Troulsen decided to postpone his bathroom visit. The last thing they needed was a first page headline about a police hacker. He returned to the Countess, recounted the situation, and ordered her to give her protégé a lesson in social studies, starting with the laws of the land. Not that the boy seemed to have any objections to any of it, but it appeared that he took the relationship much less seriously than seemed suitable.
“Okay, I’ll have to talk to him. In the meantime you should see how well you remember your geography. Or you can take out a map of Denmark.”
“What do you mean?”
“Simon wants one of us to go to Tarm and talk to the janitor’s sister, and if I remember correctly I was the one who…”
She let the sentence hang in the air unfinished and he capitulated at once.
“I’ll go. Can I take your car?”
The Countess’s phone rang, so she simply nodded. The message was brief but serious, which she confirmed upon hanging up.
“Per Clausen has given us the slip.”
“That can’t be true. It’s a joke.”
“In that case a very bad one.”
Tarm suddenly seemed extremely appealing.
CHAPTER 16
It was now sixteen days after nurse Helle Smidt J?rgensen had medicated the men in the minivan. Six unpleasant days and two horrible nights with Uncle Bernhard over her. She was particularly tense today, since tabloids and posters screamed of the mass murder and the entire hospital was talking about the news. It was almost impossible to think about anything else, and although her part at the rest stop last Wednesday had been over in ten minutes, images from the episode kept popping up in her mind’s eye like an unwelcome movie. Unfamiliar faces with fearful, pleading eyes and hands that were shaking uncontrollably and the metallic clang of the handcuffs when they hit the back of the railing. The desperation of the men when she stood there in the van with the syringe raised like a torch and the tourniquet slung around her neck like a venomous snake. They roared like bulls and howled like dogs until the Climber came at them with a pocket knife and compelled them to quiet down. Be quiet or you’ll lose an eye, my dear Pelle … how about it, Frank, same for you, Thor, and you as well … was it Peter? She could not remember the names, only the Climber’s witty and frighteningly honest voice.
“It’s hard not being able to talk to anyone. Harder than I thought.”
The old woman on the bathing stool smiled uncomprehendingly and Helle Smidt J?rgensen stroked her gently on the head. The touch brought a fleeting glimpse of presence into the vacant eyes, then she retreated into her own land.
“Is it Thursday today? That’s the day my daughter comes by.”
The woman took an evident pleasure in the water spilling over her emaciated, wrinkled body and J?rgensen gently soaped her up. She let the water run for the sake of warmth.
“I was playing cops and robbers, me, an old woman. So I got to try that too.” She glanced at her patient and it occurred to her that “old” was relative.
“Not that I’m as old as all that, of course, but there I was with a hood, a gun, and the whole shebang. A real-life pistol or a revolver—what do I know? Even if it wasn’t loaded. And then a whole bag of handcuffs.”
“My daughter’s coming today. Is it Thursday today?”
The towels were stacked in the warming closet and they were a pleasant temperature. She wrapped them around the old woman and gently rubbed her dry.
“I pointed the pistol at the Climber without saying anything. He begged for mercy while he was locking them all up and it just so happened that no one protested before it was too late. Yes, I’m sure they all believed it was a mugging and that the Climber, being the driver, was also a victim, and the truth only dawned on them when all five of them were handcuffed.”
A tremble shot through the old woman. She must have raised her voice.
“My daughter is coming. My daughter is coming now.”
“There, there.”
She gave her a hug and stroked her back. The woman calmed down. After that she let the wet towels fall to the floor and started to rub lotion onto her in soothing circular motions. The old woman opened her eyes and hummed softly, and she continued the rubbing a little longer than strictly necessary.
“We have to remember to brush your teeth and make sure that it doesn’t end up like last week.”
She deftly grasped the woman’s upper dentures and pulled on them. The last time she had bathed her the old woman had lost her teeth and she had become very anxious—not that she needed much to set her off. She brushed the set in hand soap while the old one rinsed her mouth.
“My daughter is coming to visit me. Is it Thursday today?”
“It is Tuesday today. Your daughter is coming over the weekend. It’s a long time until then,” she snapped without wanting to.
The woman reacted immediately.
“Call my daughter. She should come now. Is it Thursday today?”
“Shut up, you senile old fool.”
The old one wept heartrendingly.
J?rgensen couldn’t recall having struck a patient before. Never ever, not even a light slap like the one just now. She needed something to calm herself down, a pill or a drink or both. This was a stressful time.
CHAPTER 17