“I hear you, but there is one thing. That is, I know you need to get back to the meeting-”
“Out with it then, they will wait for me.”
“It’s Pauline. Well, I’m sure you’ve noticed that she resembles… them. She mustn’t meet him.”
Simonsen had noticed the resemblance and was well aware that it was the topic of lively discussion in the whole Homicide Division, without anyone seeming to comment that Pauline Berg was also light-haired and blue-eyed-not insignificant in connection to this case. The talk irritated him. He would never dream of playing roulette with a co-worker’s safety, but it was obvious that if Andreas Falkenborg had not been quite so particular during his whole life over his choice of victims, they would have found two dozen and not two dead women in his wake. Or three, if they were counting Annie Lindberg Hansson, which they probably should. Jeanette, Rikke Barbara Hvidt’s grand-daughter, would of course be kept at least ten kilometres away from Andreas Falkenborg, but Pauline Berg… that was simply an over-reaction. On top of that, Simonsen was not the least bit interested in hearing about Pedersen and Berg’s relationship, if they even had one at the moment. On the other hand he had not intended to use Pauline in an interrogation situation anyway, she was still far too inexperienced for that.
“You would prefer that I keep them separated when we confront Falkenborg, is that it?”
“I’ve been imagining all kinds of things, even during the day, and her house is very isolated. It’s right next to the forest, so unless we can spare ten men-”
Simonsen interrupted.
“Stop this nonsense, Arne. If it makes you happy, of course I can keep Pauline away from him. Now let’s get you home!”
But Pedersen did not stop. Suddenly it poured out of him. About Pauline, thrashing around when the oxygen in the bag was used up. About her clown-like red lips, stuck to the plastic. And about evil Pharaoh eyes that delighted in witnessing her death struggle.
When it finally dawned on Pedersen that his wish to separate her from Andreas Falkenborg was actually granted, he collapsed like a punctured balloon. Simonsen decided to drive him home himself.
In the car Pedersen fell asleep.
CHAPTER 22
Retired crane operator Olav Petersen killed his wife at the age of eighty-six by striking her repeatedly on the head with a pipe wrench. The murder happened in the winter of 1962 in Vesterbro in Copenhagen and was quickly cleared up. According to the killer, the victim had tormented him for most of his life, and he could not bear the thought of dying before her. At the time of the murder the old man was terminally ill, and he passed away peacefully two weeks later at Copenhagen Municipal Hospital. He was never brought to trial. In many ways Olav Petersen had committed the perfect murder.
The case folder concerning the murder was both comprehensive and thin. In any event, immediately after his death the case was closed. But as the years passed, the file grew, and in time became two. The name of whoever first had the idea of lodging sensitive or controversial documents from other closed cases inside the file dedicated to poor crane operator Petersen, was lost in the mists of oblivion. Only the initiated knew about the procedure: the annotation with a number beside it in a case folder meant that there was further information to be had in “Petersen”.
Pauline Berg felt proud to have the two Petersen case folders on her desk. She had slipped out of the meeting about Andreas Falkenborg’s psychological profile, right after Simonsen and Pedersen left, as she knew from experience that when her boss said ten minutes that was usually a very relative concept. Poul Troulsen got to entertain the psychologist in the meantime, which was a little annoying, but work came before pleasure, especially when the work was as exciting as this. She looked up and found note 57, a plastic sleeve with a numbered, bottle-green label in the lower right-hand corner. It contained a picture of a young woman and a three-page report, dated 23 August, 1998. She did not look at the other papers. That was an unwritten rule that Konrad Simonsen had carefully impressed on her, and which she intended to observe. She read and formed an overview of the contents of the plastic sleeve only.
In the early 1980s Pastor Mie Andreasen established the Christian congregation Lilies of the Field as a branch in Copenhagen of the Universal Fellowship of Metropolitan Community Churches. The congregation was based on God’s love for all people, including gays and lesbians. This tolerance was in glaring contrast to what Catherine Thomsen had been brought up to believe, namely that homosexuality was a serious sin against God. Nothing less. Twice Catherine had visited Mie Andreasen to seek consolation. The first time was in November 1996, the second time a month later. In July of 1998 Mie Andreasen came home from a long-term stay in Holland. When she heard about Catherine Thomsen’s fate, she contacted the Homicide Division.
The dialogue between the young woman and the minister had in the nature of things been of a religious character and was therefore of no real value to the investigation. But through the conversations Mie Andreasen learned that Catherine Thomsen was in a secret relationship with a woman her age, with whom she was in love, and that the love was reciprocated. Sexually, however, Catherine Thomsen did not dare move beyond the kissing stage. She was afraid of her God.
Without hurrying, Pauline Berg read through the report again to see whether she had taken in everything. Disappointingly enough that was the case. She had expected something more, something sensational even. A little disappointed, she concentrated on the picture. It showed the face of a woman in her early twenties with plump cheeks, layered, short blonde hair, and a small but obvious scar on her forehead above the right eye. There was no text with the portrait, but it was not hard to figure out who it depicted. So Pauline wrote a note to Malte Borup about electronically enhancing the photograph to make the woman ten years older, and emailing her the result. Before the weekend.
CHAPTER 23
The meeting with the profiler resumed when, a good hour later than promised, Konrad Simonsen again took his seat at the conference table. The episode with Arne Pedersen had lowered his spirits. Not so much the incident itself-Pedersen would get a good night’s sleep now, there was little doubt about that-but more as a result of his reflections on his colleagues and himself. The truth was that the male part of his inner circle, Simonsen included, was a sorry collection of wimps. Poul Troulsen was on the verge of retirement, Pedersen was bedevilled by compulsive thoughts due to a relationship he couldn’t handle, and Simonsen himself-well, what was there to say really? Perhaps he should be thinking about applying for a pre-retirement position, somewhere he could wind down gradually while letting the younger men take over the big investigations. One thing was certain: if he were to remain in the saddle, he needed a colleague among his small circle of assistants with some strength in him, one who could kick down a few doors without getting out of breath.
Simonsen concentrated on the meeting and summarised the previous findings as he turned to the psychologist.
“You rejected grouping Andreas Falkenborg among the thrill killer, lust killer and power seeker groups of serial murderers. When I left, you were going to review other possible groups.”
The psychologist continued his review, as if the interruption had lasted only a few moments and not over an hour. Berg and Troulsen also acted as if this type of break in their meetings was normal. No one asked about Pedersen.
“A possible grouping is gain killers-that is, serial murderers who achieve material goods or financial gain by their murders. But we can rule this out. Then there are two relatively synonymous groups, namely visionaries and missionaries. The first group is guided by voices or thinks that in some other way they are directed from outside, for example through a spirit who has possessed the neighbour’s dog, to take a specific example. The second group sees it as their mission in life to free the world from a particular type of person, whom they consider to be a danger. Here there are actually some slight points of resemblance with Andreas Falkenborg. The ghost’s mask could fit into that pattern, and also his victims’ marked external similarity, but serial killers in both these groups are almost always psychotic or schizophrenic, and that does not apply in his case. In addition they are seldom organised to such an extreme degree as he is, and-this is the most significant point-as a rule they are of low intelligence, with an IQ between ninety and one hundred. Falkenborg’s intelligence quotient is significantly higher.”