“Mrs. Olufsen, I’m sorry to have to tell you that Harald may have been involved in the same illegal activities as Arne.”
Mrs. Olufsen looked frightened.
Tilde continued, “The longer he goes on, the worse trouble he’ll be in when finally we catch up with him.”
The old woman shook her head from side to side, looking distressed, but she said nothing.
“If you would help us find him, you’d be doing the best thing for him.”
“I don’t know where he is,” she repeated, but less firmly.
Peter sensed weakness. He stood up and leaned across the kitchen table, pushing his face into hers. “I saw Arne die,” he said gratingly.
Mrs. Olufsen’s eyes widened in horror.
“I saw your son put the gun to his own throat and pull the trigger,” he went on.
Tilde said, “Peter, no-”
He ignored her. “I saw his blood and brains spatter the wall behind him.”
Mrs. Olufsen cried out with shock and grief.
She was about to crack, Peter saw with satisfaction. He pressed his advantage. “Your elder son was a spy and a criminal, and he met a violent end. They that live by the sword shall die by the sword, that’s what the Bible says. Do you want the same to happen to your other son?”
“No,” she whispered. “No.”
“Then tell me where he is!”
The kitchen door burst open and the pastor strode in. “You filth,” he said.
Peter straightened up, startled but defiant. “I’m entitled to question-”
“Get out of my house.”
Tilde said, “Let’s go, Peter.”
“I still want to know-”
“Now!” the pastor roared. “Leave now!” He advanced around the table.
Peter backed away. He knew he should not allow himself to be shouted down. He was on legitimate police business and he had a right to ask questions. But the towering presence of the pastor scared him, despite the gun under his jacket, and he found himself reversing steadily to the door.
Tilde opened it and went out.
“I haven’t finished with you two,” Peter said feebly as he backed through the doorway.
The pastor slammed the door in his face.
Peter turned away. “Damned hypocrites,” he said. “The pair of them.”
The buggy was waiting. “To my father’s house,” Peter said, and they got in.
As they drove away, he tried to put the humiliating scene out of his mind and concentrate on his next steps. “Harald must be living somewhere,” he said.
“Obviously.” Tilde’s tone was curt, and he guessed she was distressed by what she had just witnessed.
“He’s not at school and he’s not at home, and he has no relations except for some cousins in Hamburg.”
“We could circulate a picture of him.”
“We’ll have trouble finding one. The pastor doesn’t believe in photos-they’re a sign of vanity. You didn’t see any pictures in that kitchen, did you?”
“What about a school photo?”
“Not a Jansborg tradition. The only picture of Arne we could find was the one in his army record. I doubt there’s a photo of Harald anywhere.”
“So what’s our next move?”
“I think he’s staying with friends-don’t you?”
“Makes sense.”
She would not look at him. He sighed. She was in a bad mood with him. So be it. “This is what you do,” he said in a tone of command. “Call the Politigaarden. Send Conrad to Jansborg Skole. Get a list of the home addresses of all the boys in Harald’s class. Then have someone call at each house, ask a few questions, snoop around a bit.”
“They must be all over Denmark. It would take a month to visit them all. How much time do we have?”
“Very little. I don’t know how long it will take for Harald to figure out a way to get the film to London, but he’s a cunning young villain. Use local police where necessary.”
“Very well.”
“If he’s not staying with friends, he must be hiding out with another member of the spy ring. We’re going to stay for the funeral and see who shows up. We’ll check out every mourner. One of them must know where Harald is.”
The buggy slowed as it approached the entrance to Axel Flemming’s house. Tilde said, “Do you mind if I go back to the hotel?”
His parents were expecting them for lunch, but Peter could see that Tilde was not in the mood. “All right.” He tapped the driver on the shoulder. “Go to the ferry dock.”
They drove in silence for a while. As they approached the dock, Peter said, “What will you do at the hotel?”
“In fact I think I should return to Copenhagen.”
That made him angry. As the horse stopped at the quayside, he said, “What the hell is wrong with you?”
“I didn’t like what just happened.”
“We had to do it!”
“I’m not sure.”
“It was our duty to try to make those people tell what they knew.”
“Duty isn’t everything.”
She had said that during their argument about Jews, he recalled. “That’s just playing with words. Duty is what you have to do. You can’t make exceptions. That’s what’s wrong with the world.”
The ferry was in dock. Tilde got down from the buggy. “It’s just life, Peter, that’s all.”
“It’s why we have crime! Wouldn’t you rather live in a world where everyone did their duty? Just imagine it! Well-behaved people in smart uniforms getting things done, with no slacking, no lateness, no half-measures. If all crimes were punished and no excuses accepted there would be a lot less for the police to do!”
“Is that really what you want?”
“Yes-and if I ever get to be chief of police, and the Nazis are still running things, that’s what it will be like! What’s wrong with that?”
She nodded, but did not answer his question. “Goodbye, Peter,” she said.
As she walked away he shouted after her, “Well? What’s wrong with it?” But she boarded the ferry without turning around.
PART FOUR
25
Harald knew the police were looking for him.
His mother had phoned Kirstenslot again, ostensibly to tell Karen the date and time of Arne’s funeral. During the conversation, she had said she had been questioned by the police about Harald’s whereabouts. “But I don’t know where he is, so I couldn’t tell them,” she had said. It was a warning, and Harald admired his mother for having the courage to send it and the shrewdness to figure out that Karen could probably deliver it.
Despite the warning, he had to go to the flying school.
Karen purloined some of her father’s old clothes, so that Harald would not have to wear his distinctive school blazer. He put on a marvelously lightweight sports jacket from America and a linen cap, and wore sunglasses. He
