Simonsen took the envelope and expressed his thanks.
The man continued, “And then there’s this one, which reminds me that your guest from the Dagbladet is running late. She’s got problems with her photographer. He overslept so she hasn’t left home yet.” He held out the phone.
Simonsen said, “Seems like your technical tricks are working.”
“Of course they are. It is easier than you would think, as long as you have the right knowledge and access. And it is easy to use. It rings every time her cell phone makes a connection with another phone, regardless of who is contacting whom, and then you pick it up and listen in on the conversation. She or the one she is talking to can’t hear you and when the call is over or if you don’t want to hear any more you just hang up. But you can’t use it as a real phone. It simply won’t work.”
“Is there any risk of you being found out?”
“Not on my end. In that case I would find myself. In terms of risk, you are the weak link so when you’re done I’ll get this contraption.”
Simonsen grinned. “Of course, it would make my work much easier to have a thing like that around.”
The man answered dryly, “Come on, you’ve got to think big. It would be much smarter to insert a citizen’s chip into all of us so the state could keep an eye on us.”
Despite the exaggeration, his words emphasized the path they were embarking on and neither one of them made any further comment.
At that moment, Anni Staal’s copy phone rang and the man held it out to Simonsen, who carried off his debut with aplomb. He listened and an unfamiliar concern for decency made him turn his back to his guest. It was a short call. The photographer had been replaced by a healthier one and the reporter was now on her way.
Simonsen’s initial interactions with the Dagbladet crime reporter, Anni Staal, were marked by palpable tension. The photographer quickly went about his task, then took his leave. The two antagonists were left behind, feeling somewhat self-conscious. But it soon turned out that they found many of the same topics of interest-albeit from their own points of view-and the first quarter of an hour was spent in chitchat. The strained atmosphere gave way to a kind of guarded amiability and from time to time they even found themselves smiling.
Then they got to work. Anni Staal suggested a dialogue divided into two parts.
“We’ll start with gathering material for your profile. I ask, you answer, and later I write up the whole thing. Afterward we’ll do a classic interview about your current homicide case and I’ll quote you directly and without editing.”
Simonsen agreed and the following hour they spoke freely about him and his work. Her questions were informed by a substantial insight into his work, and even though her focus was banal and gossipy, her professionalism demanded respect, just as her knowledge of individual cases was impressive. Simonsen never relaxed, however: in part he had his own secret agenda to pursue and in part he sensed that behind her friendly facade he was continually being put to the test.
There were only two times that her questions made him uncomfortable.
“You sometimes employ parapsychological consultants. Do you believe in ghosts and poltergeists?”
The subject was a mine field but he managed to get through it more or less unscathed. He discussed the use of clairvoyants in a sober and balanced way, providing a couple of general examples of where their assistance had been helpful.
The second topic that made him sit up was when they touched on his relationship to the media.
“In media circles you are known as being arrogant and uncooperative. Always dismissive and often coarse. Why is that?”
Instead of launching into a long explanation of his view of crime, entertainment, newspaper sales, and audience numbers, he frankly confessed, “That is one of my weaknesses. I’m a better investigator than communications officer.”
And then there was no more meat on that bone.
Suddenly there was an incident that could have been fatal. Anni Staal’s cell phone rang; she apologized and picked up. Shortly thereafter, the copy phone on the windowsill rang, echoing its master. He hurriedly turned it off. Anni Staal had not noticed anything, and when she was ready he had been out to the kitchen and regrouped. He finished the sentence he had been in the middle of before the interruption.
“But, as I said, a couple of times a sloppy investigation will lead to prosecution and conviction while a skillfully conducted one won’t. You learn to accept it or quickly forget that the work is unfair. And in a while you’ll get fresh coffee.”
Anni Staal nodded thoughtfully. “That sounds good. I for one need to cut back, of course. I have about twenty cups a day. Well, this went wonderfully. I think I have enough now. Is there anything you’d like to add? Or is there anything you think is missing?”
“I don’t want you to give the name of my daughter and ideally I’d like you to leave her out altogether.”
Anni Staal nodded, stuck out her hand, and stopped her tape recording.
“I can understand that, all things considered. All right, I’ll drop her.”
He took a Piratos from a bowl and let it swirl around in his mouth. Then he snarled, “You can never know what kind of perverted animals are on the loose out there.”
“Excuse me, what was that?”
The words had leaped out of his mouth. He cleared his throat and started over: “It was nothing. Thank you for leaving out my daughter.”
“You’re welcome, but it’s not much to thank me for. You’re the one who’s done all the work.”
He smiled, with more confidence than he really felt. “I guess.”
“Let’s go on to the current case-that is, your high-profile murder case. As I said, I imagine that it will be handled as a normal interview, that is to say with your answers to my questions. Direct quotes.”
“And as I said, that’s fine with me.”
“Smashing, then we’re in agreement on this point. I’ll switch tapes.”
She found a new tape in her bag and removed the plastic film. Normally she used her digital recorder for her interviews but a tape recorder afforded more natural pauses, and that was what she needed. She wrote a couple of lines on the cardboard container before she inserted the tape. Then she explained, “I’m using a good old-fashioned tape recorder today. My digital wonder is scratched up to the point that none of the IT folks can repair it.”
“I know that well. Most of my people prefer the old tape recorders to the unreliable digital versions.”
Simonsen’s tone was conversational, as was hers, but inside he felt his tension increase and he leaned back in the sofa with an assumed calm. In his thoughts he had spent considerable time rehearsing how he would approach various things. Especially in relation to the financial motives for the pedophile murders that had been planted with her. And what he should do if she didn’t even bring it up. Finally he had tried to push the thoughts away, which was easier said than done since they went around in circles without generating anything fruitful.
But perhaps it was because he had twisted and turned every hypothesis countless times that he managed her initial, seemingly innocent questions with ease. It started casually, before she had even turned on the tape recorder, but when he later thought back on it he was in no doubt that the questions had been carefully formulated and that his answers were far from inconsequential
“Tell me, was it your idea to agree to an interview with me?”
She had landed on the greatest illogical crack in Kasper Planck’s scheme. If he knew that the motive to the crime was money and that everyone else-specifically the tabloid press, which he hated-was chasing in the wrong direction, he had no reason to improve his relationship to the public and particularly not with her. In fact it would have been smarter to let the Dagbladet lie in its bed until his prosecutor could raise a couple of solid charges of burglary-murder.