“I see,” he said. “Another odd story, and there are apparently plenty more where it came from, I realize that. Nevertheless, I can’t help but think of a related coincidence that I find at least as odd, which is that you happened to be in Somolomo the very same day Fon disappeared just across the river. What were you doing there?”
This time Eriksen kept himself together. If he was shocked, he certainly wasn’t showing it.
“Yes, that’s true, but there’s a perfectly simple explanation. I was there to make sure things were running smoothly. The opportunity arose because I was going to southern Cameroon anyway to discuss a couple of other projects, which for various reasons never amounted to anything after they got turned over to the EU. Purification of drinking water, checks on timber extraction, that sort of thing.”
“And was everything going according to plan in Dja in your opinion?” Carl asked.
Eriksen shook his head. “No, I did notice the project was proceeding rather slowly and I also tried to get hold of Louis Fon to get an explanation.”
Gordon could keep quiet no longer. “So could that be why Stark went down there?”
Carl could have murdered him on the spot, but opted for another dead leg. What the hell was he playing at?
Eriksen nodded, of course. The answer had already been handed to him on a plate. “Yes, Stark flew down there a couple of days later to go through everything in more detail. Unfortunately I didn’t have enough time on that trip to do it myself.”
Carl took stock. Was René E. Eriksen really the kind of senior civil servant who never did a damn thing and left everything to his subordinates? Who took all the credit when projects succeeded and blamed others when they failed? If he was, then any number of scenarios were open, including ones where William Stark had exploited the situation. Because what it all came down to was that Stark had disappeared immediately following his last visit to the place, and as far as Carl could tell, a hell of a lot of government foreign development aid had disappeared as well, and into the wrong pockets. There was something to suggest that Stark’s pockets had been in there somewhere, but that others had also been involved in the circus. People who might have had an interest in making off with the whole bundle themselves.
Carl thrust out his lower lip. Sometimes one was allowed to take a shot in the dark. “I reckon Stark was on the make, siphoning off funds for his own purposes,” he said.
Eriksen did not appear to be particularly surprised. His reaction seemed solemn and pensive. “Our books are under constant scrutiny, so I can’t imagine anyone not having noticed if that were the case.”
“But accountants don’t go to Africa and count the number of banana trees, do they?”
“No, of course not. Very rarely, anyway.” He allowed himself to smile. In Carl’s opinion, however, he didn’t have much to smile about.
Fifty million a year. Hell’s bells.
“So what it comes down to is that only you and Stark could tell if there were any irregularities down there. Don’t you think that gave the two of you a bit too much clout?”
Eriksen fell silent for a long time, staring into thin air, lips pressed thin. His expression was neutral rather than empty, like when a person knows there’s absolutely nothing he can do about a situation.
“But that’s terrible, if what you’re thinking is correct,” he answered after a while. “In which case, the responsibility is mine.”
“Anyway, we’re going to have to ask you to look more deeply into it.”
He nodded, his brow knitted in a frown. “Yes, yes, of course. I’ll give it my full scrutiny together with the administrative officer I mentioned who’s on vacation. I’ll call him as soon as he returns on Monday and report back to you that afternoon.”
They left Eriksen almost paralyzed on his chair in the midst of his governmental clutter and Carl didn’t mind a bit.
Finding the motive behind a person’s disappearance was the surest way of uncovering what had actually happened, and at the moment he felt they were getting close.
He walked along immersed in his own thoughts until Gordon interrupted.
“I think I’m rather too old to be pinched on the knee,” he said, his mouth puckered with indignation. “Next time we’re out on a job together I suggest we act like substantially more mature individuals. I take it you agree.” He extended a hand. “Shall we say it’s a deal?”
Carl studied the stairs they were approaching. A discreet nudge and a couple of somersaults on the way down could easily cause a small rupture of his neck vertebrae. He was sorely tempted.
He considered the outstretched hand and came to a halt. “Listen, Gordon. Once you’ve dried yourself behind the ears and taken your exams, get yourself a nice little job as managing clerk somewhere in the sticks where you have to take care of the local housing associations’ squabbles about the maintenance of basement storage rooms. By that time you’ll probably be able to look back with joy and gratitude on the day Carl Mørck took you out on a job and prevented you from making an utter idiot of yourself, don’t you think?”
Gordon let his hand fall to his side. “You’re saying I’m childish?” he said. “That’s what people say about you, too.”
Carl’s safety valve was almost ready to blow. One more wrong word and he would explode right in the middle of a government institution.
“Anyway, I’ve left my scarf in his office,” Gordon added. “I’ll catch up with you later.”
He turned and started walking away. That was precisely the angle Carl preferred to see him from.
–
Eriksen felt like he’d been slammed against the wall. Mørck had given him a hell of a grilling. How come they knew so much? About Fon’s disappearance. About plantations that had never been planted. If they knew that, chances were they knew a lot more besides. At least that was the feeling he’d got when they’d been questioning him.
If it hadn’t been for the buffoon Carl Mørck brought with him instead of the Arab, Mørck might suddenly have slipped in a question that caught him napping.
Maybe he’d given himself away already. He couldn’t be sure. Even though he’d been careful to control his body language, sometimes this Mørck had looked at him as if he could see right through him. As if he knew the whole story and was only waiting to tell it.
Christ, what a terrible twenty-four hours it had been, but now it was over. A couple of minor matters to sort out and he’d be off. The proceeds from the sale of his shares in Karrebæk Bank had been transferred to his account, so now all he needed was new identity papers. There were people out in Vesterbro who specialized in that sort of thing, people Snap had boasted about. René reckoned this would take a day more, after which he’d go to Teis Snap and demand his rightful share of the Curaçao stocks.
He shoved his glasses onto his forehead and rubbed his eyes. Once he’d seen Snap he needed to make himself scarce. Amsterdam or Berlin, he didn’t care, just somewhere a person could change his appearance with a minimum of bother. He could pull it off, as long as they left him alone for a day or two.
There was a knock on the door. The handle turned.
Eriksen’s breathing stopped. His subordinates wouldn’t just come barging in, so were the investigators back already?
It was the young assistant who stuck his head round the door, so Carl Mørck was most probably right behind him. What had they found out? Had they been talking to his staff? No, now he was being silly. They had nothing on him, nothing at all.
“Sorry, just two more questions,” the novice said. “Have you a got a minute?”
Eriksen put his glasses back on. Why had he come on his own? Was it some kind of trick?