‘I’m honoured. But why didn’t you just contact Pathfinder directly and say you were interested?’
‘Come on, Roger! I’m the ex-CEO of the big bad buyout wolf. Have you forgotten? It would’ve caused all the alarm bells to ring if I’d gone to them. I had to be “found”. For example, by a headhunter. And then persuaded. It was the only way that would seem credible for me to get into Pathfinder without malicious intentions.’
‘I see. But why use Diana? Why not contact me direct?’
‘Now you’re playing dumb, Roger. You would’ve had the same suspicions if I’d put myself forward. You wouldn’t have touched me with a bargepole.’
He was right that I was playing dumb. And it was right as well that he was dumb. Dumb and so proud of his brilliant, greedy plans that he couldn’t resist the temptation to stand there boasting about them until someone came in through the damned door. Somebody had to come soon, I was sick for Christ’s sake!
‘You ascribe much too noble motives to me and my work, Clas,’ I said, thinking that you don’t execute people you’re on first-name terms with, do you? ‘I choose candidates I think will be appointed to the job, and they’re not necessarily the ones I think are best for the company.’
‘Really?’ said Greve with a frown. ‘Even a headhunter like you is not so amoral, is he?’
‘You don’t know much about headhunters, I guess. You should’ve kept Diana out of this.’
That seemed to amuse Greve. ‘Should I?’
‘How did you hook her?’
‘Would you really like to know, Roger?’ He had raised the pistol a touch. One metre. Between the eyes?
‘I’m dying to know, Clas.’
‘As you wish.’ He lowered the pistol a fraction again. ‘I dropped by her gallery a few times. Bought a number of works. At her recommendation, as time went on. Invited her out for coffee. We talked about all manner of things, about deeply personal things, the way that only strangers can. About marital problems…’
‘You talked about our marriage?’ It slipped out.
‘Yes, indeed. After all, I’m divorced, so I am full of sympathy. I can understand, for example, how a beautiful, fully mature and fertile woman like Diana may not be able to accept her husband’s unwillingness to give her a child. Or his persuading her to have an abortion because the baby has Down’s syndrome.’ Greve had a grin that was as broad as Aa’s was in the rocking chair. ‘Especially since I simply adore children myself.’
Blood and reason deserted my head, leaving behind one single thought: that I would kill the man standing before me. ‘You… you told her you wanted a child?’
‘No,’ Greve said quietly. ‘I said I wanted a child with her.’
I had to concentrate to control my voice: ‘Diana would never leave me for a charlatan like-’
‘I took her to the apartment and showed her my so-called Rubens painting.’
I was confused. ‘So-called…?’
‘Yes, the painting is not genuine, of course, just a very good copy painted in Rubens’s time. In fact, the Germans thought for a long time that it was genuine. My grandmother showed it to me when I was young and living there. Sorry for lying to you about its authenticity.’
The news should perhaps have had an effect on me, but I was already so emotionally drained that I just took it in, realising at the same time that Greve had not discovered that the painting had been switched.
‘Nevertheless the copy had its uses,’ Greve said. ‘When Diana saw what she thought was a genuine Rubens, she must have concluded there and then that I would not only give her a child but also provide for it and her in a more than adequate way. In a nutshell, give her the life she dreams about.’
‘And she…’
‘She, of course, agreed to ensure her future husband got the CEO post that would produce the respectability that ought to follow with money.’
‘You’re telling me… that evening in the gallery… it was a put-up job from beginning to end?’
‘Of course. Except for the fact that we didn’t achieve the end as easily as we had hoped. When Diana rang me to say that you had decided not to take me…’ He rolled his eyes in theatrical irony. ‘Can you imagine the shock, Roger? The disappointment? The anger? I simply could not understand why you didn’t like me. Why, Roger, why? What had I done to you?’
I gulped. He seemed so absurdly relaxed, as though he had all the time in the world to fire the bullet into my skull, heart or whichever part of my body he had designated.
‘You’re too small,’ I said.
‘I beg your pardon?’
‘So you got Diana to plant the rubber ball containing Curacit in my car? She was supposed to kill me so that I wouldn’t be able to write my negative report?’
Greve frowned. ‘Curacit? It’s interesting that you’re convinced your wife would be willing to commit murder for a child and a pot of gold. And for all I know you may be right. But in fact I did not ask her to do that. The rubber ball contained a mixture of Ketalar and Dormicum, a fast-acting anaesthetic which is so strong that, to be sure, it is not without risk. The plan was that you would be knocked out when you got into your car in the morning and that Diana would drive the car, with you in it, to a preordained place.’
‘What sort of place?’
‘A cabin I had rented. Not unlike the one where I had hoped to find you last night, in fact. Albeit with a more likeable and less inquisitive owner.’
‘And once there I would be…’
‘Persuaded.’
‘How?’
‘You know. Coaxed a bit. Little threats if necessary.’
‘Torture?’
‘Torture has its entertaining sides, but firstly I hate to inflict physical pain on anyone. And secondly after a certain stage it is less effective than one might suppose. So, no, not torture as such. Just enough for you to have a taste, enough to evoke that uncontrollable fear of pain all of us carry inside. You see, it’s fear, not pain, that makes you malleable. For that reason the businesslike, professional interrogator does not depart from light associative torture…’ He grinned. ‘… at least according to the CIA’s manuals. Better than the FBI model you use, eh, Roger?’
I could feel sweat forming under the bandage around my throat. ‘And what was it you would’ve wanted to achieve?’
‘We would’ve wanted you to write and sign a report the way we liked. We would even have put a stamp on and posted it for you.’
‘And if I had refused? More torture?’
‘We’re not inhuman, Roger. If you had refused, we would’ve just kept you there. Until Alfa had given the job of writing a report to one of your colleagues. Presumably Ferdinand – isn’t that his name?’
‘Ferdy,’ I said fiercely.
‘Exactly. And he seemed very positive. And so did the chairman of the board and the public relations manager. Does that tally with your impression, Roger? Don’t you agree that basically the only thing that could have stopped me was a negative report, and only then from Roger Brown himself? As you will appreciate we wouldn’t have needed to hurt you.’
‘You’re lying,’ I said.
‘Am I?’
‘You had no intention of letting me live. Why would you let me go afterwards and risk being exposed?’
‘I could have made you a good offer. Eternal life for eternal silence.’
‘Rejected husbands are not rational business partners, Greve. And you know that.’
Greve stroked the gun barrel against his chin. ‘True enough. Yes, you’re right. We would probably have killed you. But this at any rate was the plan I put before Diana. And she believed me.’
‘Because she wanted to.’