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other at that time.”
    “At that time. What about now, are you still friends?”
    Benjamin Grinde shifted in his seat, placing his left leg over his right.
    “No, I wouldn’t claim that at all. We’ve had only sporadic contact over the years. Inadvertent contact, you might say, since our parents continued to live next door to each other for many years after we had left home. No. We can’t be said to be friends. Have been, would be more correct.”
    “But you’re on first-name terms?”
    Grinde smiled faintly.
    “When you’ve been friends in your childhood and youth, it would seem pretty unnatural to use surnames. Even if you’ve lost contact. Isn’t it the same for you?”
    “Probably.”
    “Well, I expect you know why I was there. You can certainly check in her appointments diary. Or perhaps her secretary can confirm it. I wanted to discuss an increased allocation of resources for a commission I’m chairing. A commission appointed by the government.”
    “The Grinde Commission, of course,” Billy T. commented, putting his feet up on the desk again.
    Benjamin Grinde stared at the tips of the boots belonging to the enormous figure on the opposite side of the table. He wondered if his behavior was intended as a police officer’s demonstration of power now that he finally had one of the country’s most senior judges under his heel.
    Billy T. smiled. His eyes were intense, as icy blue as a husky’s, and the Supreme Court judge dropped his gaze onto his lap.
    “Don’t take these feet as a sign of lack of respect,” Billy T. remarked, wiggling his steel-capped toes. “It’s just so cumbersome having such long legs. Look! There’s quite simply not enough room for them underneath the desk!”
    He gave a comical demonstration before putting his feet back into position.
    “But you. If you were talking about this kind of … increased allocation of resources …”
    Grinde nodded imperceptibly.
    “… why didn’t you speak to the Minister of Health? Wouldn’t that have been more normal?”
    The judge lifted his gaze again.
    “To some extent. But I knew that Birgitte was particularly interested in the case. What’s more … it was an opportunity to meet her. In fact, we hadn’t spoken for many years. I wanted to congratulate her. On her new post, I mean.”
    “Why do you need more money?”
    “Money?”
    “Yes, why did you have to speak to Volter about obtaining more money for this committee of yours?”
    “Commission.”
    “The same thing. Why?”
    “The work is turning out to be far more comprehensive thanwe anticipated when the commission was appointed. We have found it necessary to conduct in-depth interviews with five hundred parents who lost their babies in 1965. It’s quite a task. And we have to … some investigations have to be conducted abroad.”
    He looked around, and let his eyes rest on the window, where the blue light from a squad car in the back yard was pulsating on the glass. Suddenly it stopped.
    “How long were you there?”
    The judge considered carefully; he remained seated and stared at his wristwatch, as though he could not recall the answer.
    “Difficult to say. I would assume about half an hour. I arrived at quarter to five, in any case. Actually, I was there for almost exactly three quarters of an hour. Half past five. That was when I left. I know that for certain, because I wondered whether I would catch a certain tram or take a taxi. Three quarters of an hour.”
    “Okay.”
    Billy T. stood up abruptly, towering over the far smaller judge.
    “Coffee? Tea? Cola? Do you smoke?”
    “I’d really like a cup of coffee, thanks. No, I don’t smoke.”
    Billy T. crossed the room and opened the door. He spoke softly to someone standing outside, then closed the door and sat down again, this time on the window ledge.
    The judge felt the stirrings of irritation.
    It was acceptable that the man’s head was shaved smooth and that he was wearing old denim jeans that had seen