The Girl in the Ice aka A Price for Everything

CHAPTER 18

After the conversation with Rikke Barbara Hvidt, Konrad Simonsen and Arne Pedersen left Hundested Harbour together. By chance they had parked in the same car park, which gave them a few minutes to discuss the day’s events with each other, an opportunity that Simonsen did not take, however. When he was summoned from Copenhagen on short notice he’d forgotten to bring along the lunch the Countess had made for him that morning, and now he was hungry. He steadfastly ignored a hot-dog cart whose enticing aroma of grilled sausages seemed to pursue him long after they had passed it. Crossly he said, “I think we both need to let this information settle a little. I do anyway. Will you write a report? Preferably before you go home, if you can manage it.”

“No problem.”

“Excellent. When you’re finished, email a copy to our new psychologist. With one of those red exclamation points, if you know how to set them. I’ve never been able to work it out.”

“I’ll call and tell him that the information is important. That way he can’t miss it.”

Simonsen stopped by a bench and sat down. He pulled out his cigarettes and lit one. It was his third of the day, and it tasted like soap. Pedersen sat down beside him without commenting on his weakness. Shortly after he said, to make conversation, “How is Kasper Planck really doing?”

“Poorly.”

“He’s in a nursing home, I hear.”

“That was several months ago. The man is dying, it’s only a matter of time.”

Simonsen inhaled with pleasure and noticed how, despite the taste, smoking helped his mood. He added, “I was out there last week. He barely recognised me, and for the few minutes when he was clear about it we mostly talked about whether anyone would remember him when he’s gone.”

“Hmm, doesn’t sound much fun, but it’s good that you visit him.”

“I’m not sure it makes any difference to him, and the worst thing is the nurse told me he may be lying there like that for a while. Just how long she wouldn’t say.”

They sat in silence after that. Simonsen felt exhausted, and the drive home seemed an overwhelming obstacle. He lit another cigarette with the old one. The new one tasted better; the tiredness left him. Pedersen glanced worriedly at his boss, but turned his eyes away when he encountered a defiant look. Simonsen said a little tartly, “You don’t look too good yourself. Are you stressed?”

“No, I just had a hard time sleeping last night. It happens sometimes. But there is one thing I’ve been thinking about, Simon, and of course you should say no if you don’t agree. I’ve been thinking about… I mean, I’ll understand completely if you don’t-”

“Remember to walk carefully when it starts snowing?”

“Okay, I was wondering if you would like to play chess with me.”

Simonsen did not answer right away. Conflicting feelings tore at him, but curiosity won out.

“How well do you play?”

“I don’t know. Pretty well, I think. But it doesn’t have to be now, we can wait until you’re back home again. That is, if you go back home again. That is, what I'm saying is that I don’t want to get mixed up in your-”

“Eight o’clock. Incidentally, the Countess won’t be home. And you maintain that you play well?”

“I think I do. I’ll be there at eight o’clock.”

When Arne Pedersen smiled, he looked like an overgrown schoolboy.

A good six hours later Arne Pedersen resembled a little boy, a little boy who slowly but surely was being crushed at chess. The two men sat opposite each other at the dining table in the Countess’s living room. The game went on for a long time, even though the outcome had long been ordained. Simonsen was on the verge of winning, yet thought for an unfeasibly long time over a rather obvious move. Pedersen could not understand why until suddenly it occurred to him that he had failed to mark on the chess clock between them the fact that he had moved. Annoyingly he stopped his own time for consideration and thereby activated his opponent’s. Simonsen moved immediately and did not forget the clock. After another fifteen minutes of slow torture it was over. Pedersen gave up. Simonsen stretched and said, “Shall we play through the game again?”

“What good would it do? I won’t gain anything from that.”

Simonsen shrugged; it was obvious that chess protocol did not unduly concern his new partner. Nonetheless Pedersen had played well; considering that he had never been in a club or read theory, almost frighteningly well. Albeit mixed with amateurish errors, thank God, which had decided the game. “No, of course you won’t,” he said.

“Do you think I played badly?”

“Yes, you did.”

“So you wouldn’t care to play with me again?”

“Sure, now and then we can have a game.”

They collapsed at either end of the Countess’s sofa. Pedersen opened two mineral waters he had fetched, the one with the other, and then in reverse-in a quick pull, without spilling a drop. Simonsen followed the process with interest. He had seen it before and was equally impressed every time.

Both of them were tired. Pedersen actually looked even more worn out than his boss. He would have preferred to leave immediately after the chess match, but did not feel that was polite. They talked casually about this and that until the Countess came home a little later. By contrast to the two men she seemed energetic. She greeted them cheerily and sat on the armrest next to Simonsen. Then she pointed towards their bottles.

“Have you gentlemen ever heard of coasters?”

Both pretended not to have any idea what she meant. She dropped the subject, the damage was already done. Simonsen said, “How did it go?”

“Terrible, complete waste of time. She’s a power-hungry bitch all right, and to top it off I have to fight with her again tomorrow evening.”

Pedersen was not following this so he asked, “Who’s this? And what have you been doing?”

“Waiting for a self-centred social services and cultural director to condescend to talk to me. I’m supposed to have access to some archives in a museum so I can check a small point about Maryann Nygaard’s stay in Greenland. It’s not even particularly interesting, but I’m digging my heels in about it. Even though it has proved so far to be unreasonably difficult to get her permission, not to mention a little help.”

“Why in the world is that?”

“After the municipal mergers there was a lot of trouble about the old museum administration, so my simple request has now gone up to director level, and, ye gods, what a director. Helle Oldermand Hagensen, she and only she is the one who grants access for third parties to the museum’s non-publicly accessible collections. The latter is unfortunately a quote. So I had to wait three solid hours until she was done with some public meeting or other-and that was after she’d cancelled our first meeting.”

“Couldn’t the museum appointment be made by phone?”

“Well, unfortunately not, the director wanted to see who she was dealing with in person.”

“Did you say that this concerned a serious crime?”

“Yes, of course. But she was completely indifferent. The result was that I’ve been granted an hour tomorrow evening… ”

The Countess stuck her nose in the air and said unctuously, “This must be done in an hour, Officer Rosen, I don’t have more time than that, you must understand.”

Pedersen observed her with curiosity and then said, “Your eyes look evil, that’s unusual.”

The Countess let out a curt, joyless laugh.

“Evil eye? Well, maybe I’m trying out a little good old-fashioned black magic. Abracadabra-Mrs Hagensen, may your milk never curdle.”

She had spoken in a low voice, almost mumbling. Pedersen asked, “What did you say? I didn’t catch that.”

“Never mind, I’m just trying to distance myself from her a little.”

Simonsen muttered in irritation. “It’s completely indefensible that she is allowed to hinder a murder investigation. There must be someone she reports to. Should I exchange a few words with them tomorrow morning?”

“No thanks. I’ll manage on my own, and maybe I’ll find something that can put her in her place. I’m not completely new to this job after all. But the problem is that what I’m rooting around in is a trifle complicated. I don’t want too much controversy about what I’m doing.”

“No, I’ve noticed that.”

The irony was clear. Pedersen wondered what was going on here. He had no idea what the Countess was working on, but that Simonsen was obviously not fully informed either seemed almost bizarre. The Countess guessed his thoughts and hurried to ask, “How did your chess games go?”

“Chess game. We only had time for one, and Simon won, obviously. Unfortunately I’m not as good as I thought I was.”

Simonsen nodded his agreement. The Countess did not let herself be convinced. She slid down from the armrest and over behind Pedersen, where to both men’s surprise she set one hand on his shoulder. In the past there had been problems between them, so the gesture was unexpected.

“I don’t believe that for a moment. On the contrary, you are certainly a competent chess player or your game would never have taken over three hours, but now you should head home so Simon can get his night’s sleep. You look worn out yourself.”

The two men said goodbye in the hall. Simonsen opened the front door. Pedersen pressed him about their next chess appointment.

“But we will play another time?”

“Absolutely.”

“Is it true that I’m bad?”

“Yes, you mustn’t listen to her, she has no appreciation of chess.”

Simonsen’s tune was a little different when fifteen minutes later the Countess kissed him goodnight and hustled him upstairs and into bed.

“If I had his talent, I could have reached IM level.”

“And if I was sitting on a rack, I could have become a dressmaker’s dummy. Good night, Simon.”

“It’s only a matter of time before he beats me.”

“It’s only a matter of time before you fall asleep. A short time.”

“What are you going to do now?”

“Work.”

“On what?”

“Good night and sleep well, Simon.”