The Countess stuck her cell phone in her inner pocket, and now the narrative became slightly more coherent.
“We’re also taking a look at the computer. Allan Ditlevsen doesn’t have one. We are very careful as one should be and a specialist will soon be arriving. But there’s nothing illegal on that computer as far as we can tell. Just letters and that kind of thing. No pictures. And I’ve interrogated Frank Ditlevsen’s ex-wife about his pedophilia but there’s nothing much to be had there because she doesn’t want to cooperate in any way and the daughter is gone.”
Then he was finished and the Countess thanked him coldly, whereafter she left and let Berg remain with the him in uncomfortable silence.
Twenty minutes later, eight men were either sitting or standing in Frank Ditlevsen’s living room, staring at the Countess’s backside. The atmosphere was tense and the two women from the capital would not have won many votes had it been a popularity contest. But that was not their job. Nonetheless, they reacted in very different ways to the negative vibrations. Berg smiled apologetically at every opportunity and wished herself far, far away. The Countess simply worked.
She was on her knees on the floor with a screwdriver, and at her side was Frank Ditlevsen’s dismantled computer. A mess of wires hung from the bookshelf. The computer had been connected to a video machine, and an external CD burner and a forty-two-inch wide-screen LCD television commanded attention from the middle of the room. With a couple of strong sidelong blows she loosened the computer chassis, wedged it open, then lit a miniature flashlight and methodically inspected the electronic bowels. Her cell phone rang and she handed it over her shoulder to the operations leader without a word. He took the call and left the room.
When he returned, she stood up and delivered her orders in a clear voice.
“A detective inspector from ?rhus will be here in an hour and he will take over command. No one should do anything else before he arrives. Twenty-five additional officers are also on their way from various locations in Glostrup and ?rhus. They will join us as soon as they’re able.”
A younger officer was lounging on a sofa with a mug of coffee and clearly had an attitude problem. He protested, “So, lady, we’re supposed to lie around staring at nothing for an hour?”
The Countess turned ferociously in his direction, but the soon-to-be-deposed leader was faster. Perhaps he would never be a great lecturer and perhaps his investigation methods were not world class, but he knew how to protect his people. He whispered something inaudible and the officer stood up and apologized, even as if he meant it. The Countess generously let the matter drop. She waved a couple of electronic gadgets in the air.
“The big one is a hard drive, the little one is called a reborn card. Is there anyone who found anything like these when they were searching?”
The men looked and shook their heads.
“Then you know what you’re looking for. Somewhere in this house there will be a hard drive. Find it when you get back to work.”
“Excuse me, but how can you know that?” It was the young man again, who this time was on his feet.
“Dust—or rather, the lack thereof. Frank Ditlevsen habitually changed out his hard drive. That is also the best and simplest way to maintain privacy on one’s computer.”
She looked around for additional questions but there were none.
“I’m leaving now but will be back this evening, so we’ll all see each other again. And I mean all of you.”
She swept out of the room. The men started to mumble to one another, clearly antagonized by her authoritarian manner. Berg smiled meekly and shuffled off in the Countess’s wake.
*
The two women used the next two hours to track down Frank Ditlevsen’s daughter, which eventually led them to the inn where they now sat. At this point it became clear to the Countess and Berg that truculent colleagues were the least of their problems. Officers who put in only superficial effort were one thing, an uncooperative community was something else entirely.
Many people clapped when the singer finished. During the applause a man walked up onto the stage and handed her a note. She read it and excused herself into the mike, then jumped down with some agility while soft, nondescript music seeped out of concealed loudspeakers.
The Countess and Berg praised the singer when she sat down at their table. She thanked them in a reserved manner. The bartender brought her a glass of juice and she took a sip while the Countess began her line of questioning.
“You are Frank Ditlevsen’s daughter?”
“Yes, I am.” The voice that had seemed sensual in song now sounded raw. Harsh and spent.
“My name is Nathalie and this is Pauline. We’re from the police. Would you like to see our badges?”
“No, that’s okay.”
“And you know what’s happened?”
“My father and uncle are dead? Yes, I know that. The whole country does.”