“No, I don’t think so. Only to someone who knows you.”
“And you do?”
The exam-taking pupil was back in one stroke. But only for a fleeting visit. Simonsen took the edge off his words by patting her kindly on the knee.
“Enough of that. Tell me how you felt when Per Clausen teased you about your age.”
Berg was bewildered. “How I felt?”
“Yes, how you felt.”
“Is it important?”
“Maybe, maybe not. Try to answer.”
She closed her eyes to recall the episode and therefore didn’t see her boss nod appreciatively.
“It wasn’t mean-spirited. He was looking at me almost as if we were friends. He wasn’t being snotty about it, if you get me.”
“I understand. What else?”
“It was the only time he really noticed me. He teased me, but in a nice way, as if he cared about me.”
“And you like him?”
She opened her eyes.
“Yes, I do. Can you please tell me what this is all about?”
“Later, later. How old are you again?”
“Twenty-eight.”
“Thank you. And now for my ceiling. How is your geometry?”
“Neither good nor bad, but I’m no mathematical genius.”
“That’s not necessary. If you look at the screw holes for the hooks that were holding the ropes, you’ll see that they have been placed with precision. Both in relation to the center of the room and in relation to each other. I’ve been pondering those holes for a while now and have arrived at the fact that the placement can be determined from the length and breadth of the ceiling panels. It’s not immediately obvious, but not so difficult either, once you’ve caught on to the idea. You don’t need measuring tape. You can manage it with some string, a pencil, and a thumb in the right place. It would be simpler, easier, and much more accurate.”
“I follow what you’re saying. Broadly speaking.”
“The details are not of much consequence. But do you know how the lines in the intersection between two circles looks like?”
“Yes, they are curved.”
“Exactly, and from the placement and dimensions of the arcs you can estimate where the centers of the two circles must be.”
Suddenly a light went on in Berg’s head and she saw it.
“A thumb. Do you mean prints?”
“Unfortunately not. The technicians have checked and there are none. I just want to know if the one who put in the hooks did so in the way that I would have done. You are said to be strong and flexible, is that right?”
She reacted by getting to her feet, adjusting her pants, and effortlessly stretching a leg over her head.
“That was a convincing answer. Martial arts? Gymnastics?”
“Ballet. Would you like to see a pirouette?”
“Another time. I didn’t know you could dance.”
“My mother had big plans for me. I was going to be a soloist with the Royal Ballet Company, nothing less would do. Thank goodness I didn’t make it past the entrance auditions because my arches were too weak, so my mother turned her attention over to my little sister instead and let me dance for pleasure instead of duty.”
Word upon word tumbled out; dance was Berg’s great passion. In the daily routine she did not belong to the division’s epicenter, and the fact that she was a part of Simonsen’s inner circle depended exclusively on her age, not her abilities. She was there to provide the younger generation’s perspective. Now she was enjoying telling her boss about herself, until she noticed his distant expression and it occurred to her that it might not be the time and place for her autobiography. Nonetheless, the monologue had loosened her tongue.
“You stopped listening a long time ago. Isn’t that so?”
It was correct. Simonsen was in his own world, far from physical aesthetics and symphonic choreography. In his thoughts he was trying to imagine what could drive a person to mutilate five human beings with a chainsaw and hang them naked in a school, of all places. Hate, mental illness, callousness, idealism? None of these fit well, each at best only a partial explanation.
She had to repeat her question before he replied.
“You’re not listening, are you?”
“More or less, but don’t make too much of it. When things are back to normal I would like to see you dance and hear your story. And then you will have my complete attention, I promise.”
He pointed at the ceiling.
“We’re going to go up and take a look at the two closest holes.”
It was clear that by “we” he meant “you.”
“You want to know if there are curved lines at each hole and which way the lines are pointing, correct?”
“Just as I described it to you, yes. But the school scaffolding has been removed for investigation, and although the technicians used a crane when they removed the bodies, they unfortunately took it with them.”
“So what are you thinking? I’m fit but my flying abilities are a bit rusty.”
Her cheeky remarks flew out without a second thought. Luckily for her, he smiled.
“Of course they are. But perhaps we could… do a little work with the ropes.”
They pulled the ropes out. Berg looked them up and down measuringly and agreed that he was right. As long as one was unconcerned with safety, it was not an impossible undertaking.
“But we can’t afford to fall down.”
“On the contrary, we can fall all we like, we just have to fall here.”
He pointed to a large blue foam mat that was propped up against a wall.
“Actually, that will be an order.”
She removed her socks and shoes while he maneuvered the foam mat into place, which she appreciated.
“I’m going to lose the pants as well, they’re too slippery for climbing.”
“You’ll do nothing of the sort. Go into one of the locker rooms and find a pair of gym shorts.”
“What if they don’t match my top?”
“Come on, off you go. We don’t have all day, and you’ve already wasted half of it with your ballet talk.”
She ran. And was happy.
Chapter 7
Stig Åge Thorsen sat in the cab of his tractor and tried in vain to control his thoughts. Two days ago he had returned home from a vacation, a twelve-day cruise in the Greek archipelago. The trip had turned into a catastrophe, and it haunted him however much he tried to push thoughts of it away. Unwelcome flashbacks, which he had no mastery over, flashed through his head. He let his gaze sweep mournfully over the autumn wooded landscape that crept down the hillside to the lakeshore and stood green, brown, and red-gold in the haze. The day was gray and the skies hung heavy with rain over the lake. It was somewhat chilly, with no hint of a breeze. His thoughts slid back to the cruise and he gave up trying to fight them. In Greece the fall had been warm, and the first day was calm…
He kept to himself, enjoyed the rhythmic thud of the engine, and spent hours at the railing as he watched the fishing villages along the coast slide by in clear pastel colors and a predictable dullness. The food was unfamiliar but good. They had bungled his name. Stig Åge Thorsen had become Thor Åge Stigsen, which gave him problems in the restaurant. He corrected the error but the next day they had forgotten about it and he had to explain himself again. Knossos was an experience, and there he met Maja, who was freckled and full of laughter. Her red hair blew in the wind as she walked on the deck, and she smiled when she tossed pieces of bread to the gulls that surrounded her in a screeching mass. She smiled at him and that was bad. Later he explained about phosphorescence and pointed out constellations. Maja was from Randers, she smiled again, and he moved a little farther away.
The ship called into Samos, where the guide told them about the Greek mathematicians Pythagoras, Euclid, and Archimedes, who could lift the Earth with the help of a lever. She drew diagrams in the gravel with a stick while the group formed a circle around her. He himself had no confidence in the principle, for when the rod slipped out of one’s small hands, Father’s chest was crushed under the car, but he did not say this. Instead he asked if Archimedes knew that the Earth was round. The guide rubbed out her sketch and then he was frozen out. Even Maja was irritated at him.