The pub was three-quarters full, the air dense and thick. People were drinking beer but no one was boisterously drunk. Cigarette smoke swirled like playful blue snakes under the low ceiling, where it was caught in the spotlight that illuminated the woman on the stage. She was singing and playing guitar. Her voice was deep and raw with a rousing quality all its own, which easily reached the back of the room and the audience. Most of the patrons were listening and even the bartender behind his shiny bar was showing some interest. She was singing “The Crying Game,” from the film of the same name—a tragic number that suited her voice—and she interpreted the song with great feeling and a fitting amount of anguish.
Pauline Berg rubbed her eyes, which were irritated by the smoke. She sipped her beer and looked at the Countess, who sat beside her, absorbed in the song. This was the first time that they were working together on a major task and the Countess had revealed aspects of herself during the day that Pauline had not seen before. Her colleague could be a very dominating person when the situation called for it. As happened that afternoon when they arrived at the brothers’ residence on the outskirts of Middelford.
The house was a stately two-story affair with a full basement and an attic as well as a gazebo and a shed. Allan Ditlevsen had lived on the upper floor, his brother Frank below. Seven police officers were ransacking the place. On the Countess’s orders, she and Pauline started with a quick tour to get an initial impression, first upstairs and then downstairs. They ended in Frank Ditlevsen’s kitchen, where the leader of the operation was waiting for them. He was a taciturn man in his early fifties.
The Countess began, mainly addressing Pauline Berg, “Two well-kept homes and a high standard of quality with a pocketbook generous enough to accommodate all reasonable requests. Perhaps a bit more decorative than comfortable, but that is my taste.”
“Agree. Everything here is nice and expensive, nothing is old. That is, no heirlooms. You know, mahogany sideboards, china cabinets, Amager shelves, that type of thing.”
The Countess nodded appreciatively.
Pauline Berg enjoyed the nonverbal praise and tried to follow up her success with a preliminary question to the leader of the operation: “Frank Ditlevsen was a consultant and had a good income, but what about Allan Ditlevsen? How much does one make as a hot-dog vendor in Middelford?”
“Allerslev, not Middelford, six kilometers from Odense, and he also had a paper-delivery route there. Allan Ditlevsen made two hundred fifty thousand and Frank Ditlevsen half a million as reported on their income tax returns this past year. An expert in information management with courses and companies bringing in the money. The guys in Fredericia are preparing a report that you will be able to read when ready.”
The two women exchanged glances. The operations leader was clearly no master of the spoken language and the content of his message was also rather unremarkable. Nonetheless, he looked pleased.
The Countess took over.
“You have seven men under your command. That is not enough. Are there more on the way?”
“Eight. One is away picking up a child but he’ll be back once his wife gets home. But my people would really like to get home, for the weekend and such. Some of them are also saying that the case is … well, it’s just that they want to get home. You understand.”
“Frank Ditlevsen owned this house and his younger brother lived with him. They did not have shared finances, we’ve looked at the bills. His mail is in a packet on the kitchen table, probably gathered by the other. Copenhagen said that we should look for travel brochures or receipts or money transfers from the bank, and there’s nothing like any of that. And Frank Ditlevsen’s passport is gone. For now.”
He took a deep breath, then picked up and went on just as haphazardly.
“Allan Ditlevsen has been apprehended twice, once for the grave sexual abuse of a minor. We are looking into whether his older brother is also a pervert, that’s important. Illegal pictures and that sort of thing. Both brothers had lots and lots of videos, tapes and diskettes, so that’s been divvied up between my team members—the ones who had the time. But my list shows who got what and so I can cross it off and keep track of it. There are war films and action films according to the covers but no one knows what’s on the inside. That’s what we’re going to have a look at.”