So he said, “I was thinking about you tripping up the runaway mechanic at the aerodrome. You showed great presence of mind.”
“I didn’t even think about it, just stuck out my foot.”
“You have good instincts. I was never in favor of women police and, to tell you the truth, I still have my doubts-but no one could deny you’re a first class cop.”
She shrugged. “I have doubts myself. Maybe women ought to stay home and look after babies. But after Oskar died. .” Oskar had been her husband, a Copenhagen detective and friend of Peter’s. “I had to work, and law enforcement is the only life I know anything about. My father was a customs officer, my older brother is a Military Police officer, and my younger brother a uniformed policeman in Aarhus.”
“I’ll tell you the great thing about you, Tilde-you never try to get men to do your work by playing the helpless female.”
He intended his remark as a compliment, but she did not look as pleased as he had hoped. “I never ask for help at all,” she said crisply.
“Probably a good policy.”
She gave him a look he could not read. Puzzling over the sudden chill in the atmosphere, he wondered whether she might be afraid to ask for assistance in case she was immediately classed as a helpless female. He could see how she might resent that. After all, men asked one another for help all the time.
She said, “But why are you a cop? Your father has a successful business-don’t you want to take it over, one day?”
He shook his head ruefully. “I used to work at the hotel in the school holidays. I hated the guests, with their demands and complaints: this beef is overcooked, my mattress is lumpy, I’ve been waiting twenty minutes for a cup of coffee. I couldn’t stand it.”
The waiter came. Peter resisted the temptation to have herrings and onions on his smorrebrod, thinking, vaguely, that he might get close enough to Tilde for her to smell his breath, so he ordered soft cheese and cucumbers instead. They handed their ration cards to the waiter.
Tilde said, “Any progress in the spy case?”
“Not really. The two men we arrested at the aerodrome told us nothing. They were sent to Hamburg for what the Gestapo calls ‘deep interrogation,’ and they gave the name of their contact-Matthies Hertz, an army officer. But he has disappeared.”
“A dead end, then.”
“Yes.” The phrase made him think of another dead end he had run into. “Do you know any Jews?”
She looked surprised. “One or two, I should think. None in the police force. Why?”
“I’m making a list.”
“A list of Jews?”
“Yes.”
“Where, in Copenhagen?”
“In Denmark.”
“Why?”
“The usual reason. It’s my job to keep tabs on troublemakers.”
“And Jews are troublemakers?”
“The Germans think so.”
“You can see why
He was taken aback. He had expected her to see this from his point of view. “It’s as well to be prepared. We have lists of union organizers, communists, foreign nationals, and members of the Danish Nazi Party.”
“And you think that’s the same thing?”
“It’s all information. Now, it’s easy to identify new Jewish immigrants, who’ve come here in the last fifty years. They dress funny, they speak with a peculiar accent, and most of them live in the same few Copenhagen streets. But there are also Jews whose families have been Danish for centuries.
“How? You can’t just go round asking people if they know any Jews.”
“It’s a problem. I have two junior detectives going through the phone book, and one or two other lists, making notes of Jewish-sounding names.”
“That’s not very reliable. There are lots of people called Isaksen who aren’t Jewish.”
“And lots of Jews with names like Jan Christiansen. What I’d really like to do is raid the synagogue. They probably have a membership list.”
To his surprise, she was looking disapproving, but she said, “Why don’t you?”
“Juel won’t allow it.”
“I think he’s right.”
“Really? Why?”
“Peter, can’t you see? What use might your list be put to in the future?”
“Isn’t it obvious?” Peter said irritably. “If Jewish groups start to organize resistance to the Germans, we’ll know where to look for suspects.”
“And what if the Nazis just decide to round up all the Jews and send them to those concentration camps they have in Germany? They’ll use your list!”
“But why would they send the Jews to camps?”
“Because Nazis hate Jews. But we’re not Nazis, we’re police officers. We arrest people because they’ve committed crimes, not because we hate them.”
“I know that,” Peter said angrily. He was astonished to be attacked from this angle. Tilde should know that his motive was to uphold the law, not subvert it. “There’s always a risk that information will be misused.”
“So wouldn’t it be better not to make the damn list?”
How could she be so stupid? It maddened him to be opposed by someone he thought of as a comrade in the war against lawbreakers. “No!” he shouted. He lowered his voice with an effort. “If we thought that way, we wouldn’t have a security department at all!”
Tilde shook her head. “Look, Peter, the Nazis have done a lot of good things, we both know that. They’re on the side of the police, basically. They’ve clamped down on subversion, they maintain law and order, they’ve reduced unemployment, and so on. But on the subject of Jews, they’re insane.”
“Maybe, but they’re making the rules now.”
“Just look at the Danish Jews-they’re law-abiding, hardworking, they send their children to school. . It’s ludicrous to make a list of their names and addresses as if they were all part of some communist conspiracy.”
He sat back and said accusingly, “So, you’d refuse to work on this with me?”
It was her turn to be offended. “How can you say that? I’m a professional police officer, and you’re my boss. I’ll do what you say. You ought to know that.”
“Do you mean it?”
“Look, if you wanted to make a complete list of witches in Denmark, I’d tell you I didn’t think witches were criminals or subversives-but I’d help you make the list.”
Their food arrived. There was an awkward silence as they began to eat. After a few minutes, Tilde said, “How are things at home?”
Peter had a sudden memory of himself and Inge, a few days before the accident, walking to church on Sunday morning, two healthy, happy young people in their best clothes. With all the scum and riffraff in the world, why did it have to be his wife whose mind was destroyed by that drunken boy in his sports car? “Inge is the same,” he said.
“No improvement?”
“When the brain is damaged that badly, it doesn’t mend. There will never be any improvement.”
“It must be hard for you.”
“I’m fortunate to have a generous father. I couldn’t afford a nurse on police wages-Inge would have to go into an asylum.”
Once again Tilde gave him a look that was hard to read. It was almost as if she felt the asylum might not be a bad solution. “What about the driver of the sports car?”
