The Deputy Commissioner asked them to be seated, offering coffee, tea or mineral water before affably introducing herself and Arne Pedersen. That done, she placed her uniform cap on the table in front of her and commenced the interview, thanking them with professional courtesy for coming and guaranteeing full respect for their religious sensibilities. Simonsen noted how she addressed the bishop almost exclusively, while Arne Pedersen focused intently on the priest. Moreover, she managed to imbue her words about co-operation and mutual respect with such sincerity as to raise her introduction far above the usual platitudes.
The bishop was by no means unmoved, and his first utterance, about wishing to help the police in their enquiries as far as it lay within their means to do so, certainly seemed genuine enough. Then, just as everyone thought the Deputy Commissioner would now hand over the stage to the main players, she began to talk about her holiday in Rome last spring. The bishop listened with interest, and before anyone could say time-wasting, the two superiors were chatting away about the Colosseum, the Spanish Steps and narrow, ochre-coloured streets, while their respective subordinates looked impatiently at the ceiling then at each other. Simonsen rested his head in his hands and swore it was the last time he would ever involve a jurist in a police interview.
Not until what seemed like twenty minutes later, when the Deputy Commissioner had filled them in on her grandchildren and the bishop had told her about his ordainment, both had waxed lyrical on the Sistine Chapel, and their involuntary audience had yawned, one surreptitiously, the other quite unabashedly, did Konrad Simonsen realise this was all collusion. From where he was sitting he saw how Arne Pedersen discreetly patted his boss on the thigh, of all places, underneath the table. It went without saying that no one on the force, and certainly not Arne Pedersen, was invested with the authority to fondle the Deputy Commissioner’s thigh, and Konrad Simonsen’s hitherto wearied demeanour was at once transformed into a broad and appreciative smile. The holiday recollections and exchange of personal chit-chat had all run according to a hidden agenda. Their small talk had in part undoubtedly established new group relations between chief and chief, minion and minion, just as it had served to erode the defence mechanisms the priest almost certainly had set on red alert from the outset. Being ready and bored at the same time is not a feasible combination.
The Deputy Commissioner rounded off with a few pleasantly uttered words, and then Arne Pedersen dropped a bombshelclass="underline"
‘Whose decision was it for Jørgen Kramer Nielsen to be cremated?’
His tone was sharp, offended almost, and he was addressing the bishop. The Deputy Commissioner, who had otherwise now leaned back into the role of expectant onlooker, interrupted in puzzled tones:
‘Cremated?’
She made it sound like he’d been stuffed and put on display, but was quick to beat a retreat.
‘I’m sorry, don’t mind me. Please go on.’
Arne Pedersen paused. Long enough for the first real question for the priest to be put to him by the bishop.
‘Yes, who decided that?’
The priest hesitated, and again Pedersen’s timing was impeccable. He cleared the table and dealt the cards anew.
‘Perhaps that’s the wrong place to start. Let’s get back to that later.’
He looked at the priest.
‘I’d like you in your own words to tell us as much about Jørgen Kramer Nielsen as you are able, in view of your being sworn to uphold the doctrine of confidentiality between priest and penitent.’
The priest was forthcoming. He had little to tell them that they were unaware of beforehand, but the picture they had of Kramer Nielsen being a loner was supported. As two people living in the same house, they got along together on friendly, polite terms, though their relationship went no further than that, and yet Konrad Simonsen was able to find answers to some of the questions he and Arne Pedersen had posed the day before. Most of them negative. For instance, as far as the priest knew, the postman enjoyed no further associations with anyone from his parish; the priest knew nothing about any plane crash; and the only person he recalled having paid a call on his upstairs neighbour had been a plumber. Apart from that, he had very occasionally got the impression there were two people in the upstairs flat, although… well, he wasn’t sure, by any means. One matter, however, was perhaps of interest. It concerned the deceased’s conversion to Catholicism. Arne Pedersen interrupted, sounding eager:
‘We’d like to hear about that.’
‘It was something Jørgen had been thinking about for a long time, certainly way before I knew him. I think what decided it for him in the end was my wanting to buy his house. There were others who were interested, too, and I’m sure I would have lost out had it been down to money alone. Not that he gave the place away, far from it, but then I’m sure you’ve already looked into that.’
Arne Pedersen confirmed:
‘Yes, we have, and it was all above board. With property prices at the time it wasn’t even that cheap.’
Konrad Simonsen smiled. Arne Pedersen was making it up.
‘But there were others who bid more than I was able to. All the interested parties were invited in turn to a short interview that took place at the post office, as it happens. Jørgen wanted to make sure he wasn’t going to end up sharing the house with someone he didn’t care for. As soon as he realised I was a priest, a Catholic priest, that is, he told me all about his wish to convert. I promised to help him as much as I could, naturally, if he felt the way he did, and at the same time I made it clear to him that the offer stood regardless of who he decided to sell the house to. I do think it was instrumental in his eventual choice, though.’
‘Do you know why he decided to move into the upstairs flat? Or why he wanted to sell at all?’
‘I do, yes. He told me he didn’t want to look after the garden any more.’
‘It’s not so big.’
‘No, but that’s what he said, and he sold up because his tenant on the first floor moved into sheltered accommodation. That was what did it.’
Simonsen thought it fitted well with Kramer Nielsen having set up his mirrored loft nine years ago, if that’s what all the window spray was for on his receipts from Netto. But some of the posters of the girl probably dated from a considerable time before.
Arne Pedersen pressed on.
‘So converting was something Jørgen Kramer Nielsen had been considering for a long time?’
‘Yes, a very long time indeed.’
‘Why?’
‘I can’t answer that.’
‘Because you don’t know?’
‘I can’t answer that.’
Both servants of the Lord shook their heads with regret, and Simonsen noted that can’t answer that in the second instance obviously meant no. Pedersen rounded off the first act with a short summary, and the priest confirmed its accuracy. Again, Pedersen gave the Deputy Commissioner an unseen nudge under the table, then went on:
‘That was the more general stuff. Now…’
The Deputy Commissioner cut in:
‘Wait a minute, you said you were going to tell us who decided Kramer Nielsen was to be cremated.’
Once again, it was the bishop she addressed. Konrad Simonsen was enjoying the way things were developing. What began with a question about who had decided on cremation was now presented as a promise of an answer with the man under fire being the bishop, who knew nothing about the matter.
‘That’s right, I did. Why did we choose cremation, exactly?’
The priest replied, after a moment’s thought:
‘The decision was mine. It was Jørgen Kramer Nielsen’s wish to be cremated.’
There was a heavy pause, before the bishop asked:
‘Is that what he told you?’