by Lotte Hammer
When it finally dawned on Pedersen that his wish to separate her from Andreas Falkenborg was actually granted, he collapsed like a punctured balloon. Simonsen decided to drive him home himself.
In the car Pedersen fell asleep.
CHAPTER 22
Retired crane operator Olav Petersen killed his wife at the age of eighty-six by striking her repeatedly on the head with a pipe wrench. The murder happened in the winter of 1962 in Vesterbro in Copenhagen and was quickly cleared up. According to the killer, the victim had tormented him for most of his life, and he could not bear the thought of dying before her. At the time of the murder the old man was terminally ill, and he passed away peacefully two weeks later at Copenhagen Municipal Hospital. He was never brought to trial. In many ways Olav Petersen had committed the perfect murder.
The case folder concerning the murder was both comprehensive and thin. In any event, immediately after his death the case was closed. But as the years passed, the file grew, and in time became two. The name of whoever first had the idea of lodging sensitive or controversial documents from other closed cases inside the file dedicated to poor crane operator Petersen, was lost in the mists of oblivion. Only the initiated knew about the procedure: the annotation with a number beside it in a case folder meant that there was further information to be had in “Petersen”.
Pauline Berg felt proud to have the two Petersen case folders on her desk. She had slipped out of the meeting about Andreas Falkenborg’s psychological profile, right after Simonsen and Pedersen left, as she knew from experience that when her boss said ten minutes that was usually a very relative concept. Poul Troulsen got to entertain the psychologist in the meantime, which was a little annoying, but work came before pleasure, especially when the work was as exciting as this. She looked up and found note 57, a plastic sleeve with a numbered, bottle-green label in the lower right-hand corner. It contained a picture of a young woman and a three-page report, dated 23 August, 1998. She did not look at the other papers. That was an unwritten rule that Konrad Simonsen had carefully impressed on her, and which she intended to observe. She read and formed an overview of the contents of the plastic sleeve only.
In the early 1980s Pastor Mie Andreasen established the Christian congregation Lilies of the Field as a branch in Copenhagen of the Universal Fellowship of Metropolitan Community Churches. The congregation was based on God’s love for all people, including gays and lesbians. This tolerance was in glaring contrast to what Catherine Thomsen had been brought up to believe, namely that homosexuality was a serious sin against God. Nothing less. Twice Catherine had visited Mie Andreasen to seek consolation. The first time was in November 1996, the second time a month later. In July of 1998 Mie Andreasen came home from a long-term stay in Holland. When she heard about Catherine Thomsen’s fate, she contacted the Homicide Division.
The dialogue between the young woman and the minister had in the nature of things been of a religious character and was therefore of no real value to the investigation. But through the conversations Mie Andreasen learned that Catherine Thomsen was in a secret relationship with a woman her age, with whom she was in love, and that the love was reciprocated. Sexually, however, Catherine Thomsen did not dare move beyond the kissing stage. She was afraid of her God.
Without hurrying, Pauline Berg read through the report again to see whether she had taken in everything. Disappointingly enough that was the case. She had expected something more, something sensational even. A little disappointed, she concentrated on the picture. It showed the face of a woman in her early twenties with plump cheeks, layered, short blonde hair, and a small but obvious scar on her forehead above the right eye. There was no text with the portrait, but it was not hard to figure out who it depicted. So Pauline wrote a note to Malte Borup about electronically enhancing the photograph to make the woman ten years older, and emailing her the result. Before the weekend.
CHAPTER 23
The meeting with the profiler resumed when, a good hour later than promised, Konrad Simonsen again took his seat at the conference table. The episode with Arne Pedersen had lowered his spirits. Not so much the incident itself—Pedersen would get a good night’s sleep now, there was little doubt about that—but more as a result of his reflections on his colleagues and himself. The truth was that the male part of his inner circle, Simonsen included, was a sorry collection of wimps. Poul Troulsen was on the verge of retirement, Pedersen was bedevilled by compulsive thoughts due to a relationship he couldn’t handle, and Simonsen himself—well, what was there to say really? Perhaps he should be thinking about applying for a pre-retirement position, somewhere he could wind down gradually while letting the younger men take over the big investigations. One thing was certain: if he were to remain in the saddle, he needed a colleague among his small circle of assistants with some strength in him, one who could kick down a few doors without getting out of breath.
Simonsen concentrated on the meeting and summarised the previous findings as he turned to the psychologist.
“You rejected grouping Andreas Falkenborg among the thrill killer, lust killer and power seeker groups of serial murderers. When I left, you were going to review other possible groups.”
The psychologist continued his review, as if the interruption had lasted only a few moments and not over an hour. Berg and Troulsen also acted as if this type of break in their meetings was normal. No one asked about Pedersen.
“A possible grouping is gain killers—that is, serial murderers who achieve material goods or financial gain by their murders. But we can rule this out. Then there are two relatively synonymous groups, namely visionaries and missionaries. The first group is guided by voices or thinks that in some other way they are directed from outside, for example through a spirit who has possessed the neighbour’s dog, to take a specific example. The second group sees it as their mission in life to free the world from a particular type of person, whom they consider to be a danger. Here there are actually some slight points of resemblance with Andreas Falkenborg. The ghost’s mask could fit into that pattern, and also his victims’ marked external similarity, but serial killers in both these groups are almost always psychotic or schizophrenic, and that does not apply in his case. In addition they are seldom organised to such an extreme degree as he is, and—this is the most significant point—as a rule they are of low intelligence, with an IQ between ninety and one hundred. Falkenborg’s intelligence quotient is significantly higher.”
Simonsen interjected, “So there is only one group left, as far as I can see.”
“Yes, that’s correct. The final group is hedonist killers, that is, serial murderers who simply find enjoyment in killing other people. This group is very uncommon in its purest form—that is, where there is not also an element of dominance or sadism. I don’t consider the lipstick, the nail clipping and the similarity between victims to fit with this profile either. And definitely not the fact that on the one hand he is uncommonly persistent with respect to Rikke Barbara Hvidt, even after his first attempt fails, but then gives up the minute she cuts her hair. To witness her death, with her hair cut short, would obviously give him no satisfaction. I have never heard of such an exclusive hedonist before, nor anyone as tireless in pursuit of his victims once he has chosen them.”
Troulsen asked, “But you would not completely rule it out? That the motive is pure enjoyment of killing?”
The psychologist considered for a moment. “This is not an exact science, but . . . No, it simply can’t be correct.”
He looked at Simonsen, who said, “So what could be correct?”
“Tell me, how interested have you been in his childhood? I have read almost nothing about that period.”
It was Pauline Berg who responded.
“That’s because there is almost nothing documented. But obviously that’s a mistake?”
“Yes, that is a mistake. Almost all serial murderers have had a dysfunctional childhood, which often involves sexual abuse, the parents’ abuse of drugs or
alcohol combined with exaggeratedly harsh punishment for insignificant offences. One of the classic reaction modes for the child is to resort to daydreams, which later in life may develop into a fantasy universe. This may very well be lived out in parallel with the person’s regular life and concealed from those around him.”
Troulsen raised an objection.
“We have nothing that points in that direction, his childhood home seems normal enough.”
“Then dig deeper, because his childhood home was not normal. Something or other in his childhood or early adolescence has left its mark on him and led him to kill two women. Or three, if you will. Maybe there is a single, overriding circumstance you need to find, typically one that involves a death, or else there is a general failure of care combined with abnormality between his parents. Possibly both at once.”
Simonsen asked, “Is this where the mask comes into the picture?”
“Yes, though that’s not necessarily to say that you are looking for an episode in his childhood specifically involving a mask, whereas I am guessing that red lipstick and long fingernails do figure somewhere in his background. His mask, on the other hand, he more likely uses to conceal himself from the real world while he lives out his fantasy. The covered face is his protection and at the same time a way to activate his fantasy. Not as dominance in the usual sense, more as a means of being taken seriously, and possibly also in his own self-understanding avenges a childhood injustice.”
“What about the type of woman he pursues? Does this also derive from his childhood?”
“That’s my guess, and I think he is afraid of that type of woman. That is why he does not seek them out himself. But once they intrude on him, he is forced to react. For him they are a life-threatening danger, and therefore he has to conquer them and ultimately eradicate them, whatever the cost. Perhaps the action of killing itself involves some form of regression—that is, a return to childhood—but on the other hand he knows full well that he is doing something wrong, both before, during and after his murders.”
“What is the probability that he will confess when we confront him with the evidence we have against him—as slender as that might be at the moment?”
“That I don’t know. He is intelligent and can presumably assess for himself how seriously he is implicated, in legal terms, and what is only speculation on our part. On the other hand it will be painful for him to realise that other people have seen through his deepest secrets. He is unusually naive besides, and this particular character trait may very well prove to be decisive.”
Simonsen attempted a conclusion.
“But will it be doubly painful for him if we can directly refer to motives stemming from his childhood?”
“Painful times ten. I’m guessing he couldn’t handle that. But as I said, I don’t know. Bear in mind that he has been living a double life for many years.”
Troulsen had a question.
“Does he take trophies? Say, something he stores at home?”
“Hardly. He has no desire to be reminded of the women, more likely he prefers to forget them entirely. Or that’s my guess.”
“What about his business as a professional spy and eaves-dropper?”
“Perhaps that too has its background in his upbringing, business often does, but I don’t want to speculate further.”
Troulsen consulted the notepad he had in front of him and said, “I would like to hear more about his childishness. It keeps coming up. Is he really childish or has he mentally gone off the tracks? I mean, has he developed abnormally?”
“If you are thinking about a personality disorder such as Asperger’s, Tourette’s, autism, ADHD, any of these diagnoses, the answer is clearly no. These disorders are burdensome for those affected and their surroundings, but they definitely do not create serial killers, although I will grant that sometimes they incorporate a certain element of childishness. Perhaps it is better to think of him as a person who easily lets himself be dominated. Uncommonly easily, I would say, based on what I’ve read about him so far.”
Simonsen looked around. No one had any more questions. He gathered together his papers and concluded, as he let his eyes run over his two remaining associates, “Falkenborg’s childhood. Keep working on that and get some groups organised. Playmates, hobbies, studies, teachers, and above all his parents, the whole kit and caboodle, everything we can find. If he scraped his knee at an end-of-season dance or stumbled on the first verse of a hymn, I want to know it. And as quickly as humanly possible.”
CHAPTER 24
After the meeting Pauline Berg caught up with the psychologist in the corridor and favoured him with her most charming smile.
“Excuse me, but I have another question, if you have a moment?”
“Fire away.”
She glanced over her shoulder at the door to the briefing room.
“Maybe I can follow you out?”
“Please do. Is this something the others shouldn’t hear?”
She gently placed her hand on his upper arm and led him along.
“You’re good at reading a situation.”
“Thanks. So is this something the others shouldn’t hear?” he repeated.
He was no pushover. She hauled in the big guns; this conversation was important to her.
“Are you married or do you have a girlfriend?”
If he was surprised by the question, he did not show it.
“Why do you ask?”
“I was thinking that maybe we could have coffee sometime.”
They walked along the corridor and were now out of range of possible long looks from her colleagues, so Pauline relaxed and added, “If you want to go out with me, that is?”
“Are you always so direct?”
“No, not always, but who knows when I will see you again?”
“You know that yourself—within the next few days, when Andreas Falkenborg is brought in for questioning.”
Pauline Berg thought that this conversation was about to be derailed before it had really started; this was not a man to be effortlessly manoeuvred.
“Okay, what I want to ask you about I would prefer to keep to myself, because the others will definitely be against it. I mean, the question alone will set them rolling their eyes, so that’s why I ran after you to get you one-on-one. And as far as coffee goes, I was toying with the idea while you made your presentation, but forced the issue a little because what I want to know is important to me.”
“Reasonable enough. Tell me, do you have any idea where we’re headed?”
“Yes, I do, but now it’s your turn to come clean.”
“Then let me start by saying that this is the best offer I’ve had all morning,” he said, laughing.
Pauline Berg smiled, then said seriously, “I don’t want to date you if you have a girlfriend or are already married. I’ve had enough of that.”
“Then I’m afraid we’ll have to have our coffee separately. You see, I’m married.”
She was more annoyed than she would admit, and for a moment considered stretching her principles a bit. Again.
“But next month, when my divorce has been finalised, perhaps we can return to the subject. Unless you dare go out with me in anticipation?”
“I’ve taken bigger chances than that.”
“Should we have a bite to eat before that cup of coffee?”
Pauline Berg agreed.
“Is there somewhere I can pick you up, so I can find a restaurant and reserve a table?”
She thought about it.
“At eight o’clock on Dantes Plads. Do you know where that is?”
“Yes, across from Glyptotek. It’s a deal.”
“Do you have a cell-phone number, in case I have to cancel? If there are any breakthroughs in the case, I can’t go off duty. This is too high-profile.”
“And you like that?”
“Could you please stop? I don’t like having my every word and action weighed up like that. It was what you were doing for Falke
nborg. Do you get that way from being a profiler?”
“No, you get that way from having heard hundreds of slightly too intimate excuses from female students who have missed the deadline for their assigned papers.”
“That just about hit the mark. I’m blushing! Is it okay if we wait with my questions until this evening?”
“Hmm, you slipped in a plural form there. Do you think I work for free?”
“Yes, I do.”
“Then you should also show me that famous row of columns you have. I’ve seen it on TV many times, but never in reality. Is it far from here?”
“No, it’s not far, but you’ll have to take a rain check. The others are probably wondering where I am. And one more thing—we’ll split the bill this evening, so please find a place that’s not too expensive. I recently bought a house and I’m feeling the pinch.”
“So I won’t be after you for the money?”
“Time will tell, but whatever happens, you won’t get any further tonight.”
On her way back Pauline Berg ran into Malte Borup, who was curious.
“Who was that, Pauline?”
“A man.”
“Yes, I could see that, but is it someone you know . . . well?”
She ignored the question.
“I’m very happy to see you,” she told him. “I put an assignment on your desk earlier. Please try and get to it today. It would take you less than ten minutes.”
The student confirmed he could spare ten minutes. Then he said, “See, I shouldn’t even be at work today. It was a coincidence that I was in the area when Simon called. Anita and I were out looking at clothes . . . that is, Anita was doing most of the looking, I was just there, but she got really upset when I left. Can you imagine? She took hold of the cell phone and chewed out Simon.”
