‘But I’d have no reason …’
‘Well, now, that’s questionable.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘One possibility is that it was you who sent the emails and that a file on the disk proved it. Rasmus might even have told you he knew when you helped him move.’
‘But… why would I send anyone threatening emails?’
‘Why indeed? Why should anyone?’
‘I had no reason at all.’
Iben has heard from Malene’s mother that the police have sealed Malene’s flat and that they can’t start clearing it yet. And with the discovery that Zigic was in Denmark, the police are now considering the theory that Rasmus may have been murdered.
Dorte pauses deliberately before continuing. ‘The special something I sensed between you and Gunnar when you were both at the station — am I wrong about it?’
‘What do you mean?’
Iben knows that Dorte can see something in her face, and she scratches the bandages on her nose.
‘If, before the emails were sent, you had already fallen in love with the man who was Malene’s lover … it could’ve caused bad blood between you, couldn’t it?’
Iben can’t reply. She takes a deep breath.
‘Maybe you regretted sending the emails. Or maybe you didn’t. One way or the other, the spyware found you out and Rasmus told you.’
Does Dorte do this to other people she interrogates? Is making wild accusations part of her method, just to see if one of them hits home?
Iben tries to prevent herself sounding strained. ‘Look, it doesn’t make sense! Rasmus and I had a good time together that day. I helped him carry some of his things. There is no way we’d get along so well just minutes after he accused me of emailing death threats.’
Dorte’s eyes are still fixed on Iben. ‘You might have told him that your laptop had been left in the office and that Anne-Lise had access to it. That would calm him down. After all, Anne-Lise is the one you people tried to pin the emails on.’
Iben can’t think what to say.
Dorte rests her arms on the table. ‘But, if Anne-Lise did not have access to your computer at the time when the emails were sent, that could have been established the following day. And you would have lost your job, your old friend, and all hope of Gunnar ever becoming your lover.’
It’s unbelievable. This woman, Dorte JØrgensen, is installed here, in their lunch room, calmly accusing Iben of having killed her best friend’s partner! Surely she doesn’t go that far with everyone?
Iben feels like waving her arms about and shouting that this is all totally insane. Living through these last few weeks has upset her terribly and somehow she feels that Dorte might even be right.
She pinches her thigh to wake herself up. She must concentrate.
What did happen? Should I give myself up? Should I say I did it and serve a life sentence in prison?
Once more her mind conjures up an image that has recurred since the first time she met Gunnar. She is in his kitchen, cooking lots of nice dishes, he stands behind her and puts his arms round her. And his daughters come running in, laughing, from the sitting room.
Iben is not herself during the rest of the interrogation. When Dorte gets up, opens the door and walks into the hallway, she turns and speaks over her shoulder. ‘Well, Iben, we’ll take a look at that. It’s a good idea. Malene’s mother has mentioned that Malene kept writing letters to Rasmus after his death. We are definitely going to follow up that line of enquiry.’
53
On the pavement a little ahead of me a man in a wheelchair was being pushed along by his wife. I caught up with them. They both seemed quite elderly and were deep in discussion. Just as I passed, the woman spluttered with laughter. A little later I turned to look at them and they were both still talking at the same time, apparently sharing a story that they enjoyed hugely. And I came to think of Iben.
Rasmus, you were always loving and kind, helping me whenever I needed it. But I couldn’t help feeling that I was a nuisance to you. It was never like that with Iben.
At times when I couldn’t do a thing for myself and needed hospital treatment and had to be hauled downstairs to the taxi, she never acted as if she was sacrificing herself. I didn’t feel I was a problem. Or when she went shopping for me, helped me dress — things like that. For years she was with me and saw more of me than even you did. And all the while we had such a good time. We laughed a lot.
I hate her now for what she has made me suffer over these last few months. That’s a fact. But, I’ll never find a friend like her again. She really was speciaclass="underline" an exception.
I remember one time when I was in the sitting room and you were in the kitchen. And suddenly I heard a crash.
At first I actually felt pleased. He’s dropped something, I thought. Maybe he’s poured boiling water all over his feet. Just for once, I thought, he’ll know what it’s like not to have full control of your hands. But it didn’t take long at all before I started to worry.
I called out to you: ‘Oh, God! Rasmus? Did you drop something? Did you hurt yourself?’
Of course you didn’t know what had been going on inside my head. In its own small way, that moment seemed like the sort of Dissociative Identity Disorder that Iben was always talking about.
Rasmus, I am so very sorry about what happened on the stairs. I simply don’t know what came over me. You are the only one who knows how badly I feel about it. You are the only one who can understand.
God alone knows how much Iben heard. It wasn’t my intention to push you out through the window. I have no idea why it made me so blindly furious when you insisted that your spyware proved that I had sent those emails.
I gave you a shove. Nobody can be sorrier than I am now. Am I truly sick in the head, Rasmus? Is that it?
54
They’re sweet now. They speak to her and laugh with her. Everything has changed completely — so much so that Anne-Lise finds it hard to believe the way things were not so long ago.
Paul is different too, quite unlike his old self. He is in the office much more and is suddenly of the opinion that it is ‘simply natural that the functions of DCGI and DIHR should be coordinated’. He is no longer prepared to fight to maintain the independence of the Centre.
Anne-Lise cannot make him out. Only recently he did everything he could to help the Centre survive, even trying to force Frederik from the board. Was that some kind of macho thing? Could the reason be that any organisation only has room for one man of their kind?
The office was closed for the day after Malene’s death. The following day Iben brought in a red rose, which she placed on Malene’s desk. The next morning Iben replaced it with a fresh rose and again the next day. It was as if Iben believed that Malene was a saint and that her desk and chair were sacred.
When people turned up to use the library, Iben lectured them at length about how her own survival had been due to a ‘psychological miracle’. Paul told her repeatedly that if she felt like staying at home she should, but Iben didn’t seem to get the hint. Perhaps she wanted to be at work.
Every day people phoned to offer their condolences and find out what happened. At times, it became too much for Iben and Anne-Lise took over.
‘Iben was climbing this ladder on the houseboat, so she couldn’t follow what happened on the quay. But a lot of the warehouses have been converted into flats and people were watching from their windows because they had heard the shot Iben fired at Zigic. The witnesses all say that Zigic was aiming his gun at Iben. But at the moment he was ready to pull the trigger, Malene called out. No one knows why. She threw herself in front of the gun. Iben was then able to reach the roof and that saved her. The metal ridge protected her.’