The clock in the church tower rang the hour. He stood up, stretched his legs, and crouched by the gravestone, where he had noticed a couple of wet leaves clinging to its face. Then he let his finger slide across the etching, back and forth a couple of times. Arne Christian M?rk. 1934–1979. As he meticulously plucked a few weeds that the gardener had overlooked, he continued to speak.
“Yesterday I took a fond farewell of Per, you know Per Clausen, the janitor I was telling you about. He is a fantastic man, and I will miss him. First we ate breakfast, and after that we watched the video sequences I directed. He was full of praise, but I have to admit they did turn out very well. In particular there is one simple one from the minivan that is quite captivating, a satanic little pearl, that will shake public opinion and toughen our national soul. It may become absolutely decisive, you just wait and see. It was Per’s idea to mount hidden cameras above each seat, which was devilishly difficult, but turned out to be worth every bit of trouble. Other than that, we talked about everything between heaven and earth, not just about the coming weeks, almost as if he was on a normal Sunday visit. It is hard to imagine that I’ll never see him again.”
A car drove past on the road behind the cemetery and a few isolated snatches of a car radio broke the peace for a moment or two. He waited until the quiet descended again.
“When Per said goodbye he said something that I have thought a lot about: ‘goodbye, foam guy.’ That was his last word to me: ‘foam guy.’ Said with that crooked little smile that is so typical of him. He was obviously referring to the fact that I used to chew on foam as a child because I thought it could absorb the darkness inside me. I had almost forgotten about it, I mean, that I had told him about it. How I used to pick little bits of foam from all manner of places: cushions and seats, balls from gym class, the sweat band in my riding helmet, yes I even tore little pieces from my mother’s shoulder pads. When I speak of it, I can recall the taste, even though one wouldn’t think foam tastes like anything. But it does. It tastes of wrongdoing, of wrongness and guilt.”
He shook his head to rid himself of his thoughts, and added thoughtfully, “It is unpleasant to remember and … well, perhaps Per captured it perfectly. When everything is said and done, that is probably what I am—the foam guy.”
CHAPTER 5
Professor, medicus, forensic pathologist, and medical examiner Arthur Elvang was a churlish man. Konrad Simonsen steeled himself, determined to keep his focus and not let himself be distracted by the professor’s sharp tongue. They met in front of the gymnasium, where Elvang sat absorbed in a newspaper in approximately the same place where the little Turkish girl had been sitting some seven hours earlier, and he, too, was reluctant to give up his reading material. After an eternity, he laid the pages aside and returned his awareness to his surroundings as his small, peering eyes behind the tortoiseshell glasses flew critically up and down over Simonsen, as if he were taking measurements for a suit.
“You have enough fat stores to last you through the winter, my little Simon. Too bad about your vacation. Where were you then? At a halfway house?”
He stretched out a twisted hand, and Simonsen, who thought he wanted to underscore his observations by sticking a finger in his stomach, drew back.
“Now don’t be sulky, give me a hand to get up.”
Simonsen gingerly helped him to his feet.
“I’m not upset. My daughter is always commenting on my girth so I am used to it, but it is many years since anyone called me ‘little Simon.’ That stopped when Planck retired.”
Planck had been the head of the Homicide Division before him.
“Yes, time flies. Have you told your daughter about your diabetes?”
Simonsen stiffened.
“How in all the world do you know…”
He stopped and regained control of himself. The professor’s medical expertise was legendary, although he might simply have been making a stab in the dark. A guess he had now unwittingly confirmed by his exclamation. He hurriedly left the subject.
“Is the room free?”
“Yes, the technicians left about a quarter of an hour ago, but keep away from the back entrance as well as the bathroom. I hear that you have free hands in this matter. Is that correct?”
“Apparently.”
“Then you should bring Planck in, unless he is senile. The two of you bring out the best in each other. And as it happens, he is more talented than you.”
“He is far from senile. Shall we go in?”