The Girl in the Ice aka A Price for Everything

CHAPTER 6

On a street in central Roskilde Pauline Berg tracked down the nurse, who was sitting in a small red car belonging to the municipal home health care service, filling out a form. The woman was only in her fifties, but despite her attractive, blue-grey uniform and well cared-for appearance, she looked used up. Her face was tired and her movements seemed grudging, as if she was irritated with herself. After briefly hearing about Pauline Berg’s inquiry and suspiciously inspecting her ID, she allowed the young woman to get in on the passenger side. The nurse continued her paperwork without seeming to notice that she had company. When she was finished and had carefully put the results in two different folders, she glanced at her watch tensely and said, “I’m already eight minutes behind schedule. My next citizen is two streets away, but the one after that is in Viby so there we’ll have some time. If you don’t mind waiting, that is.”

“I don’t mind waiting.”

The woman started the car and expertly pulled out into the afternoon traffic. Then she said, for no reason, “Citizen, yes. That's what we call them, and we use that term so much it’s completely natural to us, but I’m very aware that in other people’s ears it sounds like something from the French Revolution. And you can stay in the car. It’s against the rules, but you have to be able to trust the police.”

Soon they had arrived at her citizen, and the nurse leaped out of the car.

“This one will take fifteen minutes at most. If I’m lucky I can make up a minute or two. I’m only going to change a dressing.”

When seventeen minutes had passed, Pauline Berg began feeling stressed.

On the drive to Viby they had time to talk. Pauline asked, “Were you a colleague of Maryann Nygaard in 1983, at the American base in Søndre Strømfjord?”

According to the woman’s schedule they now had twenty minutes of driving ahead of them, so there was no reason to force the conversation. For that reason Pauline started with the fundamentals.

“Yes, we were both nurses there. The base rules were that there should be double staffing, even if there wasn’t enough work for a part-time position. The US Air Force is a strange mixture of admirable efficiency and exceptional waste.”

“How long were you employed in Greenland?”

“From 1980 to 1984.”

“Was it difficult working there?”

“Not particularly, not if you were a nurse. You had to speak a reasonable amount of English and be sociable. There were rumours that you must not be politically suspect-a communist, that is-but I don’t know if that was correct.”

“Do you know what happened to Maryann Nygaard?”

“Of course I do. She was the one the chancellor found out on the ice. I try not to think about it too much. It’s not that hard. It was a long time ago, almost another life.”

“How did you get along with each other?”

“Not very well, we were constant competitors.”

“To be the best nurse?”

“To score the best men. And she won by a landslide there.”

“Did she have a lot of them?”

“Maryann basically had the men she wanted, but if you mean did she hop into bed with just anyone, the answer is no. All things considered we were no different from many girls in that age group. Though in our cases you need to factor in a lot of free time and parties with endless quantities of cheap alcohol, not to mention the ratio between men and women being extremely favourable, if you know what I mean.”

“Hmm, I think I get your point. Can you remember whether Maryann had any female friends? Or friends of either sex for that matter. I mean, someone she would confide in.”

The woman answered without a pause.

“Yes, she did. There was a girlfriend who was half Greenlandic and half Danish. She was if possible even prettier than Maryann, a tall, good-looking girl. She was studying at Aarhus University and had taken a year off, but I can’t remember her name, only her nickname. Almost everyone had nicknames. It might seem a little strange, not to mention stilted, but today that’s often what you remember.”

“And her nickname was?”

“Six Feet of Love.”

“And you don’t know where I can find Six Feet… I mean, the girlfriend now?”

“No, not at all. I remember that she was always reading, so it’s a given that she did something with books. Librarian, book dealer, translator, editor-”

Pauline Berg interrupted.

“Thanks, I get it, something with books. Tell me, what did you think when Maryann Nygaard disappeared?”

“That it was terrible and also hard to understand. Most people thought she had deliberately gone out on the ice. That is, committed suicide. It happened, and fairly often too. Sometimes people were never found again, but no one had suspected Maryann of harbouring such suicidal thoughts, so in her case it was a shock. That was actually why I went home when my contract ran out.”

“Her disappearance happened in connection with a visit to a place called DYE-5, a radar station on the ice cap as I’ve understood it. Have you been there yourself?”

“Twice. I’ve been to all five DYE stations, but only once to DYE-4. It was all the way over on the east coast. Unfortunately I have a hard time differentiating the various visits from each other twenty-five years later, so I can’t remember my trips to DYE-5 in particular. All the stations more or less resembled each other.”

“Try to tell me about a typical trip. How did you get out there?”

“We were flown, either in a plane or a helicopter. To DYE-4 always by plane, it was too far away for a helicopter.”

“Was the flight just for your sake, or were there others along on the trip?”

“Just for us. A few times there were packages too and always letters, but otherwise it was just us.”

“So you were alone with the pilot?”

“Yes, that’s how it was.”

“Were the pilots Americans or Danes?”

“It varied a little. As a rule they were Danish. According to military regulations I suppose it should have been Americans doing the flying, but all rules were systematically broken, except the unwritten ones. Some of the Danes got their pilot’s licence up there, for helicopters too. I think that was in their contracts, but I’m not sure. You have to recall that most of us had a lot of free time, and the Americans were helpful if you wanted some form of training. For the most part they were very accommodating, capable people, but crazy when it came to wasting resources. They didn’t give a fig if their government threw a lot of money out of the window.”

“Did it take a long time to learn to fly a helicopter?”

“Eight weeks, and it cost a hundred and fifty thousand kroner, I recall. And then of course you only got a PPL licence. Private, that is, not commercial.”

“You say that as a rule it was Danes who flew you to the DYE stations. How can that be?”

“Not just to the DYE stations, but everywhere. The reason was that the professional pilots didn’t care, and the Danes thought it was fun. The Americans simply signed in with their own names and let the Danes fly for them. But obviously only when they were quite sure that the newly trained pilots could manage the job. A helicopter like that costs an arm and a leg, and if something went wrong with an uncertified pilot behind the wheel, or the joystick or whatever it’s called, well, then Washington kicked up a fuss. It happened once up in Thule, and after that the flying rules were strictly observed for a few months, until the matter was forgotten.”

“Will you tell me how a visit to a DYE station was structured?”

“Well, there wasn’t much to it. I would count the stock of medicines and inspect the first-aid kits, and there was nothing to that. It could be done in an hour, if you hurried, and in two hours if you took it easy. What I remember best from the counting was that malaria pills were included in the inventory, because American bases all over the world had the same supplies no matter where they were. Once we made an urgent order for a shipment of new malaria pills and said the old ones had expired. You know, just for fun, to see what would happen.”

“And what did happen?”

“Nothing. Or to be more exact, we received a shipment from the US without protest. Four excellent lawnmowers also arrived once a year. They were much sought after and quickly distributed to good Danish homes.”

“Okay, but did you do anything on the DYE trips other than inspect the medicines? What about the men, were they checked?”

“No, only the medicines. The men you didn’t see, apart from the DYE leader. It was always an odd experience because everyone knew when we were coming, and I’ve been told it was a big day on the base. It broke the monotony, and remember it was the only woman they would see for months. All the men would take baths before we arrived, and then you felt them watching you from every conceivable hiding place as you were walking around; a head popping up here, a pair of eyes behind a crack there. The whole time you were observed and monitored, but never approached. Yes, it was really odd. If ever I happen to see a chipmunk on TV, I think about those men… their heads popping up all around and then disappearing again.”

“But you didn’t feel unsafe?”

“Not at all, there was no reason to.”

The car lurched briefly towards the hard shoulder as the nurse involuntarily tightened her grip on the wheel. She immediately corrected it.

“That is, I didn’t think there was any reason to. Ugh, this is unpleasant to think about! Will you tell me how Maryann died? They write so many horrible things in the newspapers, are they correct?”

“Yes, unfortunately, she was suffocated in a plastic bag.”

“That’s disgusting. And it could have been me.”

“It couldn’t have been. The killer supposedly went after a very distinct type of woman, and you don’t fit the profile. Can you recall who flew Maryann out to DYE-5, the day she disappeared?”

“Yes, I recall that very well because obviously that day stands out in my memory. We were all terribly upset when we heard that she was missing, because we knew full well what that could mean. As I said, it had happened before. And the helicopter pilot had to tell the story again and again, even if there wasn’t that much to tell. I mean, what was there to say? She was there and then she wasn’t. They searched for her in every direction and couldn’t find her. But he was all we had, and we went over that search again and again.”

“Was it just him and Maryann Nygaard who flew out there?”

“It must have been, yes, just those two. As I said, that was normal too.”

“Was he a Dane?”

“Yes, he was Danish.”

“What was his name?”

“Good Lord, is he the one who killed her?”

“We don’t know that, but I would really like to have his name. Can you remember what it was?”

“No, that’s difficult. I can remember his face, and also that he was an engineer and very handy with electronics, but his name… well, wait a minute. His real name I can’t remember, but he had a nickname like everyone else-Bundy or Blondie or something like that-no, no, now I have it: Pronto. It was Pronto. Maryann had a nickname too, I remember. We called her Polly because she had an irritating habit of repeating everything like a parrot, if you understand.”

“Sure. Can you tell me anything else about this Pronto?”

“I remember that he was unbelievably naive. It almost didn’t matter what you told him, he believed it, and sometimes he got teased. It was just too easy.”

“Do you remember any examples?”

The woman thought, but not for long.

“There was one time in the chow hall-that is what we called the mess-when in the fast-food line you could get one of those breaded, formed pieces of ham. It was three-cornered like the ears on a hog and rubbery besides, so we called them flap ears. They tasted very good, though. Well, there was also a soft ice cream machine, and someone told Pronto that flap ears with soft ice cream was an amazing dish that many people in America ate at Christmastime. He ate that steadily for a while. Even once during the evening meal, when he usually sat by himself, I saw him with a plate of ham and soft ice cream.”

“Was he unintelligent?”

“Not at all, just childish. He was actually fairly bright, as I recall. As I said he was a trained engineer, but he was simply the type that takes everything too literally and can’t imagine that others talk nonsense or perhaps flat out lie.”

“What was Pronto’s function at the base?”

The woman shook her head, she couldn’t remember.

Pauline Berg concluded, “So the helicopter pilot who flew Maryann Nygaard from the Søndre Strømfjord base to DYE-5 on September the thirteenth, 1983… that is, the day she disappeared… was known by the nickname Pronto?”

“Yes, that’s the way it was.”

“When was the last time you saw Pronto?”

“He went home a short time before me. It must have been in early 1984 because I went home in the middle of March. And I haven’t seen him since.”

“Where can I find someone who knows his real name?”

“That won’t be hard. Many of those who were at the base back then still see each other, it’s almost a kind of cult. I haven’t been involved for several years but there is a website, modnord.dk -and there you can see his real name because his nickname is in parentheses, I recall. There’s also a picture, if you’re interested. Oh, no, not again!”

She struck the steering wheel and slowed down the car. Ahead of them a handful of vehicles were lined up, and a motorcycle cop was waving them to the side of the road.

“It’s another random car check, and this is the second time this month.”

“Don’t stop, drive up alongside him.”

The woman obeyed. Pauline Berg got out and showed her badge while she put in a good word. After arranging a lift for herself, she went back to the nurse, who had rolled down the car window.

“Thanks a lot, you’ve been a big help. You can drive around.”

“I should thank you. I hope you find Maryann’s murderer. She did not deserve that fate.”

Pauline watched the car for a long time as it drove away. She should have said, No one deserved a fate like Maryann Nygaard’s.

Eight hours later Pauline Berg was in her bathtub, playing contentedly with the foam around her while the hot water washed away the hardships of the day. She had left the door standing open, and a smile broadened across her pretty face when she heard the front door to the house open and then close again. Without hurrying she let herself glide down in a carefully conceived tableau, her hair floating in a golden wreath around her and one arm dangling over the edge of the tub in a refined swoon. Millions of small bubbles covered her nakedness-like a coverlet of coquettish virtue, where only one well-formed knee suggested what was hidden below.

“Hi, Arne. Good thing you read the note. I’m not out of the bath yet. You’ll have to excuse me, there’s been a lot going on.”

She heard no answer and called again.

“Arne, what are you doing?”

Still silence. She straightened up and in the process destroyed her pose.

“Stop teasing me, it’s not funny. I don’t like it!” she called at top volume.

At the same time the light changed slightly in the corridor outside the bathroom. Then she heard the front door slam again. She started to feel anxious, until she heard his voice.

“Pauline, where are you? Is there something wrong?”

Suddenly he was standing in the doorway, and anger replaced panic.

“What are you doing? Why didn’t you answer? I was scared to death.”

“I forgot I’d left my toolbox in the car. Are you in the bath?”

The seductive prelude was spoiled, and Pauline made no attempt to revert to it.

“What does it look like?”

“I got your message. You did an amazing job today, and this is such a nice house. May I look around while you get ready?”

“Wait a little. Are those flowers for me?”

“That was the idea, as a housewarming gift.”

“They’re really beautiful, thank you. Would you mind setting them in the sink and putting a little water in the bottom? I’ll try to find a vase later in all the moving mess.”

He did as she asked. Then she told him to sit on the chair beside the bathtub. The house he could see later. She related her talk with the home care nurse in Roskilde and described the website where she had found the helicopter pilot.

“I’ve also cross-checked that he was the one who flew Maryann.”

“How could you do that?”

“The DYE-5 employee in the wheelchair, I found him at Østerbro. Strange man, almost impossible to get away from, but he was quite sure about it. At Roskilde Library I printed out twelve random faces and put the helicopter pilot in the middle, and the man in the wheelchair recognised him right away.”

“Brilliant, Pauline. They’ll be surprised tomorrow. I’m really happy for you. But you’re going to call Simon this evening, if you haven’t already done so.”

“Why is that?”

“Because that’s what you do when you’ve found out something important.”

“Okay.”

“By the way, I spoke with Greenland. They’ve found the remains of DYE-5 and you were completely right about the coordinates.”

“I’m good, aren’t I?”

He grinned.

“Do you happen to know how far it is between the two places?”

“I made it thirty-one kilometres,” Pauline told him.

“Thirty-one point three is what they got.”

“Greenland is welcome to those three hundred metres.”

She blew a puff of foam at him and slyly released the plug with one foot.