The Girl in the Ice aka A Price for Everything

CHAPTER 29

The telephone call did not come as a surprise to Konrad Simonsen. He had expected it, but not until later in the day. To top it off it was from Agnete Bahn herself and not, as he had anticipated, from one of her many lawyers. The woman was sputtering with anger, obviously her default mood, and the dialogue was thus quite a one-sided performance, as she showered him with invectives in gutter language of the worst sort, some of which Simonsen had never heard before. He listened with interest for a while and hung up when she started to repeat herself. Arne Pedersen, who had just shown up for work and as usual started the day by stopping off at Simonsen’s office, asked with curiosity, “Was that the Bahn woman? Yes, Pauline called yesterday and told me about her.”

“At full throttle. Did you get any sleep?”

“Most of the weekend, so I’m completely rested. Thanks for your help, by the way.”

Simonsen nodded. Pedersen asked, “What did she say?”

“She was scolding me. Couldn’t you hear? Do you happen to know what a rumpledick is?”

“I have no idea. But what have you done to her, Simon?”

Simonsen said affably, “Nothing, nothing at all. Besides taking good care of her.”

“Which means?”

“A couple of patrol cars, or is it three, in front of her garden gate.”

“Since when?”

“As of Friday afternoon.”

Pedersen grinned.

“And this has not improved business?”

“Apparently not, which is actually surprising. I mean, there’s nothing wrong with a good professional massage, but many customers obviously chose a different form of relaxation when they saw our cars. Actually all of her customers, from what I’ve been told.”

“How long do you intend to maintain your siege?”

“Well, I had to ask higher up. This is a slightly alternative way to use our hard-pressed resources, but so far I’ve been given five days, and maybe I’ll get five more, if I ask nicely. Although I don’t really think it will be necessary.”

“So why did you hang up on her?”

“Her tone was starting to bore me, and she’ll call again when she finds out that not even the most expensive super-lawyer can stop us making our own decisions about where we want to park in a public space. I should really write some of those swear words down before I forget them.”

Pedersen answered, “I know what you mean. I’ve been brooding the whole weekend, that is when I haven’t been sleeping, because there’s something important that I’ve forgotten.”

“You’re speaking in tongues.”

“Yes, the wife and I were at a parents’ meeting at the twins’ school on Friday. As I had managed to sleep for a couple of hours, it went pretty well, but imagine scheduling that kind of thing for a Friday evening, I don’t know what they’re thinking. Well, the twins have a new teacher, and it’s not going well with her and the class, so it was almost a crisis meeting. But there was something the teacher said, just some throwaway comment or other, and it made me think of something in our case… something significant… that I forgot about right away because a hotshot who is chairman of the board of governors, and also a conceited ass, drew attention to himself with his insufferable self-satisfaction. He really pisses me off.”

“Yes, I hear that.”

“And now I can’t remember what it was. Either what the teacher said or what it was she made me think of. Only that it was important to us.”

“The best thing you can do is stop thinking about it, and then as a rule it comes back of its own accord.”

Pedersen nodded uncertainly but did not look like someone who could take that advice.

The phone rang. Simonsen glanced at the display.

“It’s her again.”

He picked up the receiver and said calmly, “Welcome back, Ms Bahn, and now listen-either we talk calmly and quietly together or else I’m hanging up. It’s your choice. But I don’t have time for another monologue on your part, and I also think I’ve had my quota of swear words here this morning, so if you will please try to observe a basic level of civility, I would be very grateful.”

He listened and then said sharply, “Until you go bankrupt or until you tell me about your time in the house with the Falkenborg family back in 1965, and you will not get a krone, only the joy of conducting yourself like an upstanding citizen.”

Shortly after that he hung up.

“Ms Bahn is ready to see me in private in half an hour.”

“Should I go with you?”

“No, I’ll deal with her alone. The more of us there are, the greater the possibility that she will revert to her default frame of mind. She’s only just managing to control herself.”

“That’s too bad, I really wanted to meet her. So Pauline was right. With Bahn greed outweighs everything else.”

“Yes, evidently. But can you gather people together for a meeting this afternoon? I’m seriously thinking about bringing Andreas Falkenborg in tomorrow or the day after. We have him under close surveillance, as you know, but of course I don’t like the fact that he’s on the loose. On the other hand we don’t have much on him as yet, so I would like to discuss the situation with all of you before I make my final decision.”

“How democratic.”

“Go to your perch and do what I ask.”

“Yes, sir, I’m gone already.”

Ms Agnete Bahn’s appearance surprised Konrad Simonsen. He had expected an old harpy in cheap, gaudy clothes and with the cold manner of a whore, but instead he was met by a presentable older woman dressed in a demure tailor-made suit. She had an attractive, middle-aged face only lightly enhanced with makeup and-if not absolutely accommodating-a business-like attitude. It was difficult to recognise the hetaira who less than an hour ago had gathered a thistle bouquet of the worst words in the language for him. She led him to a couch and fetched a can of cold juice, which she placed before him along with a glass. Then she got to the point.

“Do we have an agreement that you will remove the three cars parked in front of my home if I tell you about when I worked in the household of factory owner Alf Falkenborg?”

“Yes.”

“Then let’s get going. We’re both interested in getting this conversation over with as quickly as possible.”

Simonsen got his Dictaphone ready and placed it between them. Agnete Bahn looked distrustfully at the machine and said, “And we’re only going to talk about back then?”

“Only about back then, yes, I am completely indifferent to what you’ve been doing otherwise, Ms Bahn.”

“Fine, and just call me Agnete, it’s simpler. What do you want to know?”

Simonsen told her about the murders and his suspicions about Andreas Falkenborg without elaborating on the concrete evidence he had. She was not unduly concerned to hear the accusations against the child she had cared for long ago. Apart from nodding occasionally as a sign that she understood, she showed no interest in the story. Simonsen continued.

“Do you have a picture of yourself when you were young that I can take with me?”

The woman’s surprise was unfeigned.

“What the hell do you want that for?”

He had made up his mind that it was unlikely she would go to the press. He answered her honestly.

“I think that your appearance as a young woman has imprinted itself on Andreas Falkenborg’s mind, and later he has chosen his victims based on the way he remembers you.”

Simonsen thought that perhaps she would be angered by his supposition, so he spoke quietly, almost earnestly. Agnete Bahn remained unaffected.

“My looks then are the role model for the girls he’s butchered. Is that what you’re telling me?”

“Yes, it is, apart from the fact that he hasn’t butchered anyone.”

She thought briefly and then said, “It’s going to take a little time. I have to go up in the attic and take one of my employees with me, I’m not that young any more. But if it’s necessary… ”

“It’s necessary.”

“All right, I’ll call for one of them, they’re just sitting around anyway. You can pass the time by going below and-”

Simonsen cut her off.

“No, thanks.”

Her laughter was dry and joyless, almost scornful.

“That wasn’t what I was going to say, although you would be surprised how many men there are in positions higher than yours who wouldn’t refuse-”

She glanced at the Dictaphone again.

“-a turn on the couch, so long as they don’t have to pay the bill for it afterwards.”

“I believe that.”

“You’d better. But what I meant was that you can go down and get a newspaper or two in reception, so you have something to do while I’m in the attic. And I forbid you to snoop around my home.”

“Thank you, but that’s not necessary. I have some papers I can read in the meantime.”

She shrugged her padded shoulders and left.

The photograph she set before him a good half an hour later left no remaining doubt as to where Andreas Falkenborg had acquired his taste for a certain female type. Rikke Barbara Hvidt, Maryann Nygaard, Annie Lindberg Hansson and Catherine Thomsen were all a copy of the young Agnete Bahn. She said, “I was twenty-one, this was taken on my birthday.”

“Brilliant, thanks very much.”

“I was pretty, wasn’t I?”

Her voice, previously crisp and businesslike, had taken on an insinuating tone which, combined with a misplaced hand that squeezed his arm, made Simonsen’s flesh crawl.

“Yes, definitely, very pretty.”

The compliment obviously was not enough. She sighed and said, “No matter where I went in those days, I was always the prettiest.”

He could not make himself praise her appearance further, and besides she had managed her Norn-given talents poorly. He turned on the Dictaphone, which he had turned off when she went to the attic, and said dryly, “Well, the years catch up with all of us.”

She released him and returned to her normal tone of voice.

“Shall we continue?”

“Yes, let’s. Can you remember approximately when you were employed by Falkenborg?”

“It was in 1964 and 1965. I started right after school summer holidays, it must have been in August, and I stopped just over a year later, one happy day in October.”

“What were you employed as?”

“Young girl in the house, I think it was called.”

“You say a ‘happy day’, didn’t you like being there?”

“No.”

She made no attempt to expand on this, and Simonsen took the opportunity to outline their agreement again.

“It’s not enough that we’re talking. I also demand a certain degree of willingness to answer on your part, so I’ll ask you again: didn’t you like being there?”

He made a rolling gesture with his hand; she was expected to be more expansive. It helped.

“No, I definitely did not. It was an awful family, festering like the clap from one end to the other. Alf Falkenborg was an asshole, his wife… I can’t even remember the old lady’s name… ”

“Elisabeth Falkenborg.”

“Yes, that’s right. She was a cowed old hag, constantly on my ass to find something to complain about in my work, and Andreas was an annoying little prick who should have had a good thrashing a few times a week.”

“That sounds a lot to put up with.”

“It was way too much, every word of this is true, and actually there was quite a bit that was worse than that-filthy petit-bourgeois, pissing on everything and everyone, including each other.”

“Could you make your vocabulary a little less flowery?”

“What the hell do you mean by that?”

“Stop swearing so much.”

“Why should I, are you getting queasy?”

Simonsen dropped the idea of explaining how exaggerated use of strong language could weaken a witness statement in certain circles, thus removing the focus from what was important, namely the truth. It was many court sessions ago that he had last believed in watertight compartments between form and content. Maybe Lady Justice was blind but she was not deaf, and at some point a transcript of this woman’s questioning would end up in the hands of Andreas Falkenborg’s defence counsel. Simonsen gave her the short version.

“Yes.”

“I’ll try.”

“Thanks, that would be kind. Tell me, if you were so dissatisfied with the conditions there, why didn’t you give notice? Or simply leave? I mean, what could they have done about that?”

“My mother was employed at Alf Falkenborg’s factory, she might have been fired. That would be like him, the filthy pig… yes, excuse me, but he was one. It would have been just like him to take it out on her, if he couldn’t get at me. Actually I have no doubt he would have done that, but it’s not something I can prove.”

“Was that the only reason you stayed?”

“Yes, and then the pay was good. Strangely enough, although-well, obviously they weren’t short of money.”

“There were no other reasons?”

“No.”

Simonsen held her gaze.

“And you’re quite sure of that?”

She hesitated and then asked despairingly, “You’ve spoken with the other maids, right?”

“Yes.”

“I happened to run into someone who had also been employed with the family, my predecessor by the way, and she was subjected to exactly the same treatment as me. The thought had simply not occurred to me. For many years afterwards I dreamed of killing him… for example, coaxing him into a solid case of syphilis of the throat. That wouldn’t have been impossible. And then hope, naturally, that he would pass it on to his wife, although that was unlikely. But though I’d have liked my revenge, I didn’t kill him.”

“I know that.”

“Sometimes I regret that I didn’t. Even so many years later. He would have deserved it, the old… libertine. Do you understand?”

“Yes, easily. But let’s leave that story for a moment and come back to it later. Can you tell me how the Falkenborg family functioned on an everyday basis? You said that Elisabeth Falkenborg was cowed, and the family in general was awful. I would like you to expand on what you experienced.”

Surprisingly enough Agnete Bahn ignored the encouragement and suddenly said, like lightning from a clear blue sky, “I know why that perverse animal has a mask on when he kills. I know exactly why, now that I know it was him… Andreas Falkenborg, that is.”

Simonsen straightened up on the couch and said sharply, “Mask? I haven’t told you about a mask.”

“No, but it says so on the Dagbladet website, I just read it, and I’m sure they’ll give it a lot of space in the newspaper tomorrow. The journalist spoke with a girl whose mother was once attacked by him. Or was it grandmother? And the thing about the mask fits brilliantly, although… maybe I’m the only one who knows that, besides Andreas Falkenborg himself.”

This was both good and bad news for Simonsen. The phone call to Police Headquarters could not be postponed. He got hold of Poul Troulsen, told him about the situation and asked him to assess the risk of the leak and provide Jeanette Hvidt with any necessary protection. Finally he took the opportunity to call off the blockade of the brothel. Agnete Bahn, who had followed his calls with interest, revealed her overly white teeth in a broad smile when she heard that her business could look forward to a normal turnover for the rest of the day. He wiped the smile off her face as soon as he ended the call.

“Bear in mind that I can resume my surveillance of your house in the space of ten minutes.”

She accepted this without visible annoyance.

“I’ll keep my part of the agreement.”

“That sounds sensible. Now the mask you mentioned… you can work out for yourself that this is not just something the newspapers made up, and I am very interested in what you can tell me about it, but I would prefer to take things in sequence.”

“Okay, but tell me what you asked about last. I’ve forgotten.”

“Tell me about conditions within the Falkenborg household, as you experienced them.”

“So, first and foremost, Alf Falkenborg decided everything. He was totally high-handed when he chose to be. But often he was indifferent to the way things were going at home, although you could never really tell which way he’d jump. One day Andreas would have to stand there and talk about his scouting trips, what merit badges he had earned and which ones he still hadn’t finished, how many kilometres he had walked without complaining, and so on in the same vein. The next day the kid might be completely neglected.”

“That doesn’t sound healthy for a boy.”

“Definitely not. It was bad for him, though I couldn’t see that then. The truth is that I was delighted when his father took things out on him. I couldn’t stand the kid.”

“Was he beaten or punished severely in any other way?”

“No, I wouldn’t say that. His mother never hit him, he was almost her only consolation, and occasionally his father gave him a slap, but very seldom. He also got slapped around at school now and then, but you couldn’t say he was beaten up exactly. No, it was much worse for the mother. Alf hit her so often she had to wear sunglasses all the time. I’m sure you know the type.”

“Yes, I do. Was Andreas Falkenborg present when his father was violent towards his mother?”

“Yes, and I was too. The old man was not too particular, he always did as he pleased. He didn’t hesitate to beat her if the son had been up to mischief. Andreas’s conduct was her responsibility, and if he didn’t live up to his father’s expectations, she could expect to pay for it immediately.”

“How did she react to that kind of payment?”

“Well, what do you think? She whined and pleaded.”

“In front of the child?”

“Absolutely, and he would have to console her afterwards. It’s not so strange that he became a monster.”

“What other forms of abuse did you see? Did you have any impression that Andreas Falkenborg was sexually exploited? By either his father or his mother?”

“No, it wasn’t like that. The only one who was sexually abused in that house was me.”

“What about alcohol or drugs?”

“Nothing of that sort.”

“So the situation was not that Alf Falkenborg came home drunk and beat his wife?”

“Not at all. I don’t recall seeing either of them drunk. Maybe they were on some occasions, but it was definitely not something that characterised their home life. I remember that they always drank water with meals.”

“Why was Elisabeth Falkenborg beaten?”

Agnete Bahn thought briefly before she answered. “Except when there was trouble with Andreas, I don’t think there was any particular reason.”

“Was there a lot of trouble with him?”

“No, I can’t say that.

“But you said she was hit often.”

“Yes, she really was. At least once a month, but why I don’t know. Maybe he simply liked hitting her, who cares? I never thought that much about it, either then or later.”

“Why didn’t she leave him?”

“No idea. But where could she go?”

Simonsen shrugged and dropped the subject.

“You didn’t like Elisabeth Falkenborg?”

“I didn’t like any of them, not the husband, the wife or the son.”

“Because?”

“She was so unbelievably arrogant, along with the fact that nothing I did was good enough. I had to pay the price for her beatings. Among other things. And Andreas was a quick learner. Sometimes he sneaked up behind me to see whether I was cutting corners on the cleaning, for example, and then he tattled to his mother. That was one of his favourite pastimes.”

“What happened then?”

“She yelled at me. Yes, it doesn’t sound that bad, but she would degrade me so that I almost cried. She was also after me constantly about my appearance. I was supposed to wear this maid’s uniform with a silly little apron tied around my waist, and it was supposed to look laundered and ironed the whole day, even after I’d had it on for eight hours, and that was practically impossible. My hair was supposed to be set neatly, she checked that too.”

“What about makeup?”

“Totally forbidden.”

“And nail polish?”

“The same. That sort of thing was completely forbidden.”

Simonsen tried pausing in the hope that he had put relevant associations in motion. Agnete Bahn continued speaking.

“She was completely hysterical about my nails. They had to be cut short and completely clean, I had to show them to her often. That’s one of the things I remember best about the wife, how I stood in front of her looking down and showing my spread fingers for judgment. It was so humiliating.”

“Did she cut your nails if she wasn’t satisfied?”

“No, that wasn’t necessary, but she probably would have if she’d thought of it.”

“Did Andreas Falkenborg watch when you were being inspected?”

“He might have occasionally. It wasn’t something she tried to hide, if that’s what you mean.”

“You mentioned that you were sexually abused. I assume that it was by Alf Falkenborg.”

“Yes, that’s correct. The wife was not active in that way, but she knew what was going on. To that extent she was also involved in deceiving me, but I only understood that when I was older. Although-well, she was probably forced to, otherwise he would have beaten her.”

“How were you deceived?”

“I forged cheques, but not to steal. I didn’t swipe so much as a krone for as long as I was there. That would have been impossible anyway, because every øre was accounted for when I was done shopping, the wife made sure of that.”

She stopped talking then and Simonsen said, “You forged cheques?”

“Yes, eleven to be exact. On Fridays I was supposed to do the grocery shopping for the week, and the husband always wrote a cheque to me-for four hundred kroner, I recall, and that was a lot of money back then. The wife was gone that day. I don’t remember why, but that’s how it was. So one Friday he forgot to write the cheque, and he called from the factory and told me, but to avoid having to come all the way home, he asked me to write one myself. The first time he had to instruct me thoroughly, over the phone that is, about where the key to his desk drawer was, about the fountain pen and how to do it in general. But he took his time, the piece of shit.”

“What about his handwriting?”

“It wasn’t hard. He wrote in block letters, and his signature was neat cursive, probably for the same reason. Obviously I didn’t think for a moment that what I was doing was illegal. I mean, when he was the one who asked me to do it.”

“It wasn’t either, not something you would be convicted of.”

“Shut up! I was so naive. Well, I can’t do it over now, and later I learned a few tricks myself.”

“I believe that. Then I suppose at some point he accused you of forgery?”

“No, she did. The wife, that is.”

“She was the one who accused you?”

“Yep. She was the instigator. She had lined up all eleven cheques on the dining-room table and carefully ordered them. Well, all in all it added up to almost five thousand kroner, and that was a real fortune, don’t you follow me?”

“Yes, I follow you.”

“I protested my innocence and explained the circumstances. To start with I wasn’t worried, but when the husband came home and said he could not recall anything about any telephone calls-yes, he only called the first time, later it became a fixed routine-then I got really, really scared. But he said he couldn’t be bothered to listen to me and left, after which the wife twisted the knife in the wound by telling me about the punishment for forgery. The end of it was that I had to go to my room. She said she would see if she could placate her husband, so that there would be no scandal. Or that’s what she said.”

Agnete Bahn poured herself a glass of juice and took a sip before continuing.

“So I sat there alone, shaking, and every time I heard a car on the road, I thought it was the police coming to get me. Not until a long time after that did Mrs Falkenborg ring for me, and then she told me that they would temper justice with mercy if in return I would sleep with her husband. No beating about the bush or anything, it was straight from the hip. Sunday evening, without any whining, which the factory owner didn’t like, and then in return he would forget about the cheques and cover the loss. What do you make of that? Cover the loss! They had eaten every krone of that money.”

“But you went along with the agreement?”

“What else could I do? It was terrible. I recall that I threw up afterwards, but prison would have been worse.”

“Yes, I’m sure it would.”

“Five years or spread your legs, that was the choice. Bear in mind I was no more than twenty-two, and the wife was very convincing. And the next Sunday evening he came to me, and it was revolting-he was affectionate, said sentimental things and even acted shy, while he drooled and sighed and unwrapped me like I was a Christmas present. Damn, how I hated that.”

“When was that? More or less?”

“Sunday, the fifth of December, 1964, at eleven-thirty.”

“And how long did this go on?”

“Until I left the family. I don’t believe he skipped a single Sunday, except naturally when it couldn’t be otherwise. But I couldn’t cheat, because the wife kept close track of my periods. Gradually at least I got him out of the affectionate crap, and thank God for that, because that was the worst. And then the anxiety every month about being pregnant because he didn’t use a rubber, the pig. I’ve often thought that he must have produced a few bastard children at the office. I mean, if there were many others like me. Well, finally it was all by schedule, so he came home on the hour and screwed me like I was a cylinder, then left again.”

Simonsen speculated about whether her dubious career might have a connection to Alf Falkenborg’s assaults. He did not ask, however, but said instead, “You mentioned that you knew something about a mask. What did you mean by that?”

“It was a Sunday evening and as usual he was there, but that evening it went completely wrong. Tell me, do you remember Belphégor?”

Simonsen felt a stab of anxiety when he heard that name. A long-forgotten feeling of disgust was suddenly brought back to life after lying dormant for years. Only a split second later he remembered what the name referred to.

“You mean the TV series?”

“Yes, it was broadcast in the summer of 1965 and emptied the streets, as they say. There were four episodes, and they were scheduled for Saturday evening. I got permission to watch them in the living room with the family.”

“I remember the film well, it was French. I was a little afraid of that Belphégor spirit, when he wandered around at night in the Louvre and smothered his victims.”

“She, the spirit was a woman, it turned out.”

“I didn’t remember that, but how does Belphégor come into the picture?”

“Andreas, the little idiot, loved to scare me. He did that often, and it had nothing to do with Belphégor. He hid some place or other and ran out and said ‘Boo’. A few times I got so scared I was on the verge of hitting him.”

She clenched her fist before she continued.

“After he had seen that film, he made a Belphégor mask of black cardboard and papier-mâché, with fabric along the sides of the head. Well, it’s hard to explain, but maybe you remember what the spirit looked like?”

“Yes, it was Egyptian-looking, and I remember very well how scary everyone thought it was.”

Agnete Bahn confirmed that, and let out a little sigh before she continued.

“Well, one Sunday evening, when Alf Falkenborg was there to get his usual, Andreas sneaked out with the mask on and peeked in my window while shining a flashlight at himself to scare the life out of me. He succeeded. I screamed like an animal when I saw him. That is, while I was riding his father. I tell you, he froze up against the window, or to be more exact the mask did, as if he couldn’t think how to get away. And that was right when the father got going.”

“Alf Falkenborg discovered his son with the mask on?”

“Of course he did. I was howling with anxiety and pointing at the window, until… well, it didn’t take long before I figured out that it was Andreas. The father went raving mad, and in no time had pulled the mother out of her bedroom and dragged her outside, after which he beat her so hard that it echoed in the night, and this time with a stick. I had never before seen her take such a beating. He was so angry, called Andreas everything imaginable… Peeping Tom, pervert, deviant, that sort of thing.”

“What did Andreas do in the meantime?”

“He sat huddled up by the window wearing his crazy mask.”

“You said that you were riding Alf Falkenborg. Would you please elaborate on that?”

“Tell me, do you like hearing that sort of thing?”

“No, but it may have significance… ”

“So I was riding him, how hard is that to understand? I was sitting on top of him and pumping up and down. What the hell more do you want me to say?”

“Can you remember whether you had any clothes on your upper body?”

“No, not at all, but I probably didn’t. Or, wait a moment… not so long before I left them he was indifferent to what I had on, so long as he could come in. So maybe I had my nightdress on.”

“And a bra? Can you remember that?”

“No bra-he tore one in two once, so I never had one on when he came in, because I had to buy a new one myself.”

“What about panties? Were you naked below, when you had intercourse?”

“Yes, what the hell do you think?”

“I don’t think anything, but I would really like you to think it over before you answer.”

Surprisingly enough she followed his advice, and having thought about it, doubt arose.

“Now that you mention it, I may very well have had panties on. In the beginning he liked to take my clothing off, but towards the end he just wanted in without a lot of fuss. Maybe he pulled my panties to one side to make room, I won’t deny it, but I can’t remember that.”

Simonsen asked, “Tell me, when you were sitting on him, did you get any enjoyment out of it yourself? And the reason I’m asking is that I would like to know in detail how Andreas Falkenborg saw you, when he was looking in at the window.”

She consented, and answered him frankly.

“I hated every breath, but I made it sound as if he was divine because that made it go faster. I discovered that long before. So if you want it spelled out completely, I obviously sighed and moaned and threw myself back and forth in wild ecstasy, which I didn’t feel so much as a trace of.”

“Thanks, that’s exactly what I wanted to hear. Yes-one more thing. You said before that makeup was forbidden, so you had no lipstick on?”

She thought about it.

“I don’t know if I had any on that evening, but I may very well have had. Sunday was my day off, and often I’d been out, so that’s clearly a possibility.”

“Did you use any particular colour of lipstick?”

“Red, always red. As red as possible, if I may say so. Red suits me.”

“Splendid, splendid.”

“Thanks. Tell me, is there any chance that I can get a reward for this?”

“No. What did you do while this scene was going on?”

“Well, I’m not proud of this, but by then I hated all three of them so much that I enjoyed it. Hearing her yell and plead while he thrashed her hide, that was music to my ears. And Andreas, that little piece of shit… I thought every second of his torment served him right, standing frozen at the window, as if he wasn’t there. I went up to him on the other side of it and pressed my face against the glass, while I laughed right into his stupid mask.”

“Could you see how he reacted? I mean, because of the mask.”

“Easily, he had made holes for his eyes.”

“So how was he reacting?”

“He was crying.”