‘But what if one of the men who chased me saw which street I ran to but not which door? Maybe they’re still waiting. When the police arrive, their problem will be solved.’
‘So that’s why you didn’t want me to phone earlier!’
Malene starts to mumble. ‘Isn’t it just a little …’
But instead, she changes tack. ‘I think I may know how all of this started. Remember, the very first time I called Rasmus on my mobile to tell him about the email threats? He talked about the possibility of writing a spyware program. He kept working on the program whenever he had time. The idea was to forward it to the sender. It would then copy data from the sender’s computer. Anything — like the address book and the calendar — and afterwards the data would be sent back to us, to help us trap the criminal. But I didn’t know he had got that far with it.’
‘But how would Zigic know who copied his files?’
‘I suppose he couldn’t — unless he got his own spyware set up after Rasmus’s death. I don’t know. But let’s say that he found my name from the subscriptions that I paid for on-line via Rasmus’s computer. Then if he Googled me he’d have found out that I work at DCGI and might think that I had something to do with his computer being infected.’
‘It’s just so … It means that if Rasmus’s software did copy everything, there has to be a file somewhere in your computer that could wipe out Zigic’s entire organisation — bank accounts, supporters’ names, details of people he is using or blackmailing.’
Malene goes and gets the laptop. She logs on as Rasmus, then experiments briefly with whatever other email identities he could use.
They watch her in silence, Iben on the sofa and Gunnar on an armchair. Gunnar is so close Iben could reach out her arm and touch him.
Suddenly Malene calls out excitedly. ‘Yes! Yes, look! Rasmus sent an email with the attached program to lperic@brat.org.yu. It has to be Ljiljana Peric — the woman you interviewed about Zigic.’
‘But why send it to her?’
‘I don’t know.’
Iben has an idea. ‘What if he wanted to see if it would work with the Serbian version of Windows? That would make sense, don’t you think?’
‘It would. And it must’ve worked all right, because the following day he sent an email to revenge_is_near@imhidden.com. And another one to zigl@tin.co.yu. That must be Zigic’s email address. I wonder how he got hold of that?’
‘What if the spyware program found it in Ljiljana’s Contacts list? She and Zigic were classmates, after all. She probably knows him better than she likes to let on.’
Malene talks while she clicks her way through Rasmus’s mail. ‘Look. The spyware has returned mail from both addresses. The header shows that Zigic’s mail goes via a Serbian server. The other mail was sent on from a Danish server.’
A wave of nausea flows through Iben, the same sickness as made her sit down on the bin at the bus stop. The inside of her mouth feels as if it’s coated in thick mucus.
Malene speaks, half to herself. ‘So, it obviously wasn’t Zigic who sent the threatening emails. It was someone in this country. And the name must be in this file!’
Gunnar and Iben lean forward, straining to see. Iben’s forehead is covered in drops of sweat. She tries to speak enthusiastically, but her tongue doesn’t seem to move. ‘Imagine! Rasmus found out who it is.’
Malene’s voice is dry. ‘So he did. And then he died.’
It happens so suddenly. Something contracts inside Iben and her nose fills with the stench of creosote and rendered pork fat. She can smell evil now.
Iben jumps up from the sofa and manages a few paces towards the bathroom before throwing up everything she ate. She kneels, as if about to dive head first. The pool of fluid is brown, darker than the world of evil into which she almost disappeared earlier.
Gunnar and Malene come to help her, one on either side. Malene’s hand supports her forehead.
‘Iben, you’ve had such a dreadful day. It’s understandable, you just can’t take any more.’
Iben’s head is churning again with the same thoughts she had earlier: What if my memories were real? What if I sent the emails and Rasmus found out? I would have known that he could destroy my life. Everything.
Iben whispers, ‘I’m not very well.’
‘We can see that. You mustn’t worry.’
She closes her eyes and tries to think. Her clammy forehead rests on Malene’s hand.
What exactly do I remember from the day Rasmus was moving out? He was very serious and said he had to ‘talk to me’. He told me about the spyware and how he had designed it. I had expected him to ramble on about Malene and himself, but he started to lecture me about programming and … he lost me. Afterwards I helped him carry things to the van. What was the subject he approached so hesitantly? Why was it important to talk to me?
‘Iben, come with me. Let’s get you back on the sofa.’
Malene stinks like piss.
She listened to Rasmus talk about his program, but then what happened? Did I take some cycling gear downstairs? A can of oil without a stopper? Did I spill some oil on the steps, just in front of the only window without a guardrail? Did I tell myself to wipe it up and warn Rasmus? Did I carefully skirt around the oily spot instead? And fail to warn Rasmus? Did I look at my greasy hands and think: Oh, I’d better wash my hands before I carry anything else down — why am I so filthy? Did I drop something?
Malene looks down at Iben. ‘It feels so good that I can take care of you, just for once.’
‘Malene, I feel so … confused.’
‘You’re to rest now. Relax. We’ll sit here with you and open Rasmus’s files.’
Iben gags again but her stomach is empty.
Malene double-clicks on the file attached to the return email from revenge_is_near. It doesn’t open. A dialogue box asks about the correct application for this unknown file type.
‘I haven’t the faintest. Rasmus created the file type himself. What am I supposed to do now?’
Gunnar makes a few suggestions, but nothing works.
Malene is becoming irritated. ‘Why is it messing with us?
When we’re so close to finding out who sent those fucking emails that started everything!’
Gunnar has another suggestion: ‘Maybe Rasmus wrote a special file-opening program as part of his spyware.’
Iben says: ‘Maybe it’s not installed on this computer at all.’
Malene brightens. ‘Are you feeling better now, Iben? I’m so glad.’
After exhausting all the possibilities, the file is still closed. Defeated, they sit looking at the little machine on the table in front of them.
Iben drinks a whole pitcher of water. No more smells now. Her thoughts are more coherent and she recalls what a good atmosphere there was between Rasmus and herself when she helped him move out. It makes no sense to think that Rasmus accused her of sending the death threats. She makes up her mind that, like the emails, she imagined what had happened in the stairwell. As before, her illness made it all seem real. She glances at her friend. Something has changed. The warmth has returned to Malene’s eyes.
Malene, however, sounds let down. ‘What I don’t understand is why Rasmus didn’t tell me that he had found out who sent the emails.’
Iben notices that Gunnar seems to withdraw a little every time Malene mentions Rasmus.
‘Maybe it’s because you had broken up two days before Zigic’s data arrived?’
‘But all the same …’ Malene looks at Iben. ‘And you were with him when he moved out. Why didn’t he tell you then?’
Iben struggles to find an answer. Nothing comes to mind. ‘I don’t know. I really don’t know.’
51
It’s late now. Iben convinces herself that it would be too paranoid to argue that Zigic is still watching the street. She agrees that they should call the police.