The Girl in the Ice aka A Price for Everything

CHAPTER 53

In the small hours between Tuesday and Wednesday Konrad Simonsen snatched a restless sleep in his desk chair. He had taken off his shoes, put his legs on the desk and-mostly for peace of mind and out of habit-used his jacket as a kind of duvet. At five o’clock in the morning he was wakened by the phone. An officer told him that he had a witness he ought to interview personally. The man sounded tired, but Simonsen recognised his name and knew that he was experienced. Not the type to disturb you for no reason, and definitely not at that time of day, so he agreed to the questioning without objection, after which he fell asleep again. Shortly after the officer was in the room escorting a woman in her twenties.

Simonsen collected himself. After five minutes in the bathroom, where some cold water on his head chased away the worst of his fatigue, he felt reasonably functional. When he returned the officer introduced the woman.

“This is Juli Denissen from Frederiksværk, and she encountered Andreas Falkenborg on Monday evening. She also has important information about his car.”

The officer placed a thin report on the desk and stood to attention expectantly. Simonsen skimmed it and noted that the witness had been questioned twice before. Both times during the night. He turned to the woman.

“Would you mind waiting outside for a moment?”

He had to repeat the request before she understood, after which she left the office without argument. She left her lovely multicoloured bag behind. He noted that her gait was unusual, as if her upper body was not quite synchronised with her legs. He closed the door behind her.

As soon as she was outside, the officer asked, “Do you want a summary? I can see that you’re really tired.”

“No, but I want to know whether she is reliable. Or rather, I assume that you’ve checked her thoroughly.”

“As thoroughly as we could during the night, and nothing indicates that she is… mental.”

“What’s your own assessment?”

The answer came with conviction.

“She’s as normal as you and me. Otherwise I wouldn’t involve you.”

Simonsen mumbled inaudibly, sent the officer away and showed the woman in again. They sat opposite each other at his desk. He browsed through her papers again and said matter-of-factly, “You are twenty-four years old, divorced, attend the Technical School in Frederiksværk, live alone with your two-year-old child.”

The woman confirmed this and suppressed a yawn, which she excused with a lovely smile. Involuntarily Simonsen smiled back. It was hard not to.

“Can you tell me a little about your daughter?”

If she was surprised by the question she did not show it. Without hesitation she complied with the request, as if it was the most natural thing in the world to talk about her child at five-thirty in the morning to the head of the country’s most-discussed investigation. While she spoke, he observed her thoroughly, which did not seem to embarrass her. She was slender, below average height, with long dark hair and high, soft cheekbones; definitely pretty in her particular way. She had a surplus of charisma, but her eyes made the greatest impression. They were brown, happy and trustful when they met his, without submission but also without arrogance. He discovered to his surprise as she was speaking that he liked hearing her voice, and he let her continue a bit beyond the point where he felt convinced she was not concealing any pathological defects. At last however he interrupted her.

“You think you encountered Andreas Falkenborg on Monday evening, on the local train to Frederiksværk?”

“Yes, I think so. And I also saw him on the S-train to Hillerød. He got on at Nørreport Station.”

“Tell me about it.”

“Where should I start?”

“You were in Copenhagen. What were you doing there?”

“I had been in London for two days and came from the airport… ”

Her explanation was thorough and precise; the times fitted with Falkenborg’s disappearance from his attendants, and she could also describe his clothing. At Hillerød Station they both changed trains, and by chance they were sitting so that she could see his reflected image in the window. In Grimstrup, four stations from Hillerød, she and Falkenborg were the only passengers who got off, and he had walked to a small parking lot next to the station where his car was parked. She had watched as he drove away.

“Can you describe the car?”

“Yes, it was a red Volkswagen Multivan.”

“You are quite certain. Do you know about cars?”

“My father is a car mechanic. I grew up with cars.”

“Do you know why you’re sitting here?”

She nodded, almost apologetically.

“Because his car was red.”

He nodded too. Then he found a photocopy of a drawing in her papers and placed it before her.

“You made this portrait of Andreas Falkenborg, as you sat on the train to Frederiksværk. Why did you do that?”

“I always draw people on the train. It’s a habit. I draw them if I think they look interesting, or simply to pass the time.”

“Why were you in London?”

“To draw an ancient wall.”

“That sounds strange.”

“I want to be an architect.”

“Where was your daughter while you were in England?”

“With her father.”

“What shade of red was Falkenborg’s car?”

“It was dusk at the time, and then colours are hard to determine. But it was like the Danish flag, I think.”

“Did you draw other people on your train ride?”

He switched between topics, back and forth, to confuse her; she managed every single question with honest, simple answers. Except for the last.

“You live in Frederiksværk. Why did you get off in Grimstrup?”

“That’s not important, and I’ve promised not to talk about it.”

She emphasised the word promised, as if now they didn’t need to talk any more about it.

“Who did you promise?”

“Someone I know.”

“Did anyone else see the car besides you?”

“Not quite so well.”

“Who?”

“Someone I know.”

Simonsen sighed and quietly explained.

“You called us four times yesterday evening. Then you came on your own initiative here to Police Headquarters at night, where you insisted on making a statement. This is the third time you’re being questioned, which means that we take your testimony seriously, which I’m sure you’re well aware of. But I don’t have room for mistakes. At the moment two women are in extreme danger at best, so there is no room here for keeping secrets, regardless of what you’ve promised whom. Furthermore, I don’t understand why you didn’t call until almost a full day after your train ride. I would also like an explanation for that.”

Juli Denissen thought deeply and came up with the wrong answer.

“I guarantee that the car was red. You have to believe me. The rest has no significance.”

Simonsen swore to himself and considered whether he should take the time to talk sense into her. He decided it was not worth wasting the energy. He tried the silent treatment for a short time, until he firmly shook his head. Then he called for Poul Troulsen and felt miserable about it. She deserved better.

After Juli was picked up, he had a hard time getting her out of his mind, and he was very relieved when a good hour later Troulsen returned and hustled her back to her former place, while he explained.

“She was picked up by her lover at Grimstrup Station, and together they drove to his summer house in Asserbo. He has a wife and children and according to Juli keeps his affairs as far away from the rest of his life as possible. For example, he didn’t want to meet her in Hillerød for fear that someone would recognise him. Both of them saw Falkenborg’s car, he however only fleetingly, but he hasn’t contacted us, although he maintains the opposite with respect to his… with respect to Juli.”

He referred to the woman, who sat with bowed head looking sad.

“When the announcements in the media kept referring to a white commercial vehicle, she stepped in herself, and… well, the rest you know. Her acquaintance, by the way, is one of us. That is, still according to Juli.”

Simonsen felt anger bubbling up and made no attempt to subdue it. His voice resounded in the office.

“I hope for his sake that he’s not. Who are we talking about?”

Troulsen said the man’s name. Simonsen knew who he meant; a middle-aged, competent man he had worked with numerous times. He asked, perplexed, “The police constable?”

“Yes, if we’re to believe Juli. He denies any acquaintance with her whatsoever. I just spoke to him, and he was quite definite about it. He says he has never met her, she has never been in his summer house, he has never picked her up at any station, and so on and so forth. Never to everything I said. I’ve ordered phone information on them both. Unauthorised, but we don’t have time for anything else. It will take about an hour before we have them, and-”

Juli Denissen interrupted him then.

“Did he say that he doesn’t know me?”

The question was directed at Simonsen.

“Yes, and now I really am having doubts about your story. You are going to remain here a while longer, until I find out which of you is lying.”

A film of moisture passed over her eyes, which she quickly blinked away before it formed tears. She tightened her jaw for a couple of seconds and regained control. Then she fished her cell phone out of her bag and started working the keys while she said, “I have some pictures. Just a moment… my phone isn’t working, it has a mind of its own, but I can’t afford to buy a new one.”

The two men waited until her phone worked properly. It took time, but she was successful at last. She explained, “The first ones are from the summer house, the others were taken at my place.”

Neither of the officers said anything for a while. Then Simonsen whistled.

“Bring that creep in here, Poul. Tell him on the way that the Ministry of Justice must have his resignation by the end of the day. And if he makes the slightest bit of trouble… Well, I hardly need to tell you. But first of all get him to confirm the colour of Falkenborg’s car, and if he does, call and change the search description. Make sure that our own cars and all taxis get the message right away.”

Troulsen answered tiredly, “It actually tallies with the five calls we’ve already received from witnesses who have seen Falkenborg in a red car. But it has been yellow too of course, and… ”

The woman said sadly, “Do you have to punish him? He’s having a hard time. And yesterday I told him that I didn’t want to see him any more.”

She sounded as if the break-up was punishment enough. A few tears rolled down alongside her nose. Troulsen ignored her and left. Simonsen felt sorry for her. She was obviously under the illusion that the world was good, and would probably have to pay dearly on a regular basis for her positive view of life. He placed his hand on her shoulder, and she seized it quickly.

“There are hundreds of police officers who will be ready to break every bone in his body when they hear this, so his continued employment with us is impossible.”

“You don’t need to tell anyone.”

She let out a little sniffle, which he did not respond to, and then another.

“Now I’ll make sure you get a ride home.”

He stroked her hair gently a couple of times and thought that some people you meet too late. Then he sent her away.