The last was addressed to the Countess, who had sat down. She smiled a little too sweetly.
“No, I’ll wait another five minutes. This I really want to hear.”
Pauline Berg pointed accusingly at her boss and challenged him straight out.
“You know the Stevns case like the back of your hand, and in your handwriting in the margin of one of the interview reports on Carl Henning Thomsen it says: Use the dyke angle. Also in your review on Monday you talked about a dawning lesbian relationship. But now I’ve trawled through the case twice, and I cannot find any other reference to Catherine Thomsen having a girlfriend. It’s a mystery to me how you even know she was a lesbian. It doesn’t say that anywhere. Or dawning lesbian, whatever that means.”
Pauline could hear for herself that this had come out in a jumble, but Simonsen said soothingly, “Maybe you should sit down and start from the beginning.”
So she did that. Andreas Falkenborg’s name and picture had been presented to all the witnesses in the Stevns case. It had been a big job that was finished in record time. But the result was negative. Not a single person among the many involved in the case had identified him positively. During the process Pauline had discovered that Catherine Thomsen’s alleged lover was so to speak missing from the case. Her name appeared nowhere, which irked Pauline as the girlfriend had to be an important witness. The more she read the case notes, the more she wondered. The girlfriend was a complete blank apart from that fleeting reference in Simonsen’s disrespectful margin note. And it didn’t make sense. Catherine Thomsen could not be a lesbian, dawning or otherwise, without the presence of a girlfriend somewhere or other.
Simonsen listened to Pauline’s objections without interrupting. When she was finished, he explained what had happened.
“We got the information very late in the process. Two to three weeks before Carl Henning Thomsen committed suicide. Who the girlfriend was we never managed to find out, but that she existed is certain. Probably we should have made more of an effort to trace and interview her. But by then, as you know, we were convinced that we had the right murderer.”
“How did you find out about her?”
“Have you ever heard of a church called Lilies of the Field?”
“No.”
“We received a letter from a minister there. Catherine Thomsen had sought her out in complete confidence, torn between her religion and her sexuality. Lilies of the Field specialises in counselling people undergoing crises of faith. I recall that we went through our photo material from Catherine Thomsen’s burial, this time with a focus on younger female participants, and there was actually one woman we never managed to identify. We prepared a report-”
“There is no such report.”
Pauline Berg had dared to interrupt her boss.
“Shut your mouth, Pauline, and listen. We prepared a report, but when Carl Henning Thomsen died, and the case was closed, I believe my predecessor moved it over into the Petersen file because the minister had breached her promise of secrecy. Which she felt very bad about, even though Catherine Thomsen was dead.”
“The Petersen file?”
He looked encouragingly at the Countess, who however shook her head slightly. There wasn’t time.
“I’ll tell you about it if you call me in fifteen minutes. I have to go now, but I think you should continue to follow the track you’re on,” Simonsen told Pauline.
CHAPTER 16
The man must be close to retirement age. The Countess observed him without making any secret of her interest. He was on the chubby side, with warm-looking eyes and a friendly manner. He wore an old-fashioned charcoal grey three-piece suit, and had trimmed his moustache and exuberant sideburns so that they were neatly restrained. He could probably best be described as sober-looking. Calm and considered would also apply.
For over ten years he had been chief administrative officer in the Ministry of Finance with a brilliant career behind him and in all likelihood an even more spectacular one to look forward to. Then suddenly, from one day to the next, the stress of the job broke him. It was all very unpleasant, mainly for him but also for his colleagues. If someone like him could be so badly affected, one day they might be the ones who went down. After his convalescence it was clear that reinstatement at the Ministry was out of the question, after which a job was found-or rather, created-for him in the National Bank.
Here he sat now in the coin department, officially called the Royal Mint, with an address in Brøndby. His workplace was on Købmagergade, however, at Marskalgården, an eighteenth-century Baroque palace, and if you wanted to you could visit the Post & Tele Museum on your way up. His coin-related duties were manageable to say the least, so for most of his working day he did as he pleased, which was mainly to advise any colleagues or associates in need of a little insider guidance to the highways and byways of Slotsholmen. His knowledge was considerable, and his good advice to anyone and everyone who passed by his little garret office correspondingly insightful. He was called the Oracle from Købmagergade in bureaucratese, and there were more than a few who in the course of time had discreetly consulted him. High and low, student assistants, department heads, they all came here. Even cabinet members occasionally.
The Countess had been interrupted in her introduction by her cell phone, which she had forgotten to turn off. She quickly ended the call and apologised.
“You’ll have to excuse me, but that was my boss.”
“Your boss, your lodger, your lover… a dear child has many names.”
His voice was slow and characterised by an oddly displaced phrasing, as if his words and sentences were not coordinated. She concealed her surprise with a brief laugh and said, “As usual you are exceptionally well informed. Well, where was I?”
“Telling me that Helmer Hammer visited your lodger at Police Headquarters, half an hour after Bertil Hampel-Koch left you in anger.”
The Countess reported further on how Konrad Simonsen now summarised the murder case in daily emails to the general director of the Foreign Ministry. When she was done, she paused; her host noticed her hesitation and said quietly, “These are very influential people you’re talking about. If I’m going to help you, it’s a good idea to tell me the whole story.”
His argument was irrefutable; she pressed on.
“I believe that Bertil Hampel-Koch was in Greenland in 1983 and impregnated the girl who was later murdered on the ice cap.”
He gave himself time to digest the statement then said neutrally, “That is a theory of a quality I don’t hear every day. Now you’ve made me curious. But if you think he killed that girl, you’re mistaken.”
“No, he hasn’t killed anyone, I know that perfectly well. Besides I’m still not sure about the other thing. As I said, it’s just something I believe.”
“Do tell.”
The Countess told him about the conversation with Allinna Holmsgaard and then about her theory.
“When the professor told about Steen Hansen’s voice, or more exactly Maryann Nygaard’s unknown lover’s voice, it struck me that I had heard a voice like that recently, namely Hampel-Koch’s. Obviously it’s all speculative, but the connection between the director and Chief Administrative Officer Helmer Hammer made me think, not to mention Hammer’s peculiar interest recently in Homicide Division cases… Yes, it makes more and more sense, the longer I think about it.”
The man asked curtly, “You don’t think their involvement makes sense otherwise?”
“First Bertil Hampel-Koch almost forces his way into our investigation, by citing international complications between the Americans, Greenlanders and even the Germans. Then he stalks out of the first meeting he attends, after which Helmer Hammer shows up faster than you can say agreed in advance. I refuse to believe that the realm has a top executive in the Foreign Ministry who behaves so impulsively, not to say foolishly.”