And instinctively Marco knew he now had to raise his hand to the security lock on the window by which he sat.
It was a movement the staff behind the counter didn’t like. They became agitated, and Lisbeth gave a strange nod to the man at the entrance. He nodded back and began strolling a bit too casually toward the area where Marco sat, pretending to check the shelves he passed on his way.
The windows rattled at the slamming of car doors and two figures came running, one with his jacket billowing behind him, the other scuttling crablike.
It was Mørck and his assistant.
Marco’s eyes were everywhere now as he unhasped the lock on the window as calmly and as inconspicuously as possible. The man from the entrance was only a few strides away, yet Marco remained seated for a second more. He wanted to be absolutely certain that he didn’t jump out before the two policemen had turned the corner and were heading for the entrance.
Now!
He took a deep breath, sent the lady librarian a sad look, pushed the window open, and jumped.
–
“You’re joking? Did he really just jump out the window? Why didn’t you people stop him?”
Carl sprang to the open window and looked out. Parked cars, otherwise nothing.
Lisbeth pointed at a young man who was sitting in a chair, moaning softly.
“Bent there tried to go after him, but he sprained his ankle clambering up onto the windowsill.”
Carl nodded testily to the man. What the hell kind of condition were Denmark’s young people in these days?
“What was the boy doing?” Assad asked.
“He was just sitting over there at the computer. He took a printout at one point. It might still be there.”
Carl went over to the table. There was nothing there and nothing on the floor either.
“Check the wastepaper basket over there, Assad,” he said, sitting down at the computer. He found himself wondering how much of his life he had wasted in front of Google’s logo, wishing himself back to the time when the Internet was no more than an electrical impulse in some bloke’s kinky brain.
“We could check and see if he had time to delete his searches,” Lisbeth suggested, leaning her ripe breasts lightly against his shoulder as she began to type with prettily painted fingernails.
Sensing her perfume, Carl inhaled cautiously but deeply. It wasn’t quite as pervasive as Mona’s, but almost. The kind of scent that put every gland in his body on the alert.
“I’m sure you know, but then you just click on the triangle there,” she said, leaning farther forward and doing it for him.
That was when Carl lost all interest in police work.
He wondered whether she was doing it on purpose, all his senses now converging on his shoulder region.
“There we are,” she said, relieving the angelic pressure as he followed the movement of her body. “Now we can see what he was so interested in. Maybe you can tell us why, Inspector Mørck.”
He stared listlessly at the screen, then woke up.
“Strange boy,” came Assad’s voice from behind him.
Carl focused his eyes and scrolled down to where the searches no longer seemed to be related. It all looked very systematic, and it was all about him.
“Now he knows who you are, Carl.”
“Yeah, and you, too, Assad.”
“I think you better keep an eye out for what’s happening around you.”
“I’m not afraid of a kid.”
“He is not just a kid, Carl, You can see for yourself right here. He wants to know all about you. Perhaps he knows more than is good.”
“What do you mean?”
“I just mean that sometimes the camel driver is driven by the camel.”
Carl nodded. What the hell did the boy want with all this information?
“Look at his last search,” said Lisbeth. “He’s been on Google Maps. That’s probably where his printout’s from.”
Carl clicked on the search word, only to find himself on another search page with another search field.
“Can I see which area he was searching for?”
Lisbeth leaned forward again. “Just do the same again. Click on the triangle there, Carl.”
She might just have told him. Not that he had the slightest objection to the heavenly feeling of her soft breasts once more against his shoulder. As far as he was concerned, she could stay like that a bit longer.
He looked at the list of searches.
Kregme came up.
“Strange name,” said Assad. “Just like the stuff in a layer cake.”
Lisbeth’s laughter was like feeling the gentlest of touches. Carl stared at her lips. What the fuck was happening?
“Do you live up in Kregme, Carl? That’s a long way.”
“No, I live in Allerød. I’ve no idea why he’d be interested in Kregme. Maybe he lives there himself. Maybe that’s where he’s off to now.”
“Allerød, that’s a coincidence.”
“Why, do you live there, too?” he asked. The thought of her perhaps soon heading off home in the same direction made him oddly restless.
She smiled. “No, in Værløse. Just a stone’s throw, isn’t it?”
“When do you get off work?” he blurted out, and could have bitten off his tongue. What the hell was he playing at? What kind of an idiotic question was that? He’d be asking how she was getting home next.
“How are you getting home?” he heard himself say, purely reflexively.
“You could give me a lift, for example.” She laughed out loud. So she probably didn’t mean it.
Carl took a deep breath. With the possible exception of the infinity of the universe, a female’s humor was probably the most difficult thing to get a handle on.
Carl looked at Assad. His smile seemed a bit too crooked. What was he thinking?
“Perhaps we could go out for a meal together?” Lisbeth added. “I’m rather hungry, as it happens. Then you could tell me all you know about this boy. I have to admit I’m curious. What do you say?”
–
He waited for them over on the other side of the street, crouching behind the cars parked outside the former Red Cross building.
From here he could see the policemen’s car in the parking lot. Any moment now they would come out and drive off. He just wanted to see them, and what they were going to do.
For that reason he was surprised when they came out with the librarian, and even more so when Carl Mørck and his assistant parted company and Carl and the librarian headed up the street together toward Lille Triangel.
Reaching the Dag H café, where Marco had so often lent a hand sweeping the pavement and clearing up, they went inside and sat down at a table that was not immediately visible from the street.
The thing now was to decide whether to make his next move straightaway. If there were too many or too few customers, he risked being discovered, but as far as he could make out, conditions were just right.
He waited twenty minutes before walking in and past the bar, nodding to those at work behind it.
Luckily, it was no one he knew.
They were seated in a corner on the left, their elbows on the table and faces so close together that anyone would think they knew each other most intimately.
Carl Mørck seemed different than the other times he had seen him. His fierce countenance had evaporated and been oddly replaced by the kind of half-witted boyish pose Danish men assume when trying to get off with a woman. And the strange thing was that the women usually fell for it, and this instance was no exception. Something was obviously going on.
It couldn’t have been better.
Marco scanned the café. For a thief this was perfect: a lively hum of voices, couples with fingers entwined, intimate conversation, joking between friends. A landscape free of cares, in which people like Marco worked best. Bags dumped on the floor, coats and jackets draped over chairs, mobile phones on table edges.
He straightened his shoulders and slid like a shadow into the passage between the bar and the cake display. If he could find a seat in the armchair on the raised area just behind Carl Mørck without the librarian seeing him, he’d be able to ease the wallet out of Mørck’s jacket that hung from the back of his chair.