get out of it, but she couldn’t care less.
Shortly before her thirty-fifth birthday, a second shadow suddenly appeared behind the glass. It was a little bigger and not as sharp-edged, and it loomed quite a bit higher than the other one.
Another person is standing behind the first one, she thought, noticing her fear grow with the certainty that she was outnumbered; the superior force out there had now manifested itself.
It took her a couple of days to get used to this new situation, but then she decided to challenge her captors.
She began lying down under the panes to wait for the shadows. In this position she was out of their line of vision when they arrived to observe her. She refused to accommodate them, not knowing how long they would wait for her to come out of hiding. That was the whole point of the maneuver.
The second day, when the urge to pee came over her for the second time, she got up and looked directly into the mirrored glass. As always there was a slight glow from the subdued light on the other side, but the shadows were gone.
She repeated this routine for three days in a row. If they want to see me, they can just say so, she thought.
On the fourth day, she got ready. She lay down under the panes, patiently memorizing her books as she gripped the flashlight tightly in her hand. She’d tested it the night before, and the light had come pouring into the room, making her dizzy and giving her an instant headache. The force of the light was overwhelming.
When it was time for the shadows to appear, she leaned her head back a bit so she could look up at the panes. Suddenly, like mushroom clouds, they were standing there in one of the portholes, closer together than ever. They must have noticed her at once, because they both moved back slightly. But after a minute or two they stepped forward again.
At that instant she jumped up, switched on the flashlight, and pressed it against the pane.
The reflection of the light ricocheted off the long wall behind her, but a tiny sliver penetrated the mirrored glass and settled revealingly like faint moonlight upon the silhouettes on the other side. The pupils of their eyes, looking straight at her, contracted and then expanded again. She’d prepared herself for the shock if her plan succeeded, but she had never imagined how deeply the sight of those two indistinct faces would be burned into her consciousness.
23. 2007
Carl had made appointments for two meetings at Christiansborg. He was received by a lanky woman who seemed to have frequented the place since childhood. She was able to lead him through the labyrinthine halls and up to the office belonging to the vice-chair of the Democrats with such familiarity that a snail in its shell would have envied her.
Birger Larsen was an experienced politician who had succeeded Merete Lynggaard as vice-chair of the party three days after she disappeared. Since then he’d distinguished himself by acting as the glue that was needed to hold the two vying wings of the party in reasonably close contact. Merete’s disappearance had left a gaping void. The veteran leader had almost blindly selected his new heir, a female airhead with a big smile, who initially became the political spokesperson. No one, except the designated successor, was happy with his choice. It didn’t take two seconds for Carl to sense that Birger Larsen would have preferred making a career for himself in some tiny business out in the sticks to working at some point under this self-satisfied potential prime minister.
The time would no doubt arrive when he wouldn’t be allowed to make that decision on his own.
“Even today I still can’t make any sense of the idea that Merete supposedly committed suicide,” he said, pouring Carl a cup of lukewarm coffee. It was so tepid that he could have stuck his thumb in it with no ill effects.
“I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone here who seemed more vital and glad to be alive.” He shrugged. “But when it comes right down to it, what do we really know about our fellow human beings? Haven’t we all had some sort of tragedy happen in our lives that we couldn’t foresee?”
Carl nodded. “Did she have any enemies here at Christiansborg?”
Larsen displayed a row of exceedingly crooked teeth when he smiled. “Who the hell doesn’t? Merete was the most dangerous woman here in terms of the future of the government, the influence of Piv Vestergard, and the likelihood of the Radical Center Party grabbing the prime minister position. She was actually dangerous to anyone who pictured themselves in that position, and Merete would undoubtedly have achieved it for herself if only she’d been here a couple more years.”
“Do you think she’d received threats from anyone here?”
“Oh, Morck. We MPs are too smart for anything like that.”
“Maybe she had personal relationships that could have led to jealousy or hatred. Do you know anything about that?”
“As far as I know, Merete wasn’t interested in personal relationships. For her it was all work, work, work and more work. I knew her since she was a political science student, but even I was never permitted to get closer to her than she would allow.”
“And she didn’t allow it?”
The man’s teeth appeared again. “You mean, was anyone interested in her romantically? Of course, I can think of at least half a dozen men here who would gladly have given up their wives for ten minutes alone with Merete Lynggaard.”
“Did that include yourself?” Carl permitted himself a smile.
“Hmm, well, who wouldn’t?” The teeth disappeared. “But Merete and I were friends. I knew what my limits were.”
“But maybe there were others who didn’t?”
“You’ll have to ask Marianne Koch about that.”
“Merete’s former secretary? Do you know why she was replaced?”
“Well, not really. They’d worked together for a couple of years, but it could be that Marianne got a little too personal for Merete’s taste.”
“Where can I find this Marianne Koch today?”
A slyness appeared in Larsen’s eyes. “Where you just said hello to her ten minutes ago, I would imagine.”
“She’s your secretary now?” Carl put down his coffee cup and pointed toward the door. “The woman sitting out there?”
Marianne Koch was the complete opposite of the woman who had escorted Carl up to the office. She was petite, with thick, curly black hair that seemed fragrant with temptation even from the other side of the desk.
“Why weren’t you still working as Merete Lynggaard’s secretary during the period just before she disappeared?” he asked, after the requisite introductory remarks had been exchanged.
She knitted her brow in thought. “I couldn’t understand it either. Not at the time, at any rate. I was actually quite ticked off at her. But then it came out that she had a disabled brother she was taking care of.”
“And?”
“Well, I thought she had a boyfriend since she was always acting so secretive and was in such a hurry to go home every day.”
He smiled. “Was that what you told her?”
“Yes, it was dumb. I can see that now. But I thought we were closer friends than we really were. You live and learn.” She gave Carl a wry smile, revealing a whole set of dimples. If Assad ever met her, he’d never be able to get on with his life.
