The Countess stood up.
“I’m going to go and ask if the guardsman is ready to release you. During this conversation I have come to realize that I would like to think a little more about this matter before I decide to press charges. Now, remember not to look in this file while I’m gone.”
She locked the door behind her and mumbled, “Lucky bastard.”
CHAPTER 44
The police station in Copenhagen was a powerful and monumental building. From the outside it appeared hard and forbidding, with its gray, dirty walls of rough plaster and mortar and its lack of adornment, if one didn’t count the entrance, where two solid iron cages flanked the colonnades. Striking and heavy-handed symbols that were covered with oversize golden morning stars in case there was any doubt about the symbolism. The rest of the building ran in straight lines along the streets with window after window that all opened inward in order not to break the strength of the facade.
Kasper Planck set the pace across the courtyard and Simonsen slowed his steps, which gave him time to enjoy the architecture. He had always liked the HS’s sober style, which in his eyes was harmonious and appealingly restrained. The interior, however, struck him as confused and nonfunctional—a Spanish monastery with mock bourgeois ornamentation and art deco lighting in the bathrooms; the famous round interior courtyard with its many faux-antique double columns and its redundant third-floor balustrade, which he found outright ugly. The circular yard had the unfortunate side effect of creating curved hallways of differing lengths that made orientation for newcomers a near impossibility.
Simonsen moved through his place of work with familiar ease. On the way, he lost Planck, who bumped into an old colleague. Soon he was at the Division of Criminal Investigations, where he banged on the door to Arne Pedersen’s office and walked in without waiting for an answer.
Pedersen stood at the back of the room. He was talking on the phone but interrupted himself when his boss entered. Simonsen tossed his jacket onto the coat rack in the corner.
“Give me an update, Arne.”
“We have now secured the identities of the five victims, and more information is streaming in.”
Pedersen gestured to the notice boards behind him and added with a boyish grin, “What about you? I hear you are well rested.”
Simonsen ignored the comment and turned around. There was a big piece of paper on the middle board, fastened with pins in each corner, which hung slightly askew. Simonsen took his time to point this out, then he took a step back and concentrated on the content.
Thor Gran
(Mr. Northwest)
Unmarried
Architect
54 years
?rhus
Frank Ditlevsen
(Mr. Middle)
Divorced
Consultant
52 years
Middelford
Jens Allan Karlsen
(Mr. Southwest)
Married
Retired
69 years
?rhus
Palle Huldg?rd
(Mr. Northeast)
Widower
Office manager
63 years
?rhus
Peder Jacobsen
(Mr. Southeast)
Divorced
Shoemaker
44 years
Vejle
Over each name was a photograph of the deceased. In two cases it was possible to discern the panic-stricken expressions of the faces from the videos, while the three others were normal, smiling portraits.
Pedersen commented, “Elvang and his team of experts slaved away for days to re-create their faces and then we get the whole thing given to us in a matter of hours.”
Simonsen shrugged. “That’s how it goes. And don’t forget that we found three of the names ourselves.”
“And we were only sure of one.”
“Yes, yes, but that’s beside the point now. Anything else?”
“Yes, lots. New information is streaming in constantly. There are about ten officers for each victim, with the exception of Frank Ditlevsen, of course. All teams have a sponsor here at HS and the local police chief is the coordinator, but you should feel free to reorganize as you like.”
“No, that sounds fine. Any prior record of pedophilia or other kinds of sexual abuse directed at children? I want that confirmed today. Or unconfirmed, if possible. For all of them.”
“Peder Jacobsen was charged but then the case was dropped and that’s twelve years ago. For the others we still don’t have anything but we’ll get it by the end of the day. All the teams are focused on that issue.”
Simonsen grabbed a marker and put a thick red mark by Frank Ditlevsen’s name.
“Remember Jens Allan Karlsen? His wife told us all about his hobby, that is, sleeping with children.”
Simonsen began to make another mark, then decided to hold off. “It’s not enough. I want something from his wife. The same goes for Peder Jacobsen. Dropped charges are not enough.”