The man smiled briefly.
“That’s what I like about you police people. It’s harder to pull the wool over your eyes than it is with most people. But the rest of us can also put two and two together, and Bertil’s voice is simply not enough to go on. You must have something more or you wouldn’t be sitting here. Have you taken a close look at him?”
The Countess winced. The man was right, she did have something else, which she would have preferred to keep to herself.
“Bertil Hampel-Koch gave Maryann Nygaard his cap. Or I think he did anyway. He maintained that it was knitted by his mother, but the label inside referred to a little shop in Holte called Witch Knitting. The store was only in existence for a year and a half, from 1982 to 1983, and was run by three friends. Bertil Hampel-Koch’s wife was one of them.”
Her interlocutor’s eyes narrowed, but he did not comment on this statement. Instead he said, “It’s obvious that there are no foreign affairs implications in this case. Not in the slightest, and definitely not at Hampel-Koch’s level.”
“If I’m right, that opens up a whole range of interesting questions.”
“Well, maybe it does. One of them is what you yourself will achieve by turning over too many stones. This obviously has nothing to do with your murder investigation. Have you discussed your theory with Simon?”
She reacted to the name. He had called him by his nickname, which only his friends used.
"Do you know him personally? I didn't know that."
“Yes, a little, but you’re not answering me.”
“I haven’t told him anything, I only want to do that when I’m certain that Bertil Hampel-Koch really is the unknown Steen Hansen.”
“That’s probably where your theory falls down. If I recall correctly, in the early eighties Bertil was in the Ministry of Defence, and that actually fits very well with a trip to Thule, but he would never, ever use a false identity. You don’t do that in Slotsholmen, not twenty-five years ago and not today. Although…”
He drew out the word, and even if it was unnecessary, the Countess could not help pressing him.
“Although?”
“Although, at that time, Bertil was a bit of a fop, even an ass… a brilliantly talented ass. Since they polished off the rough edges, now he’s only brilliantly talented. It could be a personal initiative, with a bold line under could be. But that’s clearly what you are in the process of finding out for yourself, which brings me back to the question-what do you want to achieve? And what do you want me to help you with?”
The Countess felt put on the spot but forced herself to answer calmly.
“I don’t like it when powerful people like Bertil Hampel-Koch and Helmer Hammer play games and no one else really knows what’s going on. I’m afraid that the Homicide Division is getting caught up in some political game or other that we have no influence over.”
“Do you fear the implications for Simonsen?”
“Yes.”
“I think that the risk for him is far greater if you start muddying the waters and perhaps stir up things that don’t concern you. So the best advice I can give you is: drop it, and forget it.”
“Well, when you put it that way… But I’m not the only one interested in whether Hampel-Koch was in Greenland in 1983. When I called to make an appointment at Knud Rasmussen’s House to look through the Greenland pictures, it turned out that two journalists had tried the same thing yesterday.”
The Oracle’s eyes flashed, and his voice suddenly became sharp.
“From where?”
“That I don’t know.”
“I hope these journalists aren’t just figments of your imagination.”
She shook her head, but did not comment. The Oracle said hesitantly, “Perhaps you ought to know a little more about the State Department.”
“Please.”
“It ought really to be called the Ministry of Lost Causes. This is where all matters that can’t be resolved elsewhere end up, and there is no higher place to pass them on to. The buck stops here… that was a sign President Truman had on his desk, but it could just as well be written over the entrance to the State Department. The Ministry itself is small, with barely more than a hundred employees, but the majority are hand-picked from other ministries, and no one refuses a posting there if they are asked to join. It is considered something of a public duty. There are four divisions, namely foreign, administrative, economic, and climate. Helmer Hammer is head of the administrative division. He was appointed three months ago, after campaigning for the position for a long time. Which by the way makes him an under secretary and not, as you said before, chief administrative officer. He negotiates at the highest level in Slotsholmen. There are four under secretaries in all and they either receive their assignments direct from the Prime Minister or have certain knowledge that he wants a matter resolved in a particular way, but simply does not wish to be involved in it himself. Perhaps not even to hear about it. You should also know that Helmer Hammer’s daily work hours are unreasonably long, and for him weekends are a rarity. To put it briefly, he is unbelievably busy.”
The Countess tried to sum up their meeting.
“So the newly appointed under secretary does not show up at Police Headquarters simply because it is pleasant to meet Simonsen, or because a director in the Foreign Ministry had an old personal relationship? The latter naturally under the assumption that my supposition is correct.”
The Oracle did not answer directly but said, “There are two things that supercede any others in our bureaucracy. One is issues of security. The other is any threat to the prestige of the office of prime minister. And by that I mean not only the present prime minister’s prestige but that of all his predecessors, regardless of party.”
“That sort of thing could definitely get Helmer Hammer out of his chair?”
“I can promise you that.”
“And which of the two possibilities do you imagine-”
He interrupted her.
“I cannot know at the present time, but what I do know is that you should be extremely cautious in your handling of this case. I hope you’re clear about that. If you find the picture you’re looking for, then you will invite me to a discreet lunch one of these days and show it to me. If on the other hand you cannot prove that Bertil was in Greenland then the journalists presumably can’t either, and in that case you would do best to drop the matter.”
The Countess reacted almost instinctively to this warning.
“And why should I be so eager to protect Helmer Hammer?”
He held her gaze as he said, “Because otherwise you stand to lose more than you gain.”
She maintained eye contact as she told him, “There is another way to decide whether my theory is correct.”
“Which is?”
“Whoever the anonymous Steen Hansen was, he left behind an excellent DNA trace on the ice cap.”
The sentence hung in the air. It took a moment for it to sink in. When that finally happened, the man leaned across his desk and took hold of the Countess’s wrist. She winced at the touch, but did not withdraw her arm.
He said slowly, “Do not even think about that.”
CHAPTER 17
At first glance Konrad Simonsen seemed relaxed when he arrived at Hundested Harbour a good hour after he had spoken with Hans Svendsen. Arne Pedersen knew that it must have taken a major reorganisation of his workload for him to arrive so quickly. It was not difficult to imagine whose head would be on the line if the conversation with Rikke Barbara Hvidt did not bring any solid chunks of gold home to Copenhagen. Simonsen started by confirming Pedersen’s thoughts.