“They were killed.”
“Yes, that’s what you say.” The woman tried to appear indifferent but her voice quavered.
Pauline jumped in: “Your mother said that you were on vacation. Why did she do that?”
“I don’t know.”
“She lied?”
“I’m not responsible for my mother. You’ll have to talk to her about that.”
Berg thought to herself that she had to agree. The problem was that it was difficult to extract a single word out of her mother and the few that came out were patently untrue. Like her claim that her daughter was in London, or Birmingham, or was it Liverpool? The mother hadn’t even bothered to hide her fabrication.
The Countess changed the subject. “Aren’t you sorry that your father is dead?” It was a question.
“I didn’t see him much.”
“Why not?”
“That’s just how it was.”
“How old were you when your parents split up?”
“Nine.”
“Nine years old. That must have been a shock.”
Tiny beads of sweat appeared on the woman’s upper lip and forehead. Onstage she was attractive, up close like this almost ugly, and her self-control was close to cracking. Even if the questions were not unreasonable, just hard.
“I don’t know. Can’t you let me be? I don’t know anything, I didn’t see either my dad or my uncle, okay?”
Berg was not without sympathy. “Your father and uncle were murdered. We can’t let you be,” she said.
“I haven’t killed anyone.” She was having trouble getting the words out.
The Countess shook her head and for a moment she considered waiting until the morning. The location was the worst possible for an intimate conversation but she pushed this thought aside. They had been in Allerslev right before coming to the inn, and the shattered hot-dog stand was an argument against giving anyone extra time. Whoever it was who was on a rampage out there could return to strike again at any time.
“I am aware of that, but I have to ask you this: did your father abuse you as a child?”
It was the last straw. The answer was a cry of desperation: “Why are you doing this to me?”
People turned, and their sympathy was not with the police. The woman was crying quietly.
A muscular bouncer got up from a neighboring table. He placed a protective hand on the singer’s shoulder and said softly, “Perhaps you should leave.”
The Countess took out her badge and held it out under his nose. “Is that a threat?”
The man remained calm. “No, it’s not a threat. I’m not stupid enough to mess with the police but perhaps you should leave anyway. She doesn’t want to talk to you and if you stay here she won’t be able to talk to you. And anyway, you already got your answer. Look at her, for fuck’s sake. Can’t you put it together for yourselves?”
The women looked at each other. Then they got to their feet. The Countess pulled out a card and laid it on the table. She nodded toward the weeping singer.
“In case she changes her mind, or if anyone else can help.”
The bouncer still remained calm. “I don’t think so. We can’t stand child molesters in this town.”
People clapped as they made their way to the exit.
CHAPTER 38
In Kregme, at Arres?, Stig ?ge Thorsen was following the police car with his eyes as if slowly crawling up the country lane and he smiled when he saw it stop at the fire. He used the extra time to review his instructions once again.
Avoid long answers, only answer when you are asked a direct question. Don’t say anything if there’s any doubt in your mind. Don’t say anything if you are confused and ignore any kind of a threat. Silence is your friend, these lines are your message.
He could almost hear Per Clausen’s voice and his smile widened. He wasn’t nervous, which surprised him a little, and he walked out into the yard to greet them. A pale afternoon sun emerged from the heavy skies. It was chilly and he shivered.
The patrol car rolled into the driveway. He nodded to the driver and watched as he parked the car parallel to the farmhouse, close to the stone wall as if anything but ninety-degree angles and straight lines were an insult. To his annoyance, he realized that he knew the officer. It was an old classmate. Or had he been in another class in the same year? He couldn’t remember but would have preferred it otherwise, it would have been easier. The policeman stepped out of the car and walked over to him. He was in uniform.
“Hey there, Stig ?ge.”
“Hello.”
“I’d like to talk to you about that bonfire of yours out in the field. We’ve had a complaint.”
It wasn’t a question, so he remained silent.