“Yes, I do. But it is a matter of principle.”
“Maybe you have the wrong principles.”
She got up and walked over to one of the windows as he gingerly, almost devoutly turned the pages of his book.
“I’m taking a bath. In the meantime you can figure out what we should do today.”
“Yes, yes, that’s fine.”
She had to call him twice before he stirred, and he did not notice that the mood had changed again. He was too far gone in his game of chess.
“Is your cell phone turned on?”
“No. The agreement was that the outside world should be excluded, I think you will recall. Why do you ask?”
He got up with a last long look at a game in the book, then stared out the windows and let his gaze wander along the horizon. The undulating-dune landscape unfolded before him like irregular windswept hills, a shining white where the sun hit them, inky gray and dark on the other side, some invaded by rugosa rose, others anchored by wild rye. In the distance he could see the North Sea with its glittering white-crested waves and above that a flock of wild geese flying south along the coastline. Suddenly he became aware of Anna Mia’s arm around him, and her head heavy against his back. A feeling of shyness and awe overcame him, as if her youthfulness was something sacred. But he remained as he was and after a few seconds of eternity she said softly, “They’re coming to pick you up, Dad.”
Only then did he see it. A disturbingly foreign body slowly snaking its way up along the twisty dune road: a police car.
Chapter 3
Some four hours later, Simonsen found himself at Langbæk School in Bagsværd, staring out at the rain that was falling, bleak and silent. A canine unit was working in the bushes behind the playground. The police officer directed the dog with hand signals and shouted commands, occasionally bringing it back to be petted and praised. A young woman with a plastic bag wrapped around her head as a makeshift scarf walked up to the officer and for a while she watched the officer’s gestures before a gust of wind splattered the window with water and greatly reduced the visibility. He turned his gaze back to the corridor. The colors on the wall were bare and dirty, alternating between various shades of yellow. The linoleum floor was pockmarked and looked like an obstacle course. Somewhat-successful artistic creations hung scattered about. The nearest one employed a preponderance of wire and very dusty soda cans.
He made a gesture of futility. “Dammit, Countess.”
The words were intended for the woman behind him, who was talking on a cell phone, and they were said without anger, simply to point out the absurdity of having been transported across the country like an express delivery, only to end up standing around staring out into the dreary October weather. Without knowing much about the investigation, he was expected to take charge, and yet he hadn’t the faintest idea where he should go next.
The woman reacted to his outburst, placing one hand over the phone.
“Hello, Simon, sorry about your vacation, but at least you got a couple of days. I hope Anna Mia wasn’t too upset. Arne will be here in one second, he’ll brief you.” She smiled and returned to her call before he was able to answer. He returned her smile without really wanting to, and thought to himself that she had fine teeth. He let his stomach relax and looked out the window again, where the view was still depressing. The Countess’s conversation went on and on, which he took as a discomfiting sign that the homicide unit would be in excellent shape to continue without its current chief when the day came.
And yet, perhaps not. Simonsen had been half following the conversation-which he pressumed was with one of the forensic specialists-and suddenly he was struck with the thought that something wasn’t right. A slightly elevated tone of voice and questions in which there was a certain discrepancy between the level of detail and the time gave her away. When she launched into a question almost identical to one she had already asked, he grabbed her by the arm in which she held the phone and pulled gently. She hung up without saying goodbye.
“When did you last have something to eat?”
“I don’t know; a while ago. What time is it?”
He was very familiar with this condition and also knew that it was temporary. From time to time, all investigators encountered things that were difficult to deal with and that got under their skin. Unpleasant images that became fixed in the back of the head and could not be erased. This was clearly one of those times for her. He himself found it hardest when the victims were children, but that was something he had in common with most police officers, and he had not yet been inside the gymnasium. He halted his train of thought and came back to the present.
“Drive into town and get yourself something to eat. Be back here in an hour.”
“I’m not hungry.”
“That’s an order, Countess. And turn off your phone.”
She nodded, as if she understood. But he saw in her eyes that she did not. Normally she was the personification of stability. She was the one who pulled back when everyone else was driving off the cliff. She turned around and the dim daylight fell onto her face. And he saw that her face had the same ashen tint as her hair.
“It’s horrible, Simon. I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything like it.”
“No, I don’t suppose either of us has.”
“Arne and I peeked in from the door and… ugh, it was awful.”
“I’m sure it was. Now off you go. I have other things to do than worry myself about you.”
He accompanied his comment with a smile to take the edge off his words. She appeared not to notice it. She remained where she was and he wondered if he should embrace her or simply place a hand on her shoulder. But he did neither; he wasn’t good at that sort of thing.
Finally she said, “I’ll be fine in a bit.”
“I know you will. See you.”
And then she left.
The special-education clinic had been temporarily transformed into an investigation hub. There were two bookcases whose contents had been emptied onto the windowsill, and on the table in the middle of the room was a stack of paper as well as a box of pencils. A whiteboard stood in front of the dark green chalkboard, so that explanations could be given in marker rather than chalk, and a map of the school had been hung on one wall of the room. It had clearly been posted in haste, and the result was sadly haphazard.
Simonsen studied the plan with a tilted head, while Arne Pedersen used the time to wipe off his chair. His pants were already stained in two places and he did not wish to make matters worse.
“How was your trip?”
“Unpleasant.”
“What about the vacation house? Can you get a refund?”
“Unlikely.”
The chairs, which had seen better days, creaked alarmingly when the two men sat down.
Simonsen rested his elbows on the table and asked curtly, “How are you doing?”
Pedersen was not unsettled by the question, which was a good sign.
“Better, but it wasn’t easy in the beginning. I broke down twice, and I haven’t done that in years. On the whole, that is. Not once-or twice-for that matter.”
“But you’re okay now?”
“Usually it’s just children-well, you know.”
“Arne, answer my question. Are you okay now?”
Pedersen gazed back at him steadily.
“Yes, I’m fine now.”
“Good. Then give me an update on chronology, resources, and status.”
This came out sounding more abrupt and imperious than he had intended but his irritation at the wait was still with him and he wanted to get straight to the facts. His words were promptly obeyed. Pedersen went through the events exactingly, starting with the Turkish mother who had dropped her kids off at 6:15 A.M. by the bicycle shed to the right of the school entrance.
He went on. “It was the first day after fall break and the school was already unlocked. The children went to their respective classrooms and hung up their coats, after which they met by the gymnasium in building B in order to play soccer. Inside, they discovered five bodies. The big sister searched in vain for an adult but did not find one. She called 911 from the teachers’ lounge and was transferred to the Gladsaxe police station. The call was clocked at six forty-one. The officer on duty… excuse me…”