The Girl in the Ice aka A Price for Everything

CHAPTER 58

The investigation had proceeded without help from Arne Pedersen for the last couple of days. He wandered around Police Headquarters as he wished, attended the meetings he wanted to, but no one counted on him or involved him in any decisions. Reports of his incapacity had quickly spread, with the result that wherever he was, he was treated kindly and considerately, but also as if he was not really present. The first twenty-four hours after the news of Pauline Berg’s kidnapping had obviously been terrible for him and he was of no use at all in an investigative capacity. Many of his colleagues encouraged him to go home, which he steadfastly refused. He wanted to be with the others until the whole thing was over; anything else would be unbearable. As no one really had time to get involved, they left him alone and got used to him. Like a daddy long-legs, he thought with bitter irony. Like a daddy long-legs.

To his own great surprise he had no problem sleeping. The nightmare about the witch, his mother and finally Pauline Berg, who perished in a plastic bag, was absent. Possibly because the reality was more horrific. He did not know the reason and did not care. He could sleep, for whatever reason, and that was the most important thing. All he needed to do was lie down on the floor in his office, and a few minutes later he was snoozing like a child, so it was hardly surprising that he was the most well-rested police officer in the whole complex and certainly in the Homicide Division. The thought pleased him, but he kept it to himself. He said nothing to anyone, about that or anything else. But maybe it was just by sleeping that little by little he got hold of himself.

Konrad Simonsen noticed he was getting better. They had breakfast together. That is, at the same table in the cafeteria, not while working, not at all.

“You look like you’re doing better, Arne.”

The Countess added, “It’s good to see. I’m happy about that.”

He sat and concentrated on his food. What should he say? That Simonsen himself looked like shit? That they both did? Like a pair of fools, just waiting for something terrible to happen.

Someone had taken his car keys, and he knew why. He also knew they were keeping an eye on him. It was easy to figure out: slightly too long a look here, a glance there, and his office regularly visited by colleagues who didn’t really want anything except to see how things were going. Even when he slept, he had monitored their comings and goings. The old trick with a paper clip in the door, before he closed it completely, had exposed them. How stupid did they really think he was? He was forty-two years old and had been a police officer for almost twenty years, almost half his life. Still they treated him like a boy scout, a pure amateur. His pistol was gone, but he had no need of it, it was just a nuisance. A small penknife from his desk drawer and a police truncheon were all he needed. Idiots!

On Thursday afternoon his wife had brought him clothes. They chatted together for fifteen minutes about the twins and, when that subject was exhausted, about the good weather. And how he was to be sure and eat properly. She kissed him, both when she arrived and when she left, a routine that was always observed, just like automatically looking to the left before you turn on to a street. When she was gone it struck him more clearly than ever how far they had drifted from each other. As if they lived in two different worlds. But he was happy about the clothes. When he was arrested, he wanted to be presentable. Well dressed, showered and shaved. He had never liked shabby prisoners; had learned to live with them, sure-because they were by far the majority-but deep down he despised them, and he did not want to be that way himself.

The alarm from his cell phone woke him at two o’clock, and he took ten minutes to ease the soreness out of his body with small, improvised gymnastic exercises. The Japanese slept on the floor on rush mats, he had read. Hardy people, and it was undeniably practical to be able to put your bed away in a corner. Japan, Australia, China, Brazil-he had always dreamed about taking a long journey, but his life had gone in a different direction. There was always something that was more important. Through the window he stared out into the night and thought that his journey would have to wait a few more years. Then on stockinged feet he slipped out into the corridor and sneaked past Simonsen’s office. Light was seeping out from under the door. The heart of the Homicide Division the room had once been named, by whom he could not remember. Filled with contempt he mimed spitting against the closed door, after which he found the nearest bathroom and got ready.

Months could pass without the Countess swearing, so when it finally happened, she commanded everyone’s attention at once. In this case everyone meant Simonsen and the head of DSIS. They were in Simonsen’s office, wide awake, almost speeding, reviewing tomorrow’s theatre piece, which simply must not go wrong. The head of DSIS underscored that regularly. There is no plan B, it’s this or nothing. A few times in varied form: If it doesn’t happen tomorrow, it never will-or whatever he could think of. It was almost as if he liked saying it, but it didn’t become any less true as a result. The Countess’s cell phone hummed; she looked at it and burst out in a panic, “Damn it! Arne has taken off.”

Simonsen leaped up from his chair, which tipped over.

“No! Where is he? How do you even know?”

“His cell phone. I automatically get an SMS when it is more than a hundred metres away from HS. Don’t ask how.”

The head of DSIS was calmer.

“He’s more than a hundred metres away?”

“Two hundred or so.”

“Then relax. There’s plenty of time.”

Simonsen complied. He picked up his chair and sat down, a little embarrassed by his own reaction. He said to the Countess, “Maybe he’s just getting a little fresh air. Do we even know where he’s going?”

“Don’t be stupid.”

“Is he armed?”

“Hardly, I have his pistol.”

Simonsen looked at the head of DSIS.

“I assume that your people will stop him, before it goes haywire.”

The head of DSIS confirmed that, but did not do anything. He scratched his temple with one knuckle and said quietly, “There is also another possibility.”

The following two seconds felt very long. The Countess looked down at the floor and kept quiet. Simonsen stared at her, appalled.

“Tell me, have you gone crazy? No, under no circumstances. Absolutely not!”

The head of DSIS got up and left the office. Shortly after, Simonsen followed his example. The Countess watched him, her mouth set in a hard line, and thought that sometimes her boyfriend was a fool. It would have been so easy for her to have let Pedersen continue. All she’d needed to do was ignore the SMS. But the decision must be Simonsen’s and no one else’s. That’s why she had looked away. She tried to convince herself. For that reason only.

The night porter at the hotel was a little too quick to open the door when Arne Pedersen showed him his police badge through the glass. That should have warned him. And if not that, then in any event when with virtually no explanation needed, he was given a universal access card and shown Andreas Falkenborg’s room number. The young man behind the counter pointed.

“Number twelve, that way, third room on the left.”

Pedersen took a deep breath before he carefully opened the door and entered the room. While his eyes grew accustomed to the darkness, he got his truncheon out and took the few steps through the little entryway. Carefully he felt on the wall for a switch, after which the light came on. His surprise was complete. On the bed sat two men of his own age. There was a third standing not far from him.

“Good evening, Arne.”

He turned towards the door by which he had just entered. The man at his side said quietly, “Spare yourself the trouble. There are two more officers outside.”

Pedersen let go of the truncheon, which fell to the floor with a dull thud. He asked despairingly, “So what now?”

“Nothing, except that we’re driving you back to Simon. Don’t worry, we completely understand how you feel.”