“I don’t know; a while ago. What time is it?”
He was very familiar with this condition and also knew that it was temporary. From time to time, all investigators encountered things that were difficult to deal with and that got under their skin. Unpleasant images that became fixed in the back of the head and could not be erased. This was clearly one of those times for her. He himself found it hardest when the victims were children, but that was something he had in common with most police officers, and he had not yet been inside the gymnasium. He halted his train of thought and came back to the present.
“Drive into town and get yourself something to eat. Be back here in an hour.”
“I’m not hungry.”
“That’s an order, Countess. And turn off your phone.”
She nodded, as if she understood. But he saw in her eyes that she did not. Normally she was the personification of stability. She was the one who pulled back when everyone else was driving off the cliff. She turned around and the dim daylight fell onto her face. And he saw that her face had the same ashen tint as her hair.
“It’s horrible, Simon. I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything like it.”
“No, I don’t suppose either of us has.”
“Arne and I peeked in from the door and … ugh, it was awful.”
“I’m sure it was. Now off you go. I have other things to do than worry myself about you.”
He accompanied his comment with a smile to take the edge off his words. She appeared not to notice it. She remained where she was and he wondered if he should embrace her or simply place a hand on her shoulder. But he did neither; he wasn’t good at that sort of thing.
Finally she said, “I’ll be fine in a bit.”
“I know you will. See you.”
And then she left.
*
The special-education clinic had been temporarily transformed into an investigation hub. There were two bookcases whose contents had been emptied onto the windowsill, and on the table in the middle of the room was a stack of paper as well as a box of pencils. A whiteboard stood in front of the dark green chalkboard, so that explanations could be given in marker rather than chalk, and a map of the school had been hung on one wall of the room. It had clearly been posted in haste, and the result was sadly haphazard.
Simonsen studied the plan with a tilted head, while Arne Pedersen used the time to wipe off his chair. His pants were already stained in two places and he did not wish to make matters worse.
“How was your trip?”
“Unpleasant.”
“What about the vacation house? Can you get a refund?”
“Unlikely.”
The chairs, which had seen better days, creaked alarmingly when the two men sat down.
Simonsen rested his elbows on the table and asked curtly, “How are you doing?”
Pedersen was not unsettled by the question, which was a good sign.
“Better, but it wasn’t easy in the beginning. I broke down twice, and I haven’t done that in years. On the whole, that is. Not once—or twice—for that matter.”
“But you’re okay now?”
“Usually it’s just children—well, you know.”
“Arne, answer my question. Are you okay now?”
Pedersen gazed back at him steadily.
“Yes, I’m fine now.”
“Good. Then give me an update on chronology, resources, and status.”
This came out sounding more abrupt and imperious than he had intended but his irritation at the wait was still with him and he wanted to get straight to the facts. His words were promptly obeyed. Pedersen went through the events exactingly, starting with the Turkish mother who had dropped her kids off at 6:15 A.M. by the bicycle shed to the right of the school entrance.
He went on. “It was the first day after fall break and the school was already unlocked. The children went to their respective classrooms and hung up their coats, after which they met by the gymnasium in building B in order to play soccer. Inside, they discovered five bodies. The big sister searched in vain for an adult but did not find one. She called 911 from the teachers’ lounge and was transferred to the Gladsaxe police station. The call was clocked at six forty-one. The officer on duty … excuse me…”
He stopped and appeared to reflect on something.
Simonsen said, “The name is not particularly important. But tell me, those two children. Aren’t they a little on the early side? I thought instruction began at eight o’clock.”
“That’s correct, and I wondered about that too, so I asked the headmaster. It turns out that the school has a handful of children that meet up long before lessons begin. All schools are familiar with the problem. For some parents it is simply a matter of wanting to save money on morning care, for others it is a pressure they face each day—”