“The police starting to spy on our free press—such times, such times.”
His voice had taken on a somewhat inappropriately humorous tone, and Simonsen understood it well. It was a way to keep the beastliness at bay. Overcome despair and smile the three women back to the kind of hell where they belonged. In the half darkness he gestured theatrically, with relief.
“Yes, we’ve reached a new low.”
CHAPTER 63
Anni Staal was waiting for Konrad Simonsen.
Only a few minutes earlier, Anita had called and said that her earlier efforts had yielded results.
“The kilometer stone at City Hall Plaza at two o’clock, and Simonsen only has five minutes.”
Anita had hung up before Anni managed to get a word out, so she couldn’t do much other than go to the meeting, and privately she wondered whether she had misunderstood the message before she noticed the chief inspector heading her way. He looked exhausted and wasted no time with unnecessary pleasantries.
“I’m sorry about the location but I have an errand nearby and this is what I was able to think of in a hurry, but let’s skip all that. I hear you want an interview and a long one at that.”
Anni smiled, pleased. This was a promising beginning.
“Yes, I’d like that, and I hope that you will. We are useful to each other.”
“Maybe you are right, even though I admit that it took me a while before I saw the sense in this alliance. And I should clarify that I can’t stand your line of work in general and that I despise your treatment of my investigation in particular.”
She circumvented his disapproval with a short, cloying laugh and said, “But you have concluded that the police have an image problem?”
“That you have played a part in creating.”
“So it will be good to get your angle out there.”
“I guess so, but I have a few conditions and it is a take-it-or-leave-it situation. There will be no negotiating.”
“Let’s hear it.”
“I want a formal, legal document signed by both you and me, your editor in chief, and someone from the executive level, that says that you can’t publish a single line of the interview before I have read through it and given you my written permission. You may also not print any of the information that I will give you whether directly or indirectly, and if you do, it will cost you a five-million-kroner donation to the Red Cross.”
Anni did not have to reflect on his proposition very long before she said, “You don’t have much faith in us.”
“I think that the only thing you have respect for is money, especially money out of your own pocket.”
“You’ll have your document to your home address by courier by the end of the day.”
“That’s great, push it through the mail slot, I’ll be out. Tomorrow at ten at the Dagbladet?”
“What about at your home? That’s more private.”
“You are sick.”
“Not completely. If you want to reach the people you have to invite them to your home. That gives me a better opportunity to present you in a more human way—that is, not just brains but also heart. Believe me, I know what I’m talking about.”
Anni crossed her fingers. The thought was apparently appalling to him but her arguments had struck a chord. It took a long time before he answered.
“At my home, ten o’clock, no photographers.”
“Wonderful. Ten o’clock at your place, and the photographer will simply take a single picture of the two of us as we are talking and then he’ll leave. I swear on my mother’s grave.”
Simonsen waved his hand in an irritated gesture, which she took as his assent. They parted without warmth.
*
No one could accuse Anni Staal of resting on her laurels. The solo interview with Konrad Simonsen was an enormous triumph but back at the office she pushed the thought aside and the following hours she concentrated on the next day’s edition, rejecting a proposal for an article from her intern and paying her back for her lack of telephone manners earlier in the day. She smoothed a folded piece of paper on her desk.
“You can throw this away.”
Anita Dahlgren looked up furiously. The rejection did not come as a surprise. “Did you even read it? His forehead was carved up while he was unconscious.”
Anni Staal’s voice was cold and her choice of words more cynical and provocative than she actually felt. She’d had her interview now so there was no reason to thank the girl more.
“I don’t care if they cut his dick off. What you have written is not our line and you know that very well. It’s not what people want to read and, my sweet … it is not getting into print.”