The Hanging: A Thriller (34 page)

Troulsen said gravely, “You won’t be able to go to work today. I have to take you in to the police headquarters in Copenhagen.”

Emilie Mosberg Floyd realized immediately that she had no choice.

“I guess so.” She nodded thoughtfully and repeated, “I guess so.”

Troulsen could not have agreed more.

CHAPTER 53

Anita Dahlgren sat in the cafeteria at the
Dagbladet
. She was alone at her table, which was just as well because one of the many unwritten rules of the paper forbade cell phone conversations at lunch, and she was breaking that law. On the other hand, a higher authority mandated that employees get good news, so the dinner invitation she had just received from Kasper Planck compensated for her lawbreaking, she decided. At any rate, she ignored the irritated glances of her colleagues. The invitation was a surprise and at first she was both happy and flattered. But this delight wilted somewhat in light of the matters she discussed next.

“So are you telling me that I should buy the groceries myself and make the meal?” She listened. The old man’s rudeness was outrageous. “Tell me why I’m not hanging up on you. I don’t understand it myself.”

A colleague at a nearby table shouted that it seemed like a really good idea. At the same time, Anni Staal appeared and sat down across from her, as if materializing out of thin air. It was an amazing feat given what she was carrying. In one hand she was expertly holding two bottles of beer with glasses set upside down over the top. Without interrupting, she pushed one beer across the table.

Anita wrapped things up: “Yes, I do know that you’re a weak old man, but … and … I’ll do what you say. I’ll see you tomorrow at five.”

The conversation was impossible with her boss sitting one meter away, which was why she capitulated—two minutes before it would probably have happened anyway. She aggressively turned her attention to Anni. Whatever was outwardly lost had to be conquered internally.

“I don’t drink beer at this time of day. What do you want? I’m on break.”

Anni smiled ironically. “I actually don’t either.”

“Then why did you buy them, for God’s sake?”

“Because this is personal, and because we are Danish. We don’t talk about personal things without beer, do we?”

Anita realized the logic of this. One had to honor one’s cultural heritage. She gave in and took a swig, but without any kind of toast. That would have been too much. Anni also drank. Afterward, she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.

“You don’t like me, do you?”

It was a silly question. They both knew the answer and it came curtly: “No, I don’t like you. You are good at what you do and I can learn from you but I don’t like you.”

“Well, you aren’t the only one. I’ve learned to live with it over time.”

“In the best, most arrogant way.”

“If you say so. I didn’t come here to quarrel with you.”

“Then why?”

“You have a really good source in the Homicide Division, isn’t that true?”

“Did you really think that I would answer that question?”

“Please note that I have not asked who it is, only if you have one. But, all right, it’s fairly easy to guess who it is so you don’t have to say anything. I’ll assume that is how it is.”

“You have your own sources.”

“Let’s put that aside for the moment. What is your opinion on the pedophilia murders?”

“You already know.”

“Come on, don’t be so contrary. Give me the quick rundown.”

“Sure. My employer is setting a new record low in appealing to vigilantism and mob rule. This witch hunt for child molesters is disgusting and we don’t stop at anything to help make it worse. The politicians are lining up to express themselves in a suitably diluted manner so that the real message doesn’t miss even the most ignorant voter. Five, six … ten, twenty, two hundred, one thousand, they are animals, not people, let us exterminate them. Where is it I’ve heard this before?”

This angered Anni against her will and also hurt a bit, which was an unfamiliar emotion. But the girl’s historical parallel pierced her otherwise impervious surface. She took care, however, not to sound too upset.

“I’m not advocating violence, but I also am not going to stand for the rape of children. And definitely not for children being ordered as if they were consumer goods. I don’t think even you can ignore that video?”

Anita made a gesture of helplessness. The discussion was futile.

“And how do you think we make our living? Have you taken a look at the latest sales figures?”

“No, I haven’t. I’ve been reading stories about beatings and bands of thugs from across the entire country, but we’ll probably choose to downplay those in tomorrow’s paper, on account of space restrictions.”

Irritation oozed out of her.

“Tell me, why don’t you find another job?”

“How do you know I’m not looking?”

“I don’t. Have you seen our new opinion poll? It was posted on the Web site yesterday.”

“No, luckily.”

“Question:
Do you truly wish that the pedophile crimes will be solved?
Do you want to take a guess?”

“I’d rather not.”

“Sixty-four percent no, twenty-eight percent don’t know, eight percent yes. We’re putting it on the front page.”

“That I can well imagine. We’re feeding the dog its own bile.”

“What do you mean?”

Anita did not answer immediately. She finished her beer first. It had disappeared alarmingly fast. An occupational hazard at such a young age. The self-reproach was exaggerated and she smiled a joyless little smile.

“It doesn’t matter. Why don’t you tell me what you want from me?”

“Your help. I’ve been thinking that the biggest problem for the police right now is public opinion. The Homicide Division doesn’t just have an investigation to perform, it also has a PR problem. To put it another way—if they can’t change public opinion, their job will get harder and harder and sooner or later they will realize this.”

“And where do I enter this picture?”

“I want an exclusive interview with Konrad Simonsen.”

“
You
do?”

“Yes, me. And it has to be with him, not one of the people he shoves to the front when the public needs to be informed about something. If we can overcome our personal antipathy, this arrangement could be mutually beneficial.”

Anni underscored her logic by tapping a finger on the table. She didn’t mention that the idea had come in the mail from a reader. A couple of borrowed feathers wouldn’t hurt. Anita was thinking it over and coming to the conclusion that her boss was right.

“And this is something that you want me to pass along? Why so complicated? Why don’t you just call and ask him?”

“I’ll think about that.”

“Rubbish. You think fast. Tell me if you’re going to do it or not.”

The answer was arrogant and dismissive: “Maybe, maybe not. You’ll find out.”

Anita stood up. “Thanks for the beer.”

Anni watched her leave.

“You’re welcome, you little bitch.”

CHAPTER 54

“Selfish bitch.”

Poul Troulsen snarled at Emilie Mosberg Floyd. Arne Pedersen and Pauline Berg glanced at him, then exchanged looks. This reaction wasn’t like him. Normally he was calm and balanced—at least when he was among his colleagues—but the woman had apparently gotten under his skin.

All three of them were sitting in a narrow cubicle behind interrogation room 4 at the police headquarters in Copenhagen. The pane of glass between the two rooms filled most of one wall. On the other side it looked like a mirror, a standard arrangement in police stations around the world that allowed others to participate in the sessions without being seen or heard. This was at least how it was envisioned, but the concealed speakers that carried the sound were from the Stone Age so the acoustics were terrible and the voices took on a metallic and highly irritating echo. From time to time they dropped out entirely. The Countess’s voice in particular was distorted. She sounded like a cartoon character. Being deeper, Konrad Simonsen’s voice came through more intact.

Troulsen did not turn his head when he asked, “Aren’t you two going somewhere?”

Berg stood up as if she had been given an order.

Pedersen asked, “Why are you so angry with her?”

“I don’t really know. Maybe because I don’t think for a moment that she was planning to turn to us if we hadn’t found her. Maybe because I’m dead tired of this halfhearted cooperation from the public. In the best case. If it were up to me, we would simply replace people with a newer and better model, as the poet so excellently suggested to the powers that be. I haven’t had such a tough time in my job since I stood guard at the American embassy during the Vietnam demonstrations in 1967. And a couple of hours ago I took it out on a greasy little bureaucrat at the Gentofte city hall, which irritates me and will probably give us an unnecessary and silly complaint.”

Pedersen fell into a similarly despondent mood and started thinking about his own troubles. “I know what you’re saying. On Friday one of my boys was bullied by his classmates because of my job, and now we have to go to a meeting at the school because he gave one of his tormentors a bloody nose. Normally I try to teach my kids to handle things without violence but this time I made an exception and told him I was proud of him. I wish the pride went both ways. Unfortunately that’s not the case right now, even though he doesn’t say anything directly.”

He could have added that he was also thoroughly tired of having to deliver tasty morsels from the investigation to the
Dagbladet,
just because a retired old crank had a feeling. But he said nothing about any of that.

“Why don’t you ask to be switched to…”

Berg’s comment was kindly meant. She was having problems, too. But their faces brought her to silence.

“And leave him all alone with this shit?” Troulsen’s sweeping gesture toward Simonsen was almost reverent.

Pedersen stood up and pushed Berg along in front of him. He excused her inwardly, she was from another generation. Maybe less masochistic, maybe just a little dumber.

On the other side of the glass, the interrogation of Emilie Mosberg Floyd was proceeding well. She was cooperative. Without complaining, she repeated what she had already explained to Troulsen. She took her time in the telling, and tried to convey feelings or mood when asked. From time to time—if she found a question difficult—she thought long and hard. But there was nothing painful about these silences, and both Simonsen and the Countess waited patiently. So they were doing at the moment, even though the pause was unusually long. In return, she gave an extensive report.

“I really don’t think that it’s particularly relevant if he stopped drinking. Per was an alcoholic when I found him, there was no doubt about that. He only barely managed his job and was indifferent to everything. His life went to pieces when he lost Helene and he punished himself by destroying his health and his psyche. But the conversations between him and Jeremy had an effect. As I mentioned, I often picked him up in Bagsværd and often drove him back again. Apart from at the beginning of this process, he was never drunk or even half drunk. How he managed in between these times I don’t know. It could be two weeks at a stretch before we would see each other. That’s why I can’t tell you if he stopped drinking, but I can say definitely that he changed. He stopped being indifferent and became present, much more present.”

She searched for the right words.

“And … what shall I say?… very clear. Per could be an exceptionally … electrifying person, almost dominating. No, not almost dominating, very dominating. And very intelligent in his own quiet way. It was as if he managed to be humble and arrogant at the same time. A rare characteristic. For better or for worse, Jeremy was very fascinated by him in the beginning and convinced him to tell his story to the other patients.”

“Or was it the other way around?” the Countess asked.

“I don’t understand.”

She did not have a chance to elaborate, as Simonsen’s next question trumped hers: “Did you and Per Clausen have a sexual relationship?”

Only years of training made it possible for the Countess to conceal her amazement. An amorous connection between this woman and the janitor was the last thing she would have imagined and the age difference alone made it rude to ask. And then there was the difference in lifestyle. To her great astonishment, Emilie Mosberg Floyd did not dismiss the thought out of hand, nor was she self-conscious in the least.

“No, not sexual, not in the traditional sense of the word. We have never been to bed with each other. Per would never have agreed to anything like that.”

“But you had a relationship?”

“Yes, you could say that. We did.”

For the first time during her questioning, the woman was reticent, and the Countess sent silent thoughts of gratitude to her boss. When he was good, he was very good. The psychiatrist’s weak link had obviously been his wife. This was beginning to make sense. She slipped in the next question: “When you drove him home, did you stay with him?”

“In the beginning we talked in the car. Later on we went into his place and talked, sometimes all night. Or I slept while he lay next to me. My marriage was very rocky at that time. My husband was always at work and he expected me to do everything at home. To top it off, he had other women on the side and he often took his vacation by himself. Per helped me. He told me which battles I should take on and when and which I should put aside until later. He consulted Jeremy, I consulted him, and in the end we all won. That is, before these … crimes occurred. Per died and the newspaper wrote all kinds of things about him. That was hard. I was frustrated and angry and sad at the same time, and I miss him so terribly, much more than I miss Jeremy, but I couldn’t get away to go to his funeral so I had to settle for putting a bouquet on his grave the next day.”

The Countess observed quietly, “Perhaps it was also because you had guessed at the connection and didn’t wish to get involved.”