“But, but … I have a hundred questions. Per Clausen, the janitor, how does he fit in?”
Pedersen had been waiting for this question. He answered calmly, “He was a useful idiot but he finally understood the truth. At that point it was too late. The corpses were on the stretchers and the traffickers were gone. Why do you think he committed suicide?”
Anni Staal nodded grudgingly. “What about the hot-dog man? He killed his own brother?”
“They hated each other with all their hearts and were both equally emotionally stunted.”
“But then why did the hot-dog guy get killed? I mean … the whole business with the tree—what was that good for? Everyone’s been wondering about that.”
He smiled slyly and thought until his head hurt. It had been an oversight. “You may not be familiar with the Latvian proverb but those who are understand that message. A flower is bestowed upon the steadfast, the branch waylays the traitor. The original source comes from the Russian Orthodox tradition, but tell me—isn’t this worth five thousand?”
She didn’t answer at once. Tried thoughtfully to gather up the threads. Finally she said, “My goodness, heads are going to roll. Yes, it’s worth five thousand.”
Pedersen smiled quietly.
CHAPTER 64
The Countess sat deep in thought and studied the whiteboard. It hung right next to her desk and she had pushed her chair to the side, the better to see the four names that she had written in her neat, somewhat impersonal, schoolgirl handwriting: Per Clausen, Stig ?ge Thorsen, Helle Smidt J?rgensen, Erik M?rk.
“Are you sure, Countess?”
She turned around, flabbergasted. Konrad Simonsen had come in without her hearing him. He looked incredibly exhausted. She didn’t give a thought to the fact that one could easily have said the same of her.
“Yes, I’m sure. For several reasons but first and foremost due to Helle Smidt J?rgensen’s diaries that she has kept for twenty years. The Mayland calendar, the same one year after year, with only a variation in the color. Poul has gone through them in great detail.”
“It was a bit of a blow that she was dead. Are we sure it was from natural causes?”
“Yes, completely sure. It was a heart attack, probably brought on by stress, alcohol, and pills. We arrived two days too late. But there’s no question that she played a part in the murders, and Poul agrees.”
“I heard he went home.”
“Crawled would be a better word for it. He looked like a corpse; he should have stayed in bed yesterday. But what about you? You look tired. Are you going to make sure you get something proper to eat?”
Simonsen shrugged. He had been to dinner at Planck’s yesterday but the last time he’d eaten at home there had been frozen pizza on the menu, which he had forgotten about after it went in the oven with the result that it tasted like cardboard.
He pointed to the names and said, “Can you settle for giving me the conclusions? I have a meeting in the city in less than twenty minutes but I’ll be back again tonight so I can read your report.”
“You’ll have to forgive me, Simon, but I have trouble imagining what could be more important than this. And while we’re on the topic, what’s happened to our investigation meetings? At the moment you’re the only person who has an overview of the situation. All the rest of us can only see a piece of it. Is that your new leadership style? Because if it is, I don’t much care for it.”
Her words were sharper than her voice, which was closer to sounding a little sad. When he didn’t answer right away and instead pulled up a chair and sat down, she regretted that she had talked to him in that way.
“It’s really only partially true, this fragmentation,” he said. “But you are right. There is something I haven’t told you yet and it’s because I know you would be totally against it. You’ll find out about it shortly, but since you’re asking, this might as well be the moment. Can you come in again this evening? Late, say around twelve. You can bring Pauline, if she wants to come.”
The Countess decided to back off. Whatever it was, it could wait. It was more important that he get some sleep. He wasn’t getting too much of that these days.
“I could, but tomorrow would be just as good, so you’re free to take back your offer.”
Simonsen frowned, somewhat bewildered by the sweet-and-sour exchange in which he didn’t know if he was being criticized or defended.
“It doesn’t matter to me. I’m coming back here anyway.”
“The anonymous computer expert who has taken over for Malte? And who has special permission from you to run around more or less alone?”
It was a pointed question.
“Not really. He and Malte keep to themselves, but I’m going to read reports.”
“I think I’ll resume the investigation a little later.”
He dropped the subject and pointed to the whiteboard.