The Library of Shadows (10 page)

Jon shook his head.

'Who would do such a thing?' he asked rhetorically. 'The police suggested it might be some sort of racist attack against the shop, but that seems a bit far-fetched.'

'The police?' exclaimed Katherina in alarm.

'Yes, they arrived at the same time as the fire department.'

Jon told her how the firemen had hosed down the hot spots, boarded up the windows and removed the carpet. In the meantime he had been questioned by the police. They hadn't seemed especially surprised; instead, they asked their questions in a routine manner, but at no time were they interested in what might have been going on in the shop, and he assured Katherina that he wouldn't have told them anything if they had asked. Outside the police had found remnants of the Molotov cocktails that had been used. It was apparently this evidence that had made them conclude it was a small group behind the attack, probably motivated by racism.

'Of course the police would like to talk to you too, but I didn't know your address or phone number, so you'll have to contact them yourself,' he said.

Katherina nodded slowly as she stared straight ahead.

'So what do you think?' asked Jon. 'Who was it?'

She opened her mouth to answer but was interrupted by a loud pounding on the boards covering the window of the door. They both turned towards the sound. The door handle was pressed down, and the door swung open.

Pau came in with a wild look in his eyes. 'What the hell happened here?' he burst out.

It took some persuading before he calmed down enough for Jon and Katherina to tell him. As they talked Pau paced back and forth on the exposed floorboards, as if he wanted to make up for the years of wear and tear that the floor had escaped by being underneath the carpet. His face grew more and more red with fury as their report progressed, but he didn't interrupt them, and he probably wouldn't have been able to speak anyway because his teeth were pressed together so hard.

'Those shitheads,' he exclaimed, his voice shaking, when they finished. His eyes full of hate, he shifted his gaze to Katherina and then to Jon.

'Who?' asked Jon at once.

The question seemed to take Pau by surprise. His eyes wavered, and he looked back at Katherina.

'Yes, who exactly do you mean?' asked Katherina.

'Er, well, that's obvious,' he said, in annoyance. 'You of all people should know.'

Silence descended on the shop. Katherina kept her eyes stubbornly fixed on Pau's face. She knew very well what he was referring to, but she also knew that he was mistaken. In any case, this was not the proper time or place to start a quarrel. Considering the state he was in, it would do no good to argue with him.

'Don't you think it's about time you gave me an explanation?'

Katherina and Pau broke off their staring contest and shifted their attention to Jon. He was leaning on the counter, pressing the palms of his hands into the surface.

'Frankly, I think I've been extremely patient. I've had Molotov cocktails thrown at me, people have lied to me and mysterious things have been going on in this shop, to say the least – this shop that actually belongs to me. So don't you think it's reasonable that I should know what's going on?'

Pau was the one who broke the silence. 'Will you, or should I?' he asked, turning to Katherina.

'Kortmann,' she replied tersely. 'Iversen said we should take him to see Kortmann.'

'We? Do you think he'll let you in?'

Katherina shrugged. 'We'll see.'

'I believe I met this man at the funeral.' said Jon.

'An older man in a wheelchair?' asked Katherina.

Jon nodded.

'Kortmann is the head of the Bibliophile Society,' she went on. 'He has all the answers, and he'll decide what should be done.'

Katherina had a hard time hiding the sarcasm in her last remark, but Pau didn't seem to notice and clapped his hands in satisfaction.

'When are we going to see him?'

'Now,' replied Katherina.

Jon had driven past Kortmann's house in Hellerup many times without knowing whose it was. The house stood out from the rest because it was enormous and had a big rusty tower reaching up along one wall to the very top of the building. The tower looked like a factory smokestack that had fallen into disrepair. Its presence on a well-maintained four-storey redbrick house in the suburb of Hellerup was so extraordinary that Jon immediately recognized the place.

A wall three metres high surrounded the property, and solid wrought-iron gates prevented unauthorized visitors from entering.

Katherina sat in the passenger seat of Jon's car; Pau sat in the back. Neither of them had said a word except when it was necessary to give directions. Jon stopped the car a few metres from the gate. There was an intercom on the driver's side. Jon rolled down his window, stretched out his arm and pressed the button marked with a bell.

'What should I say?' he asked as they waited for a response.

'Just say who we are,' replied Katherina. 'He'll know it's important.'

Jon glanced at his watch. It was one a.m., but there were still lights on in some of the windows on the fourth floor.

'Yes?' said a dry-sounding voice from the intercom.

Jon leaned towards the speaker.

'It's Jon, Jon Campelli.' He paused for a moment, but there was no reaction. 'I'm sorry for coming here so late, but it's important, and we're here to speak to Kortmann.'

There was still no reaction from the intercom except for a faint rushing sound, and Jon gave Katherina a questioning look. She shrugged. Jon turned back to the speaker. 'Iversen is in hospital,' he ventured. 'Libri di Luca was—'

'Come in,' said the voice. 'You need to go up through the tower.'

The gate in front of them began to open, slowly and soundlessly, as if access to the house were being deliberately delayed. Jon drove the car in as soon as there was enough space to pass through and continued along a short asphalt drive up to the house. There was room for four or five cars in front of the building, but at the moment the space was deserted.

A row of columns dominated the facade of the house, and a wide, illuminated stone stairway led up to a dark wooden door with black hinges and a grille over a little window near the top.

All three of them got out.

'It must be over there,' said Pau, pointing along a flagstone path leading to the side of the house. He started walking that way, with Jon and Katherina following him.

'Have you been here before?' Jon asked.

'No,' replied Katherina.

'Me neither,' said Pau, hastening to add, 'But I don't think many of the others have either.'

The path ended at the huge rusty tower which turned out to contain a wide door lit by a single lamp above the frame. The tower and building were connected at the ground floor and the top storey by enclosed catwalks with the same rusty appearance.

'The receiver has to stay there,' they suddenly heard.

Pau pointed to where the sound was coming from, a speaker in the door frame. They looked at each other. Jon frowned, uncomprehending, and was about to object, but Katherina put her hand on his shoulder and nodded.

'It's okay,' she said. 'I was expecting that. I'll just stay in the car.'

'Are you sure?' asked Jon.

'Positive,' she replied. 'The two of you should go on up.'

Pau had already opened the door. 'Are you coming?'

Katherina turned round and headed back to the car as Jon joined Pau in the tower. Inside they found themselves in a lift with just enough space for the two of them. On their left a door led to the house, and Jon was just about to grab the handle when the lift started to move. They rose upwards, slowly and almost imperceptibly, as if they were being carried on a rising tide. The lift was not hoisted up on wires but by means of giant gears that raised the platform up at an even tempo. The whirring mechanism made Jon feel as if he were locked inside a huge grandfather clock.

Pau impatiently tapped his foot against the metal floor and peered up at the ceiling eight metres above them.

After what seemed to Jon an eternity, they reached the top, and Pau pushed open the door to the catwalk leading into the house. At the end of the passage a door opened to reveal Kortmann in his wheelchair. It almost seemed as if he'd been expecting them because he was fully dressed in a dark suit, a pair of shiny black shoes visible below the hems of his perfectly pressed trousers. The wheelchair was specially built out of brass and significantly higher than normal, which made it easier to have eye contact with the occupant. Yet at the same time it made him look like a boy in a high chair.

With a restrained nod, Kortmann bid them welcome.

'Come closer,' he added in a neutral tone that could be taken as both invitation and command. He moved his chair back a bit so they could get past and then directed them down a corridor with subdued lighting and paintings in gold frames on the walls. At the end of the hall they entered a large room with bookshelves from floor to ceiling. In the middle of the room stood a low, round table surrounded by six armchairs, and above it hung a large prism chandelier.

'Have a seat,' he said, gesturing towards the armchairs.

They did as he asked while they both looked around, impressed. Pau gave a low whistle.

'Quite a place you've got here,' he said. 'It must have cost a fortune.'

Kortmann ignored him. Grabbing a handle on the side of his wheelchair, he lowered the height of his seat.

'What happened?' he asked, looking straight at Jon.

Jon told him about the attack on the bookshop and about Iversen's condition. During the entire account Kortmann kept his eyes fixed on Jon and not once, even when Pau interrupted with a snide remark, did his gaze waver. It was not a suspicious gaze, but a look filled with gravity, concern and attentiveness. When Jon was finished, Kortmann sat in his wheelchair without saying a word, his hands clasped in front of him.

'Did you see who did it?' he asked at last.

Jon shook his head. 'No.'

'But the receiver was there too?'

'Katherina? Yes, she was there the whole time. In fact, she put out most of the fire.'

Kortmann turned towards Pau. 'And what about you?'

'I didn't get there until later,' replied Pau. 'I do have a life besides books, after all.'

Kortmann looked down at his hands. 'It was only yesterday that I talked to Iversen,' he began. 'We talked about you, Jon. You can be an extremely crucial person for the Society, and considering the latest events, it's more important than ever that we make use of you.' He raised his head to look at Jon. His dark eyes gazed at him sorrowfully.

'Recently quite a few disturbing things have happened in our circles. Libri di Luca isn't the only antiquarian bookshop that has been subjected to an attack. Last month a bookshop in Valby burned down, and several of our contacts in the city's libraries have been harassed or fired without warning. And then, of course, there's the regrettable matter of your father's death.'

Jon gave a start and stared enquiringly at the man in the wheelchair.

'What does Luca's death have to do with the fire?'

'Your father's death was only the beginning.'

'Stop just a minute,' said Jon, holding up both hands. 'Luca died of heart failure.'

'Correct,' Kortmann agreed. 'But there was nothing wrong with his heart.'

Jon studied the man sitting across from him. The eyes behind the glasses didn't waver, and his face emanated both seriousness and patience.

'What exactly are you trying to tell me, Kortmann?'

'That your father, in all likelihood, was murdered.'

Jon felt his body grow heavy, and he had a sensation of sinking into the armchair, as if the air had been let out of the leather upholstery. He couldn't meet Kortmann's eye but let his gaze wander aimlessly while the words seeped into his consciousness.

After a pause Kortmann went on. 'I understood from Iversen that you've witnessed the abilities of a receiver during a demonstration at Libri di Luca. Is that right?'

Jon nodded absentmindedly.

'Perhaps you noticed that you didn't have total control over your own body. You were unable to steer the reading or your eyes or your breathing, and maybe you even sensed a change in your heartbeat. Just imagine those small effects increased by a factor of ten or a hundred. Your father didn't have a chance.'

Jon tried to recall what had happened in the basement during his reading of
Fahrenheit 451.
He remembered strong images and a definite impact on the story, but did he have control over his own body or was it being steered by Katherina?

'Naturally we can't prove anything,' said Kortmann with regret in his voice. 'It doesn't leave any traces of drugs or injuries or any sort of marks. The symptoms are an over-exerted heart, subsequently followed by heart failure.'

The feeling of helplessness Jon had experienced during the demonstration returned, and he remembered how his heart had noticeably beat faster. He recalled the heat he had felt on his hands, and the sweat that had appeared on his forehead. He'd been a passenger in his own body, unable to stop it, even if it had walked off a cliff. Jon could easily imagine how this power could be used for other things than conjuring up good reading experiences. But what sort of person would use this control over someone else to such an extent that it ended in death?

'Katherina is a receiver,' said Jon. 'Is that why she isn't allowed up here?'

'Indeed. No receiver has access to these rooms any more.'

'Any more?'

'Forgive me, I keep forgetting that you know nothing about the Bibliophile Society and its history, even though you're Luca's son.'

'Please, just tell me,' Jon insisted.

Kortmann nodded and cleared his throat before he went on.

'Until twenty years ago, the Bibliophile Society was a group that welcomed both transmitters and receivers. That was largely thanks to your father and grandfather – they held the two factions together as long as they could. But twenty years ago a series of events occurred, quite similar to what we're seeing today. Lectors were fired from their public positions for no reason, or they were subjected to harassment of one sort or another. This escalated to break-ins, fires and even murder, and there were clear signs that powers were being used offensively. The receivers accused us of being behind it, while we were convinced that they were causing these events. The powers that receivers possess are less obvious than ours, and we thought we had proof that receivers were involved in most of the attacks we suffered. Everything pointed in their direction. Even in cases where receivers were the target, we could explain them as deliberate smokescreens or revolts within their own ranks. But they denied everything. The accusations ended up splitting the Society in two. The mood was hateful, and at that time your father was out of the picture because of your mother's death. He'd always been an ambassador for both sides and without his diplomacy the Society became, as I said, divided up into transmitters and receivers.' Kortmann pressed the palms of his hands together. 'That's why receivers are not welcome here today.'

'What happened?' asked Jon. 'Did the attacks stop?'

'Instantly,' replied Kortmann. 'After the split, there were no further problems.'

'Until now,' Pau added.

Kortmann nodded.

Jon thought back to his father's funeral. Iversen had said that both transmitters and receivers were present – many of them, in fact. He hadn't sensed any discord or mistrust, but back then he'd had no idea what sort of people they were, or what their connection to Luca had been.

'Why Luca?'

'Your father always had one foot in each camp, and not everybody was happy about that. Some people, both transmitters and receivers, think that it's best to stick with one's own kind. In their eyes he might be regarded as a traitor.'

'And in yours?'

Kortmann hesitated for a moment, but if he felt accused, he didn't show it.

'Luca was my close friend. In addition, he was a talented leader and the very embodiment of goodness, but we didn't always agree. I lobbied for the division between transmitters and receivers back then, and that gave me the position as leader of the Society when your father stepped down. I would have much preferred that he stayed on, but your mother's death took a terrible toll on him, and he had no contact with the Society for several years afterwards. When he finally returned, the split had long since become a reality.'

'So he didn't become the leader again?'

'No, in accordance with his own wishes, Luca became an ordinary member of the Society,' replied Kortmann, and he hastened to add, 'But we always asked him for advice when it came to important decisions. He was, after all, one of the founders, and his word still carried great weight.'

'Was that what made him so dangerous that he had to die?'

'I have a hard time imagining that, but as for what he was doing with the receivers, I can't say.'

'They must have had some reason for killing him,' said Pau. 'You said it yourself, Kortmann. The murderer is a receiver.'

'They deny any involvement,' replied Kortmann. 'In spite of the split, we occasionally communicate with the receivers. It used to be done through Luca. Now we're trying to set up a more official means of communication. Right after Luca's death their leader rang me up and assured me that they had nothing to do with the murder.'

'The whole thing stinks to high heaven,' exclaimed Pau. 'I bet they're the ones behind all of it. So who's going to be the next one to be assassinated? You? Me? We should do something before it's too late.'

'Before you start launching an attack,' said Jon calmly, 'shouldn't you rule out that Luca's death was actually from natural causes?'

'We've certainly had doubts,' admitted Kortmann. 'Until tonight. The attack on Libri di Luca has absolutely convinced me that someone wants to destroy us. But your scepticism pleases me, Jon. You'll need it for the task that we're about to give you.'

'Task?' said Jon uncertainly. Images of himself tossing Molotov cocktails at shop windows popped into his mind. Strangely enough, the situation seemed less repellent than he might have expected, as if the circumstances surrounding Luca's death had stirred up something inside him.