‘Hey, it’s time to start fixing supper. Off to the kitchen we go.’
Dorte begins from where she left her interrogation of Iben last time, renewing her verbal attacks from every angle. ‘With regard to the email you received, whoever wrote it called you “self-righteous”. Did that person know you? What do you think?’
‘I really couldn’t say.’
‘You must have an idea? However vague it might be.’
‘Malene has confessed to it, but it’s …’
Iben’s heart is beating hard. The pressure is on now. It will make her focus. Make her mind clear and calculating, like in Kenya. And in Anne-Lise’s house. And when Zigic caught her. I’m changing now, becoming a ‘survivor’, she thinks.
But somehow it doesn’t happen. Is it because Malene is dead? She can’t focus. She cannot save herself.
Dorte continues: ‘Iben, you have to live with your past. Your actions will affect you. And affect your husband too. The first month might be easy for you. And the next one, and the next one — but sooner or later what you have done will catch up with you. Why do you think I’m so certain of that?’
Iben doesn’t want to answer but replies as she must: ‘I don’t know.’
‘Because we’re responsible. We have to take responsibility for what we do. In the end, you alone decide how to act. Look at Malene. No one would have predicted that she’d sacrifice—’
‘Malene was mentally ill. She wrote that herself.’
‘That’s what you say.’
Iben leans back and sighs. ‘I must say, you do check everything thoroughly. It’s very reassuring. I’d be happy to help in any way.’
Dorte nods. Her eyes don’t leave Iben for a second. ‘That’s good to know.’
Iben gets up. She walks over to Gunnar’s wall of pine shelving and then back.
‘Look, would you like to examine my computer? You can look for Rasmus’s spyware, or emailed threats or drafts of Malene’s confession.’
Dorte has it in her to smile at this. ‘Thank you! I’ll accept your offer, thank you.’
‘Your theory is a bit far-fetched, if you don’t mind me saying so. I doubt whether it’s convincing enough to get you a search warrant. I just hope you realise that I’ve nothing to hide.’
‘Of course. Do you use any other computers?’
‘No. I take my laptop to work.’
‘I’ll have to get independent confirmation of that.’
‘I understand.’
Maybe Iben leaves the room a little too eagerly. When she returns from the bedroom carrying the computer, Dorte sounds kind.
‘Both of you must miss Malene a great deal?’
‘Yes, we do. And what she did was extraordinary.’
When Iben hands over the laptop, Dorte produces a CD from her pocket and asks permission to install the useful little search program she has brought along.
Iben agrees, noting that Dorte expected to be given access to the computer.
As they wait, the program searches through the items on the hard disk. Dorte breaks the silence. ‘Do you feel that your work affects you a lot?’
Iben thinks that this might be another attempt to get at her when her guard is down. ‘I don’t know. But we are constantly reminded of how frail the bonds are that restrain our instincts and prevent us from doing terrible things.’
‘Perhaps working day in, day out on such things might blunt your sensibility?’
‘That could be true. Yes.’
The search program has stopped. Dorte keys in a few commands, narrows her eyes and leans towards the screen.
Dorte had tried to sound casual about the program she ‘had in her pocket’, but Iben quickly spots that the detective is not exactly a computer buff. It could be sheer desperation that made her come this evening. Probably, the consensus back at the station is that the case has been closed ever since Malene’s confession came to light. Dorte won’t have a leg to stand on unless she finds something in the computer. And she won’t.
Iben listens to Gunnar and his children having fun in the kitchen. She feels much better now and returns to the previous subject.
‘… But on the other hand, working at DCGI might have the opposite effect. That is, not to blunt our perceptions, but to make us more appreciative of the lives we’re privileged enough to live.’
Dorte keeps staring at the screen.
‘We have been allowed to believe that an orderly, day-to-day existence and our care and respect for each other are givens. Our work shows us that they are not. It also opens our eyes to the importance of goodness. Precisely because it can vanish so quickly.’
At last Dorte looks up from the screen and states the obvious. ‘Not a trace of anything.’
Just as Iben tells herself that the worst is over, Dorte has another thought.
‘By the way, do you know of anyone who might have a key to Malene’s flat? Or someone who might know the password to her computer?’
Iben must think quickly now. It’s a test. She lifts the lump of orange mineral on the coffee table. ‘Not as far as I know. Malene never told me her password. I didn’t have a key, and I’m pretty sure nobody else did.’
‘The thing is that whoever wrote the confession must have been someone who had a key. Key or no key, you’ve got to be very cool about breaking and entering a flat under regular police surveillance, especially if the next thing you do is settle down to a bit of computer work.’
They talk for a little longer, but Dorte begins to look tired. She gets up to leave and puts her CD away.
‘I’m sorry to have disturbed you. Hopefully it wasn’t too uncomfortable for you?’
‘No, not at all. I mean, you obviously must investigate every possible lead. We owe that to Malene and Rasmus. Please feel free to call any time.’
Iben escorts Dorte to the door and then goes to the kitchen where Gunnar is pottering about making lots of delicious dishes for a buffet-style supper. The girls are preparing a big bowl of salad.
Gunnar asks how it went. Iben mutters non-committally.
She goes to stand behind her man, who is frying little slices of pork fillet in butter. She puts her arms round him and leans her head against his back, sensing the warmth of his chest against her cheek.
The two girls smile at her. Iben’s ear is pressed in between Gunnar’s shoulder blades and she can hear the beating of his heart.
This is exactly how I wanted it to be, she thinks. Like this.