The Girl in the Ice aka A Price for Everything

CHAPTER 55

A high-pressure system, which the weather reports predicted would last for the next few days, had announced its arrival, and the sun was now fierce against the windows of the Homicide Division after the morning’s grey drizzle. Inside Konrad Simonsen, the Countess, Poul Troulsen and Ernesto Madsen were holding a meeting in Simonsen’s office. All four of them were sweating, and the three men looked tired. Only the Countess appeared relatively healthy, primarily due to a good layer of makeup. Troulsen yawned and asked Simonsen, “What are we waiting for?”

“Nothing, I’m just trying to collect my thoughts.”

The older officer looked at his boss and thought that he seemed even more pent-up than the day before. He noted at the same time the sternness beneath the Countess’s careful facade. Not that this was surprising in any way, for with every minute that passed without finding the women-or at least Andreas Falkenborg-the chances of a happy outcome grew smaller, and that sort of strain told. He yawned again, this time without bothering to cover his mouth.

The Countess yawned too. The morning and most of the night before had been spent organising and carrying out the search for the two women, with crypts and chapels being given first priority. It was a slow process that required concentration and methodology. Now, with the planning over, they could not do much except wait; wait and hope. A quiver around her eyes revealed her state of mind, and she massaged her temples lightly while trying to convince herself that there was still a chance for the two women. She glanced at her boss, sitting with eyes squeezed shut, lost to the world. He had been working for three days straight and pushing everyone to give their all. He swept personal concerns tyrannically and consistently off the table with the result that the whole division was about to drop from exhaustion. The same must apply to him too, although he did not talk about it. Since the meeting last night he had withdrawn into himself and was hard to reach, even for her.

Finally he said, “We have only one item on the agenda, namely Falkenborg’s residence and warehouse, which in practice means news about his keys, his car and his computer, and the search for him in crypts and chapels which I initiated this morning. The car is your inquiry, Poul. What’s the status?”

Troulsen took out his notebook, browsed a little back and forth, and said, “Maybe I should start by saying that Pauline actually produced some solid pieces of evidence against Falkenborg before she… I have just spoken with a Vibeke Behrens, who was apparently Catherine Thomsen’s girlfriend back in 1996 and ’97, and it turns out that she knew Andreas-”

Simonsen said quietly, “His car, Poul. The rest doesn’t matter now.”

Troulsen seemed confused for a moment. Then he accepted the direction and said, “Yes, of course. Sorry, but I’m so damn’ tired. So, his car has been seen in over fifty places in the capital region since the hunt was announced, including fifteen times within the past two hours alone. That is, after we sent out the information that it’s now red. The most interesting observation happened at a parking lot not far from Skovlunde Station, about ten kilometres north-”

“We’re aware of where Skovlunde Station is. Do you know what he was doing there?”

“Yes, eating at a hot dog stand. A woman saw her chance to take a picture of both him and his car with her cell phone, and then she called us, but when we got there he was gone. But now at least we know that his car really is red.”

The Countess asked, “How long did it take before we were on the scene? That is, I mean in the form of a water-tight surveillance, not just the first officer.”

“Less than half an hour. It was the DSIS people, they’re very effective.”

“Half an hour? I’m not particularly impressed.”

“That’s due to ignorance, because you should be. If we had conducted that action ourselves, it would have been at least-”

Simonsen said, “Okay, okay. Go on, where else has he been seen?”

“At 8.35 a.m. at the hot dog truck and later at Buddinge lumberyard, it’s next to Buddinge Station. Here he bought two sacks of pre-mixed concrete and paid cash. This happened at 9.16 a.m.”

Madsen asked, “What would he do with that?”

It was Simonsen who answered. The information was not new to him, so he’d had had time to think it through.

“A realistic suggestion unfortunately is that he is going to repair a cellar floor. You can figure out for yourself why.”

The psychologist said, “Yes, I can easily figure that out, but perhaps this is good news.”

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t think he will kill either of them before everything is ready, and that means that the time for his first killing at a minimum is pushed ahead to this morning. That’s something anyway. Then perhaps his other murder will not happen until tomorrow.”

Troulsen expressed what they were all thinking.

“If it makes any difference since we have to find him first. But however that may be, we have another indicator of where he has been today, and this is quite fresh. I discussed it with Malte, and it’s just a matter of calling his audio server, or whatever it’s called.”

The Countess said, “Audio server? I don’t follow.”

“Yes, it’s something technical, and I can’t really explain it, but it’s where he stores the audio files from the surveillance of your and Simon’s home. His microphones and transmitters are connected with some networks, and you’ll have to talk with Malte about the other details. However that may be, he logged in on his server from a PC in Lyngby at 12.41 p.m., a good half an hour ago, but unfortunately this was done via an unprotected wireless network, and also… ”

Troulsen leafed through his notes.

“The IP address is unknown but being worked on, whatever that means. But we can say with certainty that he was at Ulrikkenborg Plads in Lyngby at twenty minutes to one.”

Simonsen asked, “Do we know if he has been on his server earlier today, and how often he goes in and checks?”

“That data is being generated. It hasn’t been easy to trace him. It only became effective when Interpol started monitoring directly in England, where the server is physically. He has circumvented the barriers here by going across the US. I admit I’m just echoing here what others have tried to explain. I apologise.”

“It doesn’t matter, so long as you can tell us what the result will be.”

“That we can see where his laptop computer has been, and as he presumably has it in his car, then where he and his car have been, under the assumption however that he has regular contact with the server.”

“When?”

“They promised it within an hour, and it’s been almost that long, but it doesn’t help to pressure them. They’re working as fast as they can.”

“Pressure them anyway.”

Troulsen obeyed. He took out his cell phone and went outside. Shortly after that he was back.

“Five minutes, then we’ll have a map and a list, they’re sending it up.”

Simonsen ordered, “Tech has a woman who is expert in geographic information systems, I think it’s called. She can extract relevant conclusions-”

Troulsen interrupted. “She is already waiting in my office along with two mathematicians from the University of Copenhagen.”

“Brilliant. Then I have something to say about the key, but unfortunately it can’t be done quickly. The number on the key’s rivet goes with a corresponding padlock, and the set was sold by a hardware chain about ten years ago. The product was obviously intended for people who have a lot of padlocks in one place, but sadly it doesn’t help us find that place.”

There was a knock on the door; the Countess opened and received an envelope from an officer. She pulled out the contents, unfolded a map of the capital region on the table, and quickly read through the accompanying list while the others studied the map. Troulsen said, “It’s unbelievable that he can drive around like this when everyone is searching for his car. I mean, it’s not just us. There are taxi drivers, postal workers, bicycle couri-ers… anyone with eyes in their head.”

Simonsen said, “It’s just a matter of time. Maybe he’s been lucky so far. Some of the calls we’ve received certainly tally with our map here. How many points are there?”

The Countess checked her list and answered, “There are sixteen, five of which are from today.”

“Ernesto, what is he doing basically? He drives around, as if he thinks he’s invisible, apparently aimlessly. Can you explain that?”

The psychologist attempted.

“So long as he has not killed the women, he presumably is not thinking about anything else, including his own safety. What he will do afterwards is hard to predict. I don’t think he knows that himself, but presumably there will be a phase where he is more or less confused, and as long as that lasts, he is not likely to move far from the places he knows.”

“And when he is no longer confused?”

“He will probably flee. My guess is to Sweden, which he apparently has visited before. But how long-”

Simonsen’s cell phone rang. He said, “Be quiet, they’re only calling if it’s top priority.”

They were silent while he listened and shortly afterwards said thank you. Then he said, quietly and without discernible joy, “We have him, and DSIS has set up an iron ring he won’t slip out of.”

“Where?”

“The bank in Lejre. He has returned his mask. There is a team of technicians en route, but this is bad… on the inside he puts marks, red marks with lipstick. Four of the marks are old, but one mark is quite fresh. It was put there very recently.”

Troulsen asked quietly, “You mean that one of the women is dead?”

The police officers looked at Madsen, who stammered, “Yes, one of the women has been killed in his usual manner. I thought that he would totally distance himself from-”

He was interrupted.

“And the other?”

“I have no idea. But he put the mask back in the safe deposit box, so something has not gone as planned.”

The Countess, on the verge of tears, asked Simonsen, “How long will it be before we have an answer?”

“Not until tonight, they’ll call me.”

Madsen asked, “Answer to what?”

“DNA test, to see which of them the lipstick was used on.”

The Countess was now crying openly, but at the same time was sufficiently composed to think about others too.

“We won’t tell Arne or their families either. Not until we have an answer.”

The psychologist asked, sniffling, “How long can you survive without food and water, if we assume that one woman is still alive?”

The Countess answered him, her eyes blinded by tears.

“Food is no problem, it’s the lack of fluid that is deadly. She’s young, that’s good; the weather is warm, that’s bad. Five to six days, then it starts to get critical. Less if you are sick or in poor condition. A lot also depends on will.”

Suddenly she felt as if her own words were alien and irrelevant. She happened to think then of the clairvoyant’s four loathsome lines of verse, which now filled her mind and blocked out any normal thought process.

Simonsen noticed her expression.

“Pull yourself together, Countess. You have work to do.”

She nodded while she fought back her tears. Simonsen observed her expressionlessly. Troulsen’s eyes were shiny too, and his hands were shaking. He said in a cracked voice, “I think I know what may have happened. Pauline has probably taken her contact lenses off and swallowed them, as soon as she got the chance. But now you can just as well bring him in, Simon, because he will never-”

Simonsen shouted so that it echoed.

“No, he’s not coming in! And you, Ernesto, tell everyone who asks that you are certain he will return to his hiding place. I don’t care what psycho-babble you package it in, just do as I ask. I do not want him arrested now. Is that understood?”

They understood him.

At that moment Pedersen slipped in the door and placed himself without a word at the back of the room. The Countess asked him a question, but received only monosyllabic words in response. Troulsen tried too. He did not answer at all. They let him be, he was doing no harm. Shortly after that they got more news about Falkenborg. He was staying at the Hotel Grand in Herlev, a small hotel not far from the centre, where he had checked in three days ago.

Simonsen instructed the Countess.

“The head of DSIS is on his way, and you will be the one who liaises with him. I assume that he has some electronic gadgetry so we can follow Falkenborg’s movements on a screen. Get the big meeting room set up as a control room. I will be back in a couple of hours at most, but I’m turning off my cell phone so you can’t get in touch with me meanwhile.”

“What do you mean by control room?”

“I don’t know, it’s just an expression. But we should be able to follow his movements on the big screen. And get the staff restaurant to provide water and sandwiches… Damn it, do I have to arrange every single detail myself?”

“No, I understand. Control room is an excellent designation. Just get going.”

Troulsen asked in amazement, “Where in the world are you off to? What is more important than this?”

The Countess had herself fully under control. She cut him off brutally.

“Mind your own business, Poul. And trust that Simon is capable of minding his.”

Troulsen backed out. He had never heard the Countess talk that way before.