Simonsen was about to interrupt. The narrative had become more than a little disjointed, but suddenly Planck changed direction of his own accord.
“But last spring the conversations about Helene Clausen and Farshad’s family come to an end. Per Clausen avoids talking about them and changes the topic if they come up. Farshad doesn’t understand why but he is a sensitive person—a very fine person all around—and respects these new signals from his friend. At the same time there is a striking physical transformation in Per Clausen. He cuts back significantly on his drinking. For a while he is almost always sober, then he starts drinking again, but much less severely than before. The transformation is quite abrupt and according to Farshad it stems from an event in February or March of last year.”
“The woman in red?”
“Good guess, Simon. She had to come in somewhere. And she does. Literally. Into the shop around ten o’clock one evening, where Per Clausen is lying indisposed in the back room. Farshad remembers him as unusually intoxicated. Incoherent, even. When this happens, he is allowed to sleep on a cot until Farshad can coax him out at closing time. The woman is in her thirties, wealthy and good-looking according to Farshad, and also polite, focused, and friendly. She wakes up Per Clausen and takes him with her in her car without a single protest. The car is a silver-gray Porsche and she is dressed in an eye-catching crimson suit. She gives him a note with her name, address, and phone number and tells him that he can call her if the janitor is ever in a similar condition. Unfortunately the note has been lost. Per Clausen never mentions her but he is picked up by her one more time, also in the Porsche. This time he is not drunk and it seems as if he has made previous arrangements. In addition, Farroukh Bakht?sh?, one of Farshad’s sons, has seen Per Clausen driving with her on another occasion but the time unfortunately was not determined.”
Planck drew out his final sentence, as if wondering if he had covered everything. Apparently he had.
“That’s all of it, in broad strokes anyhow. I wish I could assure you that it is important but I can’t. Farshad is a cooperative type of person who is happy to help the police but only with facts. He is not interested in jumping into speculation about his late friend’s suspected involvement in the murders.”
Simonsen reflected on this. Then he said, “She sounds interesting. We want to talk to her. Keep going with Farshad if you think there is more to be had there. Get someone to find out how many silver-colored Porsches there are in the city and if it’s possible to trace her that way. Put a couple of men on the neighbors and the school people and ask about the car and the woman.”
“I’ve already done that last part, without results. But I wouldn’t say no to another round with Farshad even though I don’t expect to turn up anything more. We can drive in to the HS together so I’ll get an overview first of how far we have come. Then I’ll head to Bagsv?rd.”
“That’s exactly what we can do,” Simonsen said and got to his feet, feeling energetic and rested.
CHAPTER 43
The Countess had borrowed an office at the police station in Odense Midtby.
Someone banged on the door and was told to enter. An unusually large man in his early thirties was led into the room and placed in front of her. One of his eyelids drooped, which gave him an unsettling, almost pleading look, a comic touch. The officer left the room and she let the man sweat in silence for a while before she began the interrogation.
“My name is Nathalie von Rosen and I’ve been sent here by the Crime Division in Copenhagen. And you are in some deep shit. That goes for your brother too.”
The man’s upper lip trembled and his reply came haltingly: “I’ve been thinking it over, and I’m pretty sure I want a lawyer.”
“Well, I can understand that, and you’ll certainly have use for one. I’ve come straight from the hospital, where I listened to your victim talk, or whatever it is one should call what he did in order to make himself understood. You know, it’s hard to talk properly with a broken jaw.”
“That was an accident.”
“Yes, you could say that. And a serious one at that. A broken wrist, two broken ribs, a broken nose, the broken jaw I already mentioned, blows and kicks all over his body, and I’m sure I’m not remembering half of it. Then there is the other accident that transformed his apartment into a dump.”
The giant was fighting back tears, the lawyer forgotten.
“We didn’t know that it wasn’t his video.”
“And if it had been, it would have been perfectly all right to beat him to a pulp?”
“We can’t stand people like that.”
“No, that appears to be a trend these days, but in the eyes of the law there is no difference who the owner of the offending video was. What may make a difference is the fact that your abused friend does not wish to press charges. He claims that he understands you, and I have to say that he must be an unusually tolerant person.”