“I want all of you out,” the Countess shouted. “Now!”
No one took any notice of her. A woman’s voice came through: “So listen to this. I don’t have a television. The same day that Anders died it blew out and that was four years ago. Four years and they keep asking me to pay the license however many times I write or call. It’s simply impossible to register as having no television. They don’t believe me, those crazy Copenhagen apes. Just imagine if I demanded money for bread that my clients did not recieve.”
“You are interfering with an incredibly important mission and you have to leave. Your pickup will have to wait until tomorrow.”
The bakery woman continued: “And then you turn up here, three officers strong. Don’t the police have anything better to do?”
A couple of customers supported her but a young voice countered, “She could have been brought to the hearing on Monday when I was here alone.”
The Countess tried again with the full strength of her lungs: “Out with you. I am from the Homicide Division.”
“The Homicide Division? Because she’s been lax about paying her license? That’s just too much.”
“I haven’t been lax. I don’t own a television, I don’t have a television. I don’t want a television. Don’t you get it?”
“Can I buy four focaccia buns before you take her in?”
And then suddenly Pedersen broke in with a message that did not leave much room for interpretation: “Anni Staal has received an SMS. It says dumb pigs.”
Simonsen turned off his cell phone and turned one last time to the forest edge. For more than three hours he had been staring at the place with no results before he packed up and left. But his optimism had suffered a blow, he no longer thought about luck, and then he got some just the same—the first time he panned the area with his binoculars a rope dropped down into his line of vision from one of the trees that the birds had circled a while ago. Immediately thereafter, a boot followed.
Simonsen had a reputation for handling himself rationally in situations that required quick decisions, and what he now did was in large part without error. First he thought for about ten seconds without moving from the spot, then he took a map out of his bag and again studied the area behind the castle and out toward the water and the nursery. It was clear that it would have been senseless to sprint up to the castle gardens, partly because it would have taken him too long and partly because his chances of catching the man when he finally made it were minimal. The Climber was faster than he was and was on his home turf. The odds would be more in Simonsen’s favor if he drove up behind the park and tried to find him on one of the nursery roads. He tossed his things into his bag and half ran to his car.
As soon as he was out on the highway and the coast was clear, he increased his speed as much as possible and in only a few minutes he was racing down the long, straight forest road that cut through the Hind tree nursery and divided the area into easterly and westerly parts. About halfway through he turned down a side road, parked his car about ten meters down, and continued on foot. Without hurrying, he walked as quietly as he could toward the next intersection. Soon he would come out to the right at the back of the castle, and a quick calculation in his head told him that if the Climber had not run—which he had no reason to do—there was a good possibility that he was still in the area.
The vegetation along both sides of the road consisted of tall spruce trees and a person wishing to hide himself would have only to take a few steps behind the tree trunks and stand still. The most important thing was therefore to be neither seen nor heard. From time to time he stopped and listened without perceiving anything other than birdsong. At one point he surprised a couple of pheasants, who flew away noisily, flapping. He crouched down next to a tree and waited a little while until peace had returned. Then he went on noiselessly. He reached the intersection after twenty meters. He kept well to the left along the trees and when he turned he therefore spotted the man walking toward him a couple of seconds before the other. At that time he had long since managed to get out his pistol. The distance was exemplary: the other man was too far away to go to attack and too close to avoid a bullet. Their eyes met and each knew who the other was.
“Get down on your stomach.”
The man did not react and his eyes flitted between the gun and the woods. Simonsen released the safety. The little metallic click sounded ominous and full of foreboding.