The Hanging

Chapter 63

Anni Staal was waiting for Konrad Simonsen.

Only a few minutes earlier, Anita had called and said that her earlier efforts had yielded results.

“The kilometer stone at City Hall Plaza at two o’clock, and Simonsen only has five minutes.”

Anita had hung up before Anni managed to get a word out, so she couldn’t do much other than go to the meeting, and privately she wondered whether she had misunderstood the message before she noticed the chief inspector heading her way. He looked exhausted and wasted no time with unnecessary pleasantries.

“I’m sorry about the location but I have an errand nearby and this is what I was able to think of in a hurry, but let’s skip all that. I hear you want an interview and a long one at that.”

Anni smiled, pleased. This was a promising beginning.

“Yes, I’d like that, and I hope that you will. We are useful to each other.”

“Maybe you are right, even though I admit that it took me a while before I saw the sense in this alliance. And I should clarify that I can’t stand your line of work in general and that I despise your treatment of my investigation in particular.”

She circumvented his disapproval with a short, cloying laugh and said, “But you have concluded that the police have an image problem?”

“That you have played a part in creating.”

“So it will be good to get your angle out there.”

“I guess so, but I have a few conditions and it is a take-it-or-leave-it situation. There will be no negotiating.”

“Let’s hear it.”

“I want a formal, legal document signed by both you and me, your editor in chief, and someone from the executive level, that says that you can’t publish a single line of the interview before I have read through it and given you my written permission. You may also not print any of the information that I will give you whether directly or indirectly, and if you do, it will cost you a five-million-kroner donation to the Red Cross.”

Anni did not have to reflect on his proposition very long before she said, “You don’t have much faith in us.”

“I think that the only thing you have respect for is money, especially money out of your own pocket.”

“You’ll have your document to your home address by courier by the end of the day.”

“That’s great, push it through the mail slot, I’ll be out. Tomorrow at ten at the Dagbladet?”

“What about at your home? That’s more private.”

“You are sick.”

“Not completely. If you want to reach the people you have to invite them to your home. That gives me a better opportunity to present you in a more human way-that is, not just brains but also heart. Believe me, I know what I’m talking about.”

Anni crossed her fingers. The thought was apparently appalling to him but her arguments had struck a chord. It took a long time before he answered.

“At my home, ten o’clock, no photographers.”

“Wonderful. Ten o’clock at your place, and the photographer will simply take a single picture of the two of us as we are talking and then he’ll leave. I swear on my mother’s grave.”

Simonsen waved his hand in an irritated gesture, which she took as his assent. They parted without warmth.

No one could accuse Anni Staal of resting on her laurels. The solo interview with Konrad Simonsen was an enormous triumph but back at the office she pushed the thought aside and the following hours she concentrated on the next day’s edition, rejecting a proposal for an article from her intern and paying her back for her lack of telephone manners earlier in the day. She smoothed a folded piece of paper on her desk.

“You can throw this away.”

Anita Dahlgren looked up furiously. The rejection did not come as a surprise. “Did you even read it? His forehead was carved up while he was unconscious.”

Anni Staal’s voice was cold and her choice of words more cynical and provocative than she actually felt. She’d had her interview now so there was no reason to thank the girl more.

“I don’t care if they cut his dick off. What you have written is not our line and you know that very well. It’s not what people want to read and, my sweet… it is not getting into print.”

Anita stood up and her voice was shrill. “I am not your sweet and you should pay better attention too. Things are not always as they appear. If it turns out that the motive of your poison pen is a little less noble than hanging pedophiles up as a deterrent-well then, this whole thing will blow up in your face. Just wait until your beloved people go looking for another scapegoat. I know at least one who will have to eat crow.”

Anni Staal stiffened but her warning bells were going off and several colleagues were watching. Even in a workplace where the language was direct and salty, her intern’s speech exceeded the acceptable limits. But it was not the insult that bothered the star journalist.

“What do you mean? Try to explain yourself.”

That was not something that Anita wanted to do. “I’m protecting my sources.” She took her bag and left.

Anni Staal kept working, but Anita’s comments proved difficult to shake off and it gnawed at her the rest of the day. For a while it bothered her so much that she seriously thought about contacting her police source even though she knew he would be furious. But it never went further than a thought because that evening he called of his own accord, with a message that felt like a déjà vu from the morning.

“The parking lot by the civic building in Nansensgade in half an hour and make sure you have some cash on you.”

She hardly had time to confirm before he hung up.

When she arrived, Arne Pedersen was dozing in his car. She got in and sat down next to him.

“Good evening, my little songbird. You’re out late. Are your personal finances squeezing you again?”

Her words stung and Pedersen thought that he hated her more than was reasonable.

“Hello, Anni. I wish you wouldn’t call me that. I find it embarrassing.”

She apologized, clear over the fact that she had made a mistake: “That wasn’t my intention, you’ll have to forgive me. But do tell… what do you have for me?”

“It’s going to cost you five thousand and you have to clear it with Simon before you print anything. My boss has started keeping his cards close to his chest. He doesn’t seem to trust anyone, even me, only Kasper Planck. It’s totally paranoid. This case is about to crack him and the mood at HS is at a new low.”

He thought that the description was not completely off. “Five thousand is a lot of money.”

“Maybe, but I’ll tell you what’s worth even more. Five vacation trips to Thailand at twenty-four thousand a pop, plus five times twenty thousand in pocket money, that’s only two hundred fifty thousand. Add to that three cash cards where the original owner was more than willing to share the pin codes when they got going with the chainsaw-another one hundred ten thousand. Furthermore, Frank Ditlevsen’s account in Zurich has been tapped for around two million, so the total sum is about two-point-three million, and these are only preliminary findings. New information is coming in all the time. I have account statements from two of the victims with me going back three weeks so that you can see for yourself. Remember that they died fourteen days ago and look closely at the dates from the last withdrawals, but then give the documents back to me. If you put this in the paper I’ll be nailed quicker than quick.”

Anni Staal looked through the bank statements. Her voice sounded excited when she was done.

“What does this mean?”

“It was a murder-heist.”

“What are you talking about? A heist?”

“Forget everything about a noble revenge and all the commotion, that’s just a blind alley and smoke. The motive was simply greed.”

“But that’s terrible. Are you sure?”

“No, only about eighty percent, but yes, that’s what I’m saying. You can try to have Simon confirm it but I can give you another piece of information for free. He is going to give you an interview. He told me just a little while ago.”

“He’s already been in touch. I’m going to meet him tomorrow morning.”

“Well then, that’s arranged. Do you also know that he’s going to Riga this weekend? The traffickers who were working with the hot-dog vendor are from the Baltic mafia, but he tried to double-cross them. The Latvian police nabbed one of them yesterday and I don’t think it’ll take them long to get him to talk. Their police methods are somewhat more robust than ours.”

Anni Staal frowned. She was far from stupid. “Why keep it secret?”

“Simon is quietly gathering evidence while everyone else thinks the motive is… shall we say, about sexual politics. Not even Helmer Hammer has been informed about this, I know that for sure. I think that Simon wants to give the country a lesson. Nothing less. Let the beast step in its own shit. That’s a direct quote. That’s what he told Kasper Planck the other day, but I didn’t get it when he first said it. I think I do now. And of course he wants to be one-hundred-percent sure before he goes public since our credibility is so low and half of the country believes that we’re concealing information about the victims being pedophiles.”

“But, but… I have a hundred questions. Per Clausen, the janitor, how does he fit in?”

Pedersen had been waiting for this question. He answered calmly, “He was a useful idiot but he finally understood the truth. At that point it was too late. The corpses were on the stretchers and the traffickers were gone. Why do you think he committed suicide?”

Anni Staal nodded grudgingly. “What about the hot-dog man? He killed his own brother?”

“They hated each other with all their hearts and were both equally emotionally stunted.”

“But then why did the hot-dog guy get killed? I mean… the whole business with the tree-what was that good for? Everyone’s been wondering about that.”

He smiled slyly and thought until his head hurt. It had been an oversight. “You may not be familiar with the Latvian proverb but those who are understand that message. A flower is bestowed upon the steadfast, the branch waylays the traitor. The original source comes from the Russian Orthodox tradition, but tell me-isn’t this worth five thousand?”

She didn’t answer at once. Tried thoughtfully to gather up the threads. Finally she said, “My goodness, heads are going to roll. Yes, it’s worth five thousand.”

Pedersen smiled quietly.