“Nothing at all for a good hour… hour and a half. The chancellor got her climate lesson, and the others minded their own business. Until she and the scientist suddenly started calling out because they had seen the corpse on the ice. So after a little discussion the pilot got the helicopter turned around and they flew back and found it here.”
“Did they land?”
“No, they just hovered in the air for a couple of minutes while the pilot reported the coordinates. Someone had the presence of mind to direct the journalists’ helicopter away from the scene before the representatives of the world’s press could slug it out for a photographic scoop. I mean, who’s going to cover a climate-change conference when there’s a juicy murder to write about instead? But they couldn’t contain the story completely. Word got out, after the group reached Nuuk, and a couple of photos taken from the security helicopter are in circulation. It’s front-page news all over Europe. Chancellor Sherlock Holmes-that’s Bild-Zeitung. The London Times’s lead article is a much more staid Chancellor Finds Murdered Girl. The Danish newspapers are featuring it big-time, and CNN has had the story as ‘breaking news’ since last night. Do you need any more on this?”
“No, for God’s sake, that’s more than enough.”
“Well, looks like… whoever he is… your colleague… was right. Now I’ve forgotten his name again, God help me-I have a thing about names, they get away from me. But he also said you probably wouldn’t be too enthusiastic about the coverage. Don’t you like the press?”
“If you mean in theory, then yes. I don’t especially care for crime reporters, though.”
“But the press made you famous, I understand.”
“Famous? Nonsense. I’m not famous.”
“Well known then.”
“That’s rubbish. I am neither well known nor famous.”
Simonsen stamped lightly on the ice to emphasise his words and almost toppled backwards when his foot slid out from under him.
“If you say so, but somehow or other you must have made yourself really unpopular in Germany, since it’s said the German Chancellor herself sentenced you to a spell in the freezer instead of letting you take your Caribbean holiday.”
Strangely enough Simonsen found he didn’t mind being teased by the Greenlander, maybe because the little man radiated so much friendliness once he had opened his mouth. And maybe because Simonsen secretly felt a little proud of the way his presence had been formally requested.
“All complete nonsense,” he asserted, unconvincingly.
They stood there in a silence broken only by stifled laughter from Egede. Simonsen decided it was time to change the subject.
“I understand you’ve had the opportunity to see the victim?”
“Yes, yesterday, as I said. We had to make sure of what we were dealing with, but I haven’t done anything out here other than look at her and then put up the barricade.”
He nodded over towards a circle of iron spikes hammered into the ice around the body. Red and white striped crime-scene tape had been wound between them.
“It took us about half an hour to get those in. The ice is like stone, and they are clearly unnecessary out here, but I had strict orders to cordon her off.”
“Is she a Greenlander?”
Egede’s cheerfulness vanished abruptly. “Why do you ask that? Does it make any difference?” he asked sharply.
“It’s a serious crime whatever her nationality. But that apart, it makes a world of difference when it comes to chains of command and jurisdiction. Besides, I have a hard time understanding how I can contribute to a case where a local woman from a community I don’t know has been killed.”
“She’s not a Greenlander, she’s Danish. And with respect to jurisdiction, that’s not something you need worry about. You can consider yourself the leader of this investigation. All parties to it are in agreement on that.”
“All parties? I didn’t know there were more than two.”
“Three. But as I said, there is no dissent as to leadership.”
“You’re saying the Americans are involved too?”
“I thought you wanted to wait for the details until you’d seen her.”
“Yes, well, with a little luck that will be soon. It looks as if they’ve passed the first phase.”
Simonsen took out his cigarettes again without really meaning to. Feeling guilty, he slid the pack back into his pocket unopened. Shortly afterwards a technician came over to them. She was Danish, and moved slowly and laboriously, taking infinite care over where she put her feet. Maybe she believed if she did not touch an old footprint in the snow she would win the lottery on Saturday. Simonsen did not recognise her.
“We’re just about done. If you’re going to wake up Arne Pedersen, it’s time. And be careful over there, it’s very slippery.”
She pointed towards the crime scene. Trond Egede nodded amiably, he would no doubt walk carefully. Simonsen thought that it was slippery everywhere, and ignored her.
CHAPTER 2
The woman in the shallow grave in the ice was on her knees. She was half-naked, dressed only in panties and an undershirt that was torn in front and pulled down below her bare breasts. Her ankles were tied together with duct tape and her wrists attached to her thighs with further tape. Her long, black hair was hanging loose and reached to the middle of her back. A plastic bag was pulled over her head and tightened around her neck in a knot. Behind the plastic a grotesquely gaping lipstick-red mouth and her wild wide-open eyes revealed that death had not come easily. Konrad Simonsen felt nauseated by the sight. She had an athletic build and was no more than twenty-five or so. Around her meltwater trickled and pooled in the bottom of the depression in the ice to which her knees and feet were still attached. To the right of her body were her clothes: trousers, jacket, and a cap artfully knitted in shades of blue, violet and green.
The three men took their time. Arne Pedersen and Simonsen moved around slowly, peering down at the woman whose face was more or less on a level with their feet. The Greenlandic constable remained standing. It was as if none of them wanted to break the silence and disturb the others’ concentration. The female technician had returned, leaving her three colleagues warming up in the plane. She stood a few steps away, shivering. At last she became impatient and asked, “Is there anything I can help with? Otherwise I’d really like to go back and have some coffee before we bring her up.”
The question was mostly aimed at Simonsen, but he seemed distracted so it was Pedersen who answered.
“The grave she’s lying in, is it naturally formed?”
“According to my Greenlandic colleague that’s not the case.”
“So it’s been cut down into the ice by someone?”
“According to my Greenlandic colleague that’s exactly the case.”
“Why has the grave melted?”
The woman was unsure.
“That I don’t know, I think it’s global warming.”
“But why here, where she is?”
The technician threw up her hands and shrugged; Trond Egede answered for her.
“There are a number of meltwater puddles in the area, although they’re not common round here. The ice is actually building up hereabouts, while by the coastline it’s decreasing. There is no obvious reason why she is kneeling in such a melt hole. It could just be chance. First she was buried, then the melt hole formed. If the technician says the grave is man-made, you can safely assume he’s correct. He knows what he’s talking about where ice is concerned.”
The woman nodded in agreement and added, “Exactly.”
Simonsen sent her back to the plane, ignoring Pedersen’s look of surprise and subsequent question.
“Why did you snap at her like that, Simon? There was no reason for it, and besides I wasn’t finished.”