The Girl in the Ice

by Lotte Hammer

  Her earrings bobbed in time as she nodded her head to underscore her argument. Simonsen said in an ice-cold voice, “If you make that sort of comment again, I’ll slap you. And don’t think that’s an empty threat, because you’d be wrong.”

  Flustered, the chief administrative officer got up and moved away from the table, the national chief of police tried nervously to pour oil on troubled waters by postponing the matter to the next day, Ernesto Madsen, the head of DSIS and the prosecutor laughed openly, while the Minister of Justice’s secretary feverishly rooted through her handbag until she found an inhaler.

  Finally Helmer Hammer cut through the confusion. Turning to the chief administrative officer, he said, “I think this is a good idea. If your boss has any objections, she knows where she can reach me.”

  Then he directed his gaze at the national chief of police, who hesitantly stated, “Then let’s minute this then. Yes, we’d better do that.”

  The Countess thought that a huge distance separated the courteous barefoot stroller she had spent time with in the Botanical Garden from the consummate powermonger she had just seen in action.

  Hampel-Koch made a note, and the matter was concluded.

  Only two minor issues remained, of which one took an unreasonably long time to settle. The national chief of police spoke uninterrupted for ten minutes about overtime hours and his strained budgets, even though hundreds of officers all over the country had voluntarily reported for unpaid duty to help find a colleague in extreme distress. Simonsen found this grandstanding sickening, but said nothing. He was delighted when Helmer Hammer at last could bear to hear no more and stopped the lament.

  “I assume that you’ve sent a memo to your minister?”

  “I haven’t done that yet.”

  “Then we’ll wait until you do, the matter is not urgent.”

  Simonsen got in the last word at the meeting, as he said without beating around the bush, “If police detective Pauline Berg gets through this, she will not be punished for her questioning of Falkenborg, and unfortunately that must also apply to the idiot she persuaded to go with her. She has suffered enough. No doubt he has too, although the two can’t be compared.”

  It was a surprisingly unified gathering that broke up shortly afterwards.

  CHAPTER 51

  On his way out of the Ministry of Justice the head of DSIS approached Konrad Simonsen. He said in a quiet voice, “We need to talk. Now!”

  Simonsen agreed; it was what he had expected. And hoped for.

  “We can walk over to HS, and talk on the way.”

  The head of DSIS considered this and then shook his head.

  “Bad idea. Do you know Agnete and the merman?”

  “If you mean the underwater sculpture in Slotsholmen Canal, then yes.”

  “We’ll meet there in ten minutes, I have a place in the vicinity where we can talk undisturbed.”

  Out of habit Simonsen glanced at his watch, but his objection about lack of time remained stuck in his throat. The head of DSIS turned and left.

  Fifteen minutes later Simonsen and the Countess were waiting at Højbro Plads. The Countess studied Suste Bonnén’s sculpture below them. Simonsen was watching with irritation for the head of DSIS, stressed about the time they were wasting. When he arrived shortly afterwards, he did not comment on the Countess’s presence. Instead he led them across the street at a forced march. Simonsen noted how he struck his heels hard against the asphalt as he walked, and thought that this must be a military habit. He tried to keep up and hoped that the walk would not be long.

  A short distance down Højbro Plads, right across from Vilhelm Bissen’s statue of Bishop Absalon, the head of DSIS guided them to the right and through a gate. Here he cut across a small courtyard flanked by old warehouses, now renovated and converted to luxury apartments, and over to a main door where he quickly acquired access with a card and pin code. He turned on the light and asked them to sit down. There were paintings and lithographs all over the place: leaning up against the walls, on the central table that dominated the room, and in piles on the floor. The Countess guessed this was a storeroom for a gallery.

  Still out of breath, Simonsen said, “Although I’m sure this is important, I must be back at HS very soon. And by the way, thanks for your support at the meeting.”

  The head of DSIS smiled. That was seldom seen. The man was not socially inclined, and stories about his reserve were legion.

  “It was nothing. I assume you are clear about what we got permission to do in there? If it becomes possible and necessary.”

  “Yes, thanks. It had occurred to us both.”

  The head of DSIS looked at the Countess as he spoke. She slowly put the unpleasantness into well-considered words.

  “Helmer Hammer just gave us carte blanche to cut Andreas Falkenborg into little pieces to get him to tell us where he has concealed his two victims. So long as no one knows about it. A week ago he told us in great detail about Nils Svenningsen’s atomic letter, and how the top official at the time controversially gave permission without expressing himself directly. Well—from that we are meant to infer that if it is kept secret, we can in a literal sense put the thumbscrews on Falkenborg.”

  “Exactly. And presumably you are also aware that that message was the only reason the meeting was held at all? The other idiots were just props to cover Helmer Hammer and his ministry if something goes wrong. Apart from Bertil Hampel-Koch, naturally. You might almost think that Helmer Hammer is somehow dependent on you, but that doesn’t concern me of course. The next question is obvious. Do we intend to make use of our . . . shall we call it, new tool . . . if it comes to that?”

  Simonsen had expected the question and answered without reservation.

  “If it’s the only way out, then clearly yes.”

  Both men looked at the Countess. She asked the head of DSIS, “Tell me first how you come into the picture. Were you informed of this in advance?”

  “Of course not. I’m in the picture because I was invited to the meeting. I’m simply reacting as was expected of me. Tell us then what your attitude is. Are you also prepared to bring out the rack if there are no other options?”

  She held his gaze.

  “If it can save Pauline’s and Jeanette Hvidt’s lives, then without the slightest hesitation. But under no circumstances as revenge or punishment.”

  The head of DSIS clapped his hands.

  “Then let’s consider the matter settled. Now we only lack how and when. Let’s take the latter first. I can have my people ready within the next two hours, and they will put an iron ring around him so he will soon be tracked down. I just don’t understand why this didn’t happen long ago. You know his appearance, you know his car, he is being searched for everywhere, and still he’s been roaming free for over twenty-four hours and apparently moving around the Copenhagen area at will. What in the world is happening here?”

  The question was directed at Simonsen, who winced. Nevertheless he answered frankly.

  “I don’t know, but we wonder too. Unfortunately his appearance is very ordinary, as they say, but he ought to be located today. We are beginning to think that perhaps he has acquired another vehicle or possibly uses public transport. Despite the fact that the psychologist is convinced of the opposite.”

  “If you don’t find him soon, it won’t matter. If that’s not already the case.”

  The Countess asked angrily, “Don’t you think we’re aware of that?”

  “Yes, sorry, of course you are. So let’s presume you find him tomorrow, and I get him in the net . . . ”

  He looked at Simonsen.

  “ . . . because I assume that this is still the agenda. You’re not going to bring him in, are you?”

  “No, absolutely not. He would almost certainly refuse to talk, and then we’re checkmate. Especially after this evening, when my bosses had the legal principles of the realm emphasised to that degree.”

  “Okay, I was counting on that too. But here
comes the hard part: how? Do you have any ideas?”

  The Countess shook her head despondently. Simonsen said, “Yes.”

  They looked at him with equal parts surprise and interest.

  “You both know Marcus Kolding, commonly known as Doctor Cold . . . ”

  He told them about his visit to the bagman last Wednesday, and how one of Falkenborg’s victims was the Finnish woman Elizabeth Juutilainen, who as Liz Suenson had served as Kolding’s courier.

  When he was done, the head of DSIS considered the unstated proposal and concluded hesitantly, “It’s not enough, Simon. Kolding is not a man who does political favours, and he can easily curb his thirst for vengeance if it pays him. He’ll want something else, but I’m sure you know that.”

  Simonsen turned towards the Countess.

  “Go out into the courtyard. There is no reason for you to have joint responsibility in this.”

  “No!”

  He accepted this without putting up a fight and asked the head of DSIS, “Do you have easy access to the archives of Special Economic Crimes?”

  “I have ready access to all archives, but you do too.”

  “Not without attracting attention.”

  “Hmm, what do you want?”

  “We have a relatively high-standing informant in Marcus Kolding’s organisation.”

  The Countess was not able to hold back a gasp. The head of DSIS nodded.

  “You want to tip off Kolding about his mole as payment for his help with Falkenborg?”

  “Yes.”

  “And you know what that means?”

  “Yes.”

  “You will make contact with the Doctor yourself, when Falkenborg is found?”

  “Yes.”

  “Fine, but we are still missing two things. I will be forced to pull my people away once the Doctor has his hands on Falkenborg, and that order we must not formally take responsibility for. The blame game, you know. I’ll try and think of a way around that for both of us. But my last point is the most important—Simon, it will take at least a full day after Falkenborg is found before this can be put into effect, which means that you will be under enormous pressure from all sides to arrest him. I know full well that you have just had your absolute operative status served to you on a silver platter, but can you hold out against external interference that long?”

  “I have no other choice.”

  The Countess was less vague.

  “You take care of your part, we’ll take care of ours. Are we almost done here?”

  They were. Outside the gate on Højbro Plads they went their separate ways. The head of DSIS shook hands with them, which felt strange, but they both reciprocated. Before he left, he said in a mixture of seriousness and irony, “Life for one, death for the other. I didn’t think you had it in you, Simon.”

  “Then you were wrong, although I could have done without your cynical comment.”

  “You mean my cynical, true comment, don’t you?”

  Simonson did not answer and he and the Countess quickly left.

  CHAPTER 52

  In the dark Jeanette Hvidt was sobbing desperately, while Pauline Berg tried to think. It was difficult, her situation seemed to be hopeless, and there was apparently nothing she could do to change it. Her two handcuffs as well as the back of the chair they were attached to were solid restraints from which she could not possibly free herself. All that remained was help from outside, but Andreas Falkenborg’s words that they could scream as much as they wanted did not bode well for that solution either. To start with she could not think of anything to do other than using her five senses, as far as possible, at least to identify the situation she was in. And then with all the mental strength that remained to her, try to control the panic that was constantly threatening to take over. She turned her head and said harshly to Jeanette Hvidt, “Stop that snivelling.”

  The girl did not obey but cried even louder. Berg shouted, “Shut up! Or do you really want to die down there in that hole?”

  The crying stopped partially. Jeanette sobbed, “I don’t want to die. I’m not the one who’s going to die.”

  “Then be quiet. Do you think it helps to cry?”

  After a while her sobbing stopped, and she said, “You’re the one who lost. You’re going to die when he comes back.”

  “Yes, I know.”

  “You’re going into the bag, not me.”

  “Yes, damn it; me, not you. Do you need to spell it out?”

  Jeanette did not listen, but continued speaking.

  “I’ll do everything he says, he won’t kill me.”

  Berg was in two minds how best to approach the girl; tell her the truth and risk her going into a complete panic, or pretend to believe in her foolish hope. For now she chose the latter.

  “It might work out that way, but listen to me now—”

  But Jeanette was not listening. Instead she persisted in her delusion.

  “I can be his slave for the rest of my life, never talk back, always be obedient.”

  “Yes, that’s fine. Would you care to listen to something different?”

  “There is only one grave, it’s for you. He’s keeping me.”

  “Sure, sure—but then you’ll be alone, Jeanette.”

  “I have him.”

  The answer came hesitantly. It was clear that the girl was balancing on the brink of a breakdown, but Pauline Berg still detected some grasp of reality in her words. She refrained from commenting and waited. Shortly after that Jeanette said quietly, “I know he’s going to kill me too.”

  “Yes, he will.”

  “He measured two graves. I saw that before you came. He drew lines on the floor, but they’re covered in dust now.”

  “Did he have the mask on when he was measuring?”

  “That other grave is for me. He just hasn’t dug it.”

  Pauline Berg then said as firmly as possible, “Jeanette, you have to listen to what I’m saying.”

  “Excuse me, what was it you were asking about?”

  “If he had the mask on when he measured the . . . when he measured.”

  “My grave.”

  “Yes, your grave, damn it. Did he have the mask on?”

  “He always has the mask on.”

  “No, he doesn’t, I’ve seen him without the mask. He’s just a very sick man.”

  “Do you think they’re searching for us?”

  “You can count on that. They’re searching everywhere.”

  “You’re a cop, so they’re searching twice as hard. They’ll really want to find you.”

  “They really want to find both of us, and we’re going to help them if we can.”

  “How can we do that?”

  “I have an idea. To start with we’ll use our five senses, one by one, to see whether we can determine anything based on that. Do you follow me?”

  “Not quite, what good would that do?”

  “We don’t know yet.”

  “So when will we know?”

  “Just do as I say, okay?”

  “Okay . . . but there is one thing.”

  “What?”

  “I’m sorry for what I said when he was here. That wasn’t nice of me.”

  “It doesn’t matter now.”

  “I’m so afraid to get the prod, it hurts terribly. I can’t bear the thought of it.”

  “Then don’t think about it. Tell me instead whether you can remember the five senses.”

  “Of course I can: smell, hear, feel, see and taste.”

  “Let’s try vision first. Now we’ll be quiet, open our eyes wide and then look around as much as we can. Do you follow me?”

  “Yes.”

  Pauline Berg slowly turned her head from side to side with eyes wide open, ready to capture the slightest visual impression. There was none, the darkness was total. After a while she interrupted the activity.

  “What did you see?”

  “Nothing. It’s completely black.”

  “The same here
, but I think I can smell paint.”

  “The paint is from the cross. I didn’t think we’d reached smell yet.”

  “No, that wasn’t the idea. Tell me about the cross.”

  “He set it up yesterday, and then it was freshly painted, I think. He was giggling the whole time he was doing it. As if he was proud. The point was for me to be afraid, but I was more scared of the prod. I was also supposed to say when it was hanging straight.”

  “He’s sick. Now let’s try to feel. Put your cheek and ear against the wall, and try to feel as much as you can. I’ll do the same.”

  The wall was granulated and felt cold. Pauline Berg also thought it felt damp and concluded for both of them, “It’s an outside wall.”

  “Yes, it is.”

  “Fine, and now listen, this is the most important sense. Are you ready to concentrate?”

  “I’m ready.”

  The two women listened in the darkness. For a long time Pauline Berg did not hear anything other than her own and Jeanette Hvidt’s suppressed breathing, but then suddenly she picked up a faint, deep rumble vibrating through the cellar.

  “Did you hear that, Jeanette?”

  “Yes, it’s the S-train.”

  Berg kept her voice down as best she could.

  “How do you know that?”

  “The bunker isn’t very far from the tracks.”

  “We’re in a bunker?”

  “Yes, it’s buried in the ground.”

  “Why didn’t you say that before? I mean, that you knew where we are?”

  “You didn’t ask me, and I thought you knew that too.”

  Pauline admitted her mistake.

  “No, I didn’t, but tell me what you’ve seen. Where are we?”

  “Hareskoven, I think it’s called, you know, the forest. Our bunker is buried in the ground.”

  “What is there around us?”

  “Trees.”

  “Nothing else?”

  “A path.”

  “It ends here?”

  “Yes, I think so, but I’m not sure.”

  “How do you know that we’re close to the S-train ?”

  “I could see it from the car when we turned into the forest, and when he dragged me in here, I could clearly hear the train. The tracks are not far away.”