The Countess had appeared at her table and cleared her throat at least three times without being noticed. Now she laid a hand over the magazine.
“Hello, world calling Pauline. Are you completely gone?”
Finally Berg looked up and blushed ear to ear, caught in the act like a fat person digging into the pastries. She frantically folded up the magazine and stuffed it into her bag. It sounded as if the Countess had noticed neither her choice of reading material nor her red cheeks.
“You’re going to Middelford, my dear.”
“Alone?”
“No, with me. We have identified two of the men. Mr. Middle no longer exists. He has been replaced by Frank Ditlevsen, fifty-two, a systems analyst from Middelford. Mr. Southwest is very likely the retired manufacturer Jens Allan Karlsen from Tr?jborg in ?rhus. He was sixty-three years old. Arne is taking him on. Jens Allan Karlsen was identified twice over, as it happens. Only five minutes after we received the results of the DNA test, Skejby Hospital—where his heart was checked four times a year—called, just as Elvang had predicted.
“Five minutes too late to be of any use.”
“Well, you can say that. By the way, are you the one who called Allan Ditlevsen ‘Mr. Extra’ on the notice board? If so, you are in for a lecture from Simon about respect.”
“No, that was…” She caught herself midsentence. “That wasn’t me.”
“Good for you.”
The sinner in this case was Arne Pedersen. Berg had seen him write it … and even worse, she had laughed. She quickly switched to a safer topic.
“Is Frank Ditlevsen brother to the hot-dog seller?”
“Yes. Frank is the older brother and the one in the gymnasium; Allan, the little brother, in the hot-dog stand.”
“And he was killed by a tree?”
“Not exactly. The technicians are sure that he was killed with a branch shortly before the tree crashed on his head. But that’s a minor detail. The fact is that someone went to great lengths to fell that tree and the felling itself was done with professional expertise. But it was not done to accomplish the killing itself since he was already dead.”
“Why on earth?”
“I don’t know.”
“What does Simon say?”
“He says that you should finish your coffee already so we can get started. The brothers live—or rather, lived—at the same address in Middelford. Everyone is working like crazy to gather more information and we’ll be kept briefed along the way.”
“Good news. So we finally got our breakthrough.”
“Seems like it, and there’s more. We now have good photographs of Mr. Northwest and Mr. Northeast that will be broadcast in the media tonight unless we manage to identify them beforehand. In a gentler way.”
“What do you mean?”
“Those are Simon’s words. To get a picture like that shoved in your face by a TV screen without advance warning is pretty awful if you’re next of kin, but we don’t really have a choice. If there is a crazed killer on the loose picking off child molesters, time is of the essence.”
The words were jarring in Berg’s ear. There were people she felt more strongly about protecting.
“Yes, I see what you mean.”
The Countess picked up on her tone of hesitation and reacted with unexpected vehemence.
“I assume that you’re in complete agreement with me, otherwise you might as well stay home … and put in for a transfer while you’re at it.”
She had no formal authority but both women were very aware that there was real force behind her words. Berg quickly adjusted her attitude.
“Of course I agree with you, one hundred percent.”
The Countess accepted this assurance and smiled.
Berg returned the smile and said, “So, we’re on our way to Fyn?”
Their assignment did not come as a surprise to her. It was clear that as soon as they received certain identifications they would have to go out in the field and earn their daily bread regardless of where that might be. Already yesterday she had seen where things were heading and had asked a neighbor to look after her cat.
“Yes, we are, and as I mentioned, there is not a moment to lose. We’ll drive by your place so that you can pick up some clothes. I assume you’ve already packed some?”
“Yes. Arne said that we would in all likelihood travel all around the country, wherever he got that from.”
“It was an educated guess. But perhaps you’re disappointed that you are paired with me and not with him?”
Her voice was cheery but there was a definite sober undertone. Berg chose to take the question at face value and answered honestly, “No, I’m not. The thing between us … I don’t know that it’s going to amount to much, nothing messy at any rate.”
“If you say so.”
“I mean, he’s in a good situation already. With his kids and all.”
“You’ll have to ask him about that. If you can sleep with each other, you should be able to talk a little.”
“But I’m asking you.”
“You want my honest opinion?”