself as far away from her as the chair allowed but could not escape her gaze. When she finished, he answered her without taking into account that she had not asked him anything.
“Yes, it is terrible, and the world couldn’t care less.”
The Countess cut him off. Her tone was accusatory and as sharp as a razor.
“You give money to Sanlaap in order to relieve your conscience, don’t you? You were treated by Jeremy Floyd because you can’t keep your fingers away from little children. Isn’t that right?”
The lawyer reacted angrily: “What is this?”
But Stig ?ge Thorsen’s reaction was even more violent. His outburst was loud, almost screaming: “No, no, it’s the opposite. I was the one. They hurt me.”
Berg also raised her voice, also infuriated with the Countess. “You completely misunderstand. He doesn’t do children any harm. Haven’t you understood a single thing?” She laid a protective hand on the man’s arm.
The Countess did not attempt to hide her disagreement with her colleague.
“For heaven’s sake, he was in the behavioral-treatment group with the janitor Per Clausen and with the nurse, Helle … Helle … oh, what was her name again?”
She snapped her fingers a couple of times, happening also to turn briefly to Stig ?ge Thorsen in her search for the name, and then the miracle occurred.
“J?rgensen, Helle Smidt J?rgensen, but we were the ones who had been…” But he did not get any further. The lawyer had finally realized what was going on and he effectively stopped the session by placing a hand over his client’s mouth.
“This has gone far enough, ladies, more than far enough. I don’t even have words to describe what this is.”
He was furious. He said into the room in a loud, formal voice, “Let it be known that I am holding my hand over my client’s mouth and also strongly advising him to discontinue this interrogation.”
Then he stood and more or less heaved up Stig ?ge Thorsen with him while shielding him from the two women. He turned to the mirror and said, “This is psychological terror, Simon. Get in here.”
Simonsen got up heavily to his feet. “I guess I’ll have to go in and pour oil on the water. Did you catch that name, Arne?”
“Nurse Helle Smidt J?rgensen.”
“Find her. It can’t be done quickly enough.”
CHAPTER 60
The Countess caught up with her boss after the interrogation of Stig ?ge Thorsen, waiting patiently for fifteen minutes so that he would not slip past her. She pounced on him as soon as he had said goodbye to the lawyer.
“Simon, we have to talk.”
Simonsen turned, somewhat perplexed. Her tone was insistent, not to say sharp. He brushed her off as gently as he could: “I’m sorry, Countess, but it will have to wait. I’m on my way to a briefing with the chiefs and after that…”
She grabbed his hand and drew him into his own office. To his amazement, he followed without protest and obeyed when she commanded, “Sit down.”
She remained standing at his side. He glanced up at her and asked, “What in the world?”
“It’s not about me, it’s about you.”
“What do you mean?”