The Girl in the Ice aka A Price for Everything

CHAPTER 34

After his trip to the magistrate and back again to Police Headquarters, Konrad Simonsen went to Arne Pedersen’s office. His colleague was sitting behind his desk with an expression that proclaimed more bad news. Simonsen was not bringing good news either, so neither man seemed particularly eager to hear what the other had to say.

Nevertheless Pedersen asked, “You don’t look like things went very well in court. Don’t tell me he was released.”

“No, in spite of everything. He withdrew his testimony, but we more or less expected that.”

“Yes, that’s not surprising. And otherwise?”

Pedersen was struggling against blinding sunlight reflecting through the window. Instead of moving, he held one hand to his forehead, with the result that Simonsen could not see his face clearly.

“Can’t you sit somewhere else?” he growled. “Your hand is irritating me.”

Pedersen obeyed.

“This heat is unbearable,” he moaned. “My clothes stick to me and I’m sweating like a pig.”

Simonsen ignored the complaint. He had his own sweating to attend to.

“It ended with the judge adjourning the hearing in order to compare my questioning with the recording of Poul Troulsen and Andreas Falkenborg’s conversation in the car, at her leisure. There was a lot of legal nonsense about what was permissible and what wasn’t, as if it ever could be permissible for prisoners to monitor conversations held in a police car! There is of course no precedent, so both the prosecutor and the defence got very absorbed in that.”

“What about the judge?”

“She did not seem particularly interested in that aspect.”

“When will there be a decision?”

“When she’s finished reading, so no one has any idea. The court was full of media, and that doesn’t make things any easier, as you know. But she’ll probably end up at three weeks. She’ll surely take a week off the normal procedure to show her dissatisfaction with our approach. Or that’s my guess.”

“We’ll see. But how the hell did Falkenborg pull off that stunt with the recordings from the car? That’s beyond my understanding.”

“That’s actually very simple to explain. The execution, on the other hand, requires an expert. He used his cell phone, which he politely asked Poul if he could take with him since it was turned off, and was allowed to. But it wasn’t turned off at all, Falkenborg simply manipulated it so that it looked that way, and then he had phone connection to one of his own computers, where he also worked the same number-it looked inactive, while in fact it was running full blast. The last step was to digitise the conversation and make an automatic distribution to various forums on the Internet. Don’t ask me how you do that, but one of the computer nerds who was involved in the search said that it wasn’t difficult.”

“Hmm, very crafty. When I hear all this, I have a hard time accepting E. Madsen’s take that his naiveté isn’t put on.”

Pedersen’s face lit up in a boyish grin.

“Do you know what the E stands for? In E. Madsen, that is.”

“No, and I couldn’t care less.”

“Ernesto… the poor man’s name is Ernesto Madsen. I heard it from Pauline, but you mustn’t say I told you, because I promised not to.”

“Well, then, why are you telling me? No, never mind-the essence of it is that Falkenborg is far more wily and calculating than I thought from our original picture of him. Or profile, if you will. But tell me about the search, although I can guess that you didn’t find anything sensational.”

“No, we didn’t. They’re not quite finished, by the way, but I doubt that anything else usable will be found today.”

“Wasn’t there anything at all to collect?”

“You heard about the bust of Mozart? He pulled a plastic bag over it before the move, which is how he got Carl Henning Thomsen’s fingerprints. Later he used the same bag to suffocate the man’s daughter. That’s how we think it went anyway.”

“Besides the bust and the fingerprints, Arne. That’s pure speculation.”

“There was one bad thing, really bad actually. We’ve been in touch with his Internet provider, and he managed to download the article Dagbladet had on their website last Monday, where they interviewed Jeanette Hvidt-there are also traces on his computer that show he has seen her picture.”

“I’ll be damned. More?”

“Nothing that stands out. We’ve found two keys whose purpose we can’t identify, but one is possibly to a safe deposit box. The other is very special with a number of some kind on it. And then Falkenborg withdrew a large amount of cash from his bank last Friday, which we can’t find either, more than eighty thousand kroner.”

“No mask, I assume?”

“No, no mask.”

“Microphones in his apartment?”

“Yes, and they are state of the art; little devils no bigger than an aspirin tablet with transmitter and all, and which can be hidden anywhere, voice-controlled and super-sensitive. They’ll be the same ones he uses when he’s at work… spying on people, that is.”

“If you say so. But what about a receiver, or whatever it’s called? I mean, there should be something that stores the conversations.”

“In his apartment he used his computer, or more precisely one of his six computers. But we found a brochure, and those mini-microphones can communicate with a small battery-driven box that forwards the signal over the mobile network, and a box like that is not much bigger than a matchbox, so it’s not difficult to hide. Four of his computers are password-protected, incidentally, and our technicians are working on those at the moment. One of them, the one with the picture of Jeanette Hvidt, they’ve got control of. There is a lot to suggest his expertise is not confined to audio and microphones. Advanced computer knowledge is also part of his repertoire.”

“So it’s not certain that the rest of his computers can be investigated, is that what you’re saying?”

“Oh, no, it’s only a matter of time… and hardly more than two or three days. I’m just saying, he’s also skilful with a PC. And by the way, we’ve uncovered how he did his trick of breaking into the house of the witness who by bad luck had given him an old access card. Do you remember him?”

“Yes, I do. How did Falkenborg do it?”

“He had computer access to the security company, access he presumably stole in connection with their using him for a short time as a consultant. Is that something we should pursue further?”

“Have we informed the company?”

“Yes, and they’ve changed their systems.”

“Excellent, so there’s probably nothing more to do. What about a warehouse? Doesn’t he have some place for the equipment he sells?”

“Yes, I’m sure he does, but we don’t know where. The only thing we do know is that it doesn’t need to be large. A garage would be sufficient.”

Simonsen concluded gloomily, “We haven’t got much out of this search. Do you have anything else?”

“We can’t find his car. That is, one of them. He has two: a blue 2001 Mercedes E210 and a white 2004 VW Multivan, both registered as personal vehicles. The VW is a commercial vehicle with sliding doors, and that’s the one we can’t locate.”

“Put a search out for it.”

“I’ve done that.”

“Anything else?”

“Not a scrap, but we’re not finished. Should I head out again?”

“No, I would rather have you help Poul with Liz Suenson.”

“The Swedish ghost girl, who exists only in the imagination of Andreas Falkenborg and Ernesto ‘Che’ Madsen?”

“Yes, the Swedish girl who perhaps is the breakthrough we so desperately need.”

“Who, if she exists, has been shovelled into a grave in a forest in Sweden, and there are quite a few of them there. I have a hard time seeing that as a breakthrough.”

“This isn’t up for discussion, and don’t insult her.”

“Okay, no offence intended, I’ll find Poul. How did he take the situation, by the way? I mean, with the media and all that shit.”

“He’s doing his job.”

“Stop pretending you’re indifferent because I know perfectly well you’re not. I’m guessing you backed him against the sea witch on the top floor. By the way, have you seen that she’s coming out with a statement this afternoon?”

Simonsen stood up. Surprisingly enough he didn’t feel particularly tired, and even the itching on his ankles had stopped. On the other hand he was craving a cigarette.

“No, I’m not indifferent, but I prioritise double murders higher than things I can’t do anything about. Yes, of course I backed him up, what else would you imagine I’d do? No, I haven’t seen that the police commissioner intends to make a statement, and to get to your next question in advance-no, I don’t know what she will say. Now I’m going into my office to review the interview with Falkenborg again. See if you can’t produce some good news, I need it.”

Simonsen got barely ten minutes alone before Pedersen had, if not good news, at least something new to tell. He slogged into his boss’s office with a taciturn Poul Troulsen in tow. Simonsen took off his earphones and gestured to the two men to sit down. A superfluous gesture, as neither of them waited for permission.

“That was quick. Well, is she real or not?”

Pedersen looked at Troulsen and then answered as his elder colleague made no move to.

“There is still nothing official to be found, and this is the third time now that we’ve trawled through the registries. Even Malte is starting to get a little tired of us.”

“But?”

“But we have looked at the entryways on Vesterbrogade across from the City Museum. ‘Across from’ can be interpreted with a lot of goodwill as nine entryways. Of those only three have an elevator, and only one housed a dentist in 1992. Now he has his practice in Ballerup, but he confirms that Andreas Falkenborg was one of his patients when he had a clinic in the city.”

“I hope you have more than that.”

“Maybe. Vesterbrogade number sixty-two-does that ring a bell?”

Simonsen smiled broadly for the first time that day.

“Snotfather? Alias Doctor Cold?”

Finally Troulsen joined in.

“Exactly, he lives on the fourth floor, but you probably know that already?”

“Oh, yes, I know that. Have you contacted him?”

“No, I was thinking that perhaps you would go there yourself. He’s home at the moment.”

“He’s always at home. And he’s still as active as ever?”

“To the highest degree. He is one of the three kingpins the national chief of police really wants to get. But it’s been more than fifteen years since he last did time, so you can’t say that the outcome matches the desire.”

“Unfortunately not. Do you have anything specific in relation to the Swedish woman?”

“No, it’s only a guess.”

Simonsen considered the proposal, but in reality he had already made his decision.

“Okay, I’ll go over there and talk to him.”

Pedersen asked, “Obviously I’ve heard of Doctor Cold, but why do you call him Snotfather?”

His boss and Troulsen laughed. Simonsen said, “We called him that in the old days, but apparently it’s gone out of style. Because of his nose, which is strikingly large, and because the nickname annoys him, which unfortunately is the only way he has been harassed by us for years. Would you like to go along and meet him?”

Both of his detectives shook their heads. Troulsen said, “I’d rather go home. Journalists keep calling me, and my wife is also getting questions. I need to be with my family.”

He looked at his watch. Technically it was still too early for him to leave the office, even though he had started his working day while most others were asleep. Simonsen sensed his hesitation and said, “Yes, journalists are a meddlesome rabble. But go home then, if I have your word that you will show up for work tomorrow, regardless of this inconvenience?”

“Yes, I promise. If I’m not fired first.”

“You won’t be fired, and the press attention will stop at some point, it always does. Refer them to me if it helps you.”

“I won’t need to do that.”

“Then stop whining, and say hello to your wife from me.”