The retired homicide chief ’s voice cut dryly through from the bedroom and was impossible to ignore: “He’s throwing out jewels in order to escape, just like Rolf Krake of ancient lore.”
Simonsen peered bewildered toward the sound of the voice. He had thought that the old man was sleeping. Then he drew his finger in a circle at his temple to indicate to the Countess that his predecessor was mentally unstable. It didn’t help matters much because Planck’s next sentence was not lost in the mists of fairy tales.
“He’s sleeping. Hold him steady, you batty woman.”
Simonsen threw his arms in the air with irritation. He shouted back, “Express yourself like a normal person. We don’t talk to each other like that.”
He glanced apologetically at the Countess, but his third attempt to circumvent the issue didn’t work.
“I asked you a question, Simon. Please be so kind as to answer it.”
*
A couple of hours later, Kasper Planck, Arne Pedersen, Pauline Berg, and the Countess were sitting around Simonsen’s sofa table as their host was out on the balcony, smoking. Arne Pedersen was holding a telephone line open to Anita Dahlgren, who was at the Dagbladet office.
He recounted to the rest, “She is wearing a headset and can speak more or less freely. Her computer is hooked up to reflect Anni Staal’s screen but right now that is just blank because Anni Staal hasn’t arrived yet. It’s worrying her that the place is starting to empty out. Most people have gone home.”
Simonsen tossed the cigarette aside and closed the door. Then he said, “Anni Staal is on her way there. Erik M?rk has just called her and he said that she would be contacted in the space of half an hour. Now you can begin to hope.”
No one talked for a while and everyone waited tensely until the Countess broke the silence: “I have some good news. Simon will stop smoking as of Monday.”
The others nodded approvingly and praised him, apart from Planck, who chuckled.
At the same moment, something started to happen. Arne Pedersen related in a running commentary, “Anni Staal has arrived.”
Some time went by until his next sentence. The others sat on pins and needles.
“She’s turning on her computer and inserting the flash drive … one moment, it takes a second … she is maybe starting a movie. Anita is not completely sure, but yes, now she’s sure and it’s from the hangings. Anita has no sound but the man in the film is crying, she says it’s Thor Gran. Yes, it is Gran. It’s horrible, absolutely horrible, Anita says. Anni Staal has stopped the film. She’s making a call on her landline phone.”
He held up for a moment. “She doesn’t seem to be making a connection.” Suddenly he called out, “Dammit, Anita, hang up! I’ll call you back.”
Then he ended the call and took the next one. It had been indicated in the background of his mobile phone’s call-waiting plan. The others were impressed by his complete transformation: he sounded like thunder.
“What the hell is this, Anni? Can’t you get it into your pea brain that you can never call me? Last time you promised me that it would never happen again, so what is your pathetic excuse this time?”
He listened, then he sneered, “Now I don’t believe anymore, I’m just sure, but if you have doubts you should get yourself a better source.”
Again he listened and then answered, “No, that was right. The sequence in the films was different. The first one who was killed was Jens Allan Karlsen, he was at the very front and to the left, and the last one was Frank Ditlevsen, who was in the middle. Tell me, why in the world would you want to know that?”
Again a pause. Then he wrapped things up: “Yes, do that, and you can add a thousand to my fee and don’t contact me again. Do you understand?”
He hung up and then called Anita Dahlgren back. The connection was reestablished.
The next twenty minutes were uneventful, aside from the fact that Pauline Berg left, which she did without fuss. At the Dagbladet, Anni Staal was writing an e-mail about how her interview with Konrad Simonsen had found its way to an unauthorized individual. She suspected a certain secretary.
Then suddenly there was action again. Arne Pedersen narrated, “Her cell phone is ringing.”
At the same time, the copy phone rang. Simonsen picked it up and listened. At one point he wrote something down and when he stopped, everyone was starting intensely at him.
“He passed her test with the order of the hangings, and they are going to meet tomorrow.”
Cheering followed this news. Even Kasper Planck made a fist.
“Kongens Kringle at Hindstrup Hovedgade, eight kilometers east of Middelford at exactly twelve o’clock.”
The Countess gently squeezed his arm. Then she asked, “Did he give her a name?”
Simonsen purred like a hungry cat.
“He did, in fact. He said that she could call him the Climber.”
CHAPTER 71