The Library of Shadows (13 page)

In front of the entrance Pau, Lee and Henning were having a muted conversation, but as soon as Katherina and Jon came out, they broke up and went their separate ways. Pau came sauntering over to them.

'Would you like a lift?' asked Jon.

'No, thanks,' replied Pau. 'I'm on my bike. Besides, I wouldn't want to get in the way of the Dynamic Duo.' He laughed.

'New friends?' asked Katherina, nodding in the direction that Lee had headed.

Pau shrugged. 'I've always thought that Lee was cool. He's going to show me some of his Internet tricks some day.' Pau watched Lee go. 'I suppose he was a little miffed at what Kortmann said. The last time anyone talked to him like that, it was his old man. The Bibliophile Society has turned into a pensioners' club with reading aloud, bingo and all that crap. We've got to recruit some new blood soon – I agree with Lee about that.' He shifted his glance to Jon. 'What do you think, Jon?'

'Hard to say, since I'm not even a member.'

'There shouldn't be any problem about becoming a member since you're Luca's son. But maybe Kortmann won't let you in. Have you thought about why he won't activate you?'

'Not particularly.'

'The others think he's afraid you'll want to take his place.'

'I haven't exactly got the feeling that he's trying to get rid of me – on the contrary,' replied Jon in a neutral tone.

'Yeah, okay,' said Pau, sounding resigned. 'I've got to go. See you!'

They said goodbye and watched Pau cycle away into the darkness, riding an ancient men's bicycle with no lights.

'What do you think?' asked Jon.

'He's just a kid,' said Katherina.

'I meant about the meeting.'

She laughed but quickly turned serious. 'They're scared.'

For the first time in what seemed like ages Jon allowed himself to sleep eight hours straight. Even so, he could tell that he was still suffering from a lack of sleep, but he was alert enough to go through his morning routine without skipping the shaving.

In light of all the recent upheaval in his life, his usual activities and rituals had taken on a new purpose. It was as if he were putting on a different identity – lawyer by day, investigator of secret conspiracies by night. When the two worlds collided, he could see the absurdity, respectively, of going to work when he ought to be investigating his father's death, or of playing amateur detective when he was facing the breakthrough case of his career.

On that particular day three such collisions took place.

The first one happened when he rang a glass company to order new windows for the bookshop. He'd chosen the one that was located closest to Libri di Luca, and it turned out that the glazier had known Luca. Jon introduced himself as the new owner with such ease that afterwards he had stared at the phone for a long time and had to resist the temptation to look at himself in the mirror.

The second collision came in the form of a phone call after lunch.

'Campelli? Remer here,' he heard on the other end of the line, despite the bad connection.

'I'm glad you rang,' replied Jon. 'I assume you received my letter?' After Remer's last visit, Jon had compiled the questions that hadn't been resolved when they met and sent them off to Remer.

'Letter?' repeated Remer. 'No, I didn't receive anything, but I'm in Holland at the moment, so I may be a little difficult to reach. Send an email instead – I usually get those.'

'I did that too,' remarked Jon.

'Oh. Well, that's not the reason I rang you up,' Remer said quickly. 'Do you remember that bookseller I told you about? I met him here in Amsterdam at a reception. Smart guy. He told me what happened at the shop. A very sad story. How serious is the damage?'

'It's not so bad,' replied Jon. 'The wooden facade and the windows have to be replaced, and a bunch of minor things need repair inside, but otherwise not much happened.'

'That's good to hear, Campelli. I can't have my lawyer getting his fingers burned.' Remer laughed loudly on the line while Jon wondered whether the real reason for the call was so that Remer could deliver that punchline.

'It's nice of you to think of me, Mr Remer, but I'd rather have you answer some of the questions I sent you.'

'Oh sure, I'll take a look at them,' said Remer. 'I just wanted to say that he's still interested in buying the place – the bookseller, I mean. He's even willing to overlook any fire damage.'

'As I said—'

'Don't tell me you're still considering becoming a bookseller yourself, Campelli?' Remer interrupted him. 'It does look as if it's more exciting than we both thought, but of course you know where your real talent lies. As I said before, just sell the place and get out of that business. It's much too unpredictable for laymen like us; recent events have proven that clearly enough.'

'Mr Remer,' Jon cut him off. 'I
have
made a decision. Libri di Luca is not for sale. And if you don't mind, I'd like to get back to my job of keeping you out of prison.' He hung up before Remer could reply.

But it wasn't easy to concentrate after that call. He managed to write yet another email and a letter, but Jon's thoughts were more on the conversation than on his work. As he replayed Remer's words in his mind, he sometimes came to the conclusion that Remer had been trying to coerce him into selling for business reasons, but at other times he thought the man had made an outright threat.

The third collision took place during these speculations.

Katherina rang him from the bookshop. On the phone her voice sounded both fragile and gentle, but there was also a note of uncertainty, which Jon noticed at once.

'There's a claims assessor here in the shop,' she told him.

'Yes?' said Jon, as his brain made connections between fire damage, insurance policies and compensation.

'Is this something you requested?'

'No,' replied Jon. 'I think they just show up automatically, don't they?'

There was a pause on the other end of the line.

'The thing is,' whispered Katherina, 'he wants access to the basement.'

From the moment the claims assessor stepped through the door of Libri di Luca, the atmosphere changed. Katherina felt instantly ill at ease as his enquiring gaze swept over the boarded-up windows, the exposed floor and from there up to the bookshelves and balcony. There was no love for books in his eyes, just a cynical appraisal of what he saw, calculated in square metres and percentages.

Up until then it had been a good day. There wasn't a cloud in the sky, and even though it was cold, Katherina had enjoyed the bike ride from the Nordvest district into town. In the shop she started cleaning up. The bucket of vinegar had done its job, and the last whiff of smoke disappeared after a thorough airing. To add a little ambience to the room, she had brought up a five-branched candelabra from the basement and lit the candles. Somewhere deep inside she felt herself gloating at the idea of lighting small flames in a place where they had so recently fought much larger ones.

Not even the four or five customers who had appeared over the course of the day had bothered her – on the contrary, she had discreetly steered their attention to a couple of excellent purchases.

The only thing the man told her was his name, Mogens Verner, and the fact that he was a claims assessor who 'was going to look things over'. Under his light trenchcoat he wore a dark-blue suit, and under one arm he carried a notebook and a pocket calculator. At no time did he ask for permission to take a look around, nor did he ask Katherina any questions. In silence he surveyed the ground floor, paying special attention to the display windows and the floor. He quickly scanned the bookshelves without focusing on any individual titles. It was only when he climbed the stairs to the balcony that Katherina sensed that something was very wrong.

She didn't honestly know why he needed to go up there. Even from down below it was clear that the only damage the fire had done was on the underside of the balcony, and not on the mezzanine itself. In addition, he started lingering over the books, long enough to read the titles and the authors' names. Some of them he even wrote down in his notebook.

Although Katherina remained below, she could easily follow his survey of the contents of the glass cases above. She also noticed that he was very focused and only a few disruptive images interfered with his thought process. But there was one that showed up a number of times, though not long enough for her to make out the details. It was a picture of two men sitting across from him in a café. One was tall with red hair and deep-set dark eyes. The other had grey, close-cropped hair and seemed jovial and forthcoming. Both were wearing suits. Katherina was convinced she had seen the grey-haired man somewhere before.

As the claims assessor started down the stairs, Katherina made sure she was standing at the foot so that they would meet. He nodded to her and then made for the stairs down to the basement.

'Excuse me, but where are you going?' she asked sternly.

'I have to evaluate the entire property,' he said. 'That includes the basement.'

'Nothing was damaged down there,' said Katherina. 'The fire department didn't use any water indoors, so there can't be any water or fire damage.'

'Nevertheless,' said the man with a sigh, 'it's my job to inspect all the rooms.'

'I'm afraid I can't permit that,' said Katherina. 'Not without the owner being present.'

'The owner?' The claims assessor expressed surprise. 'He's the one who requested the appraisal.'

After the phone conversation with Jon, Katherina persuaded the claims assessor to come back in half an hour. He wasn't pleased. With rising irritation he tried to explain that he had other appointments that day, and that the case couldn't be resolved without his final evaluation. His mood hadn't improved when he returned thirty-five minutes later and Jon still hadn't turned up.

'What should we do now?' he was asking just as Jon opened the door to the shop and came in, out of breath.

Katherina smiled with relief and motioned towards Jon as he came over to them.

'Mogens Verner,' said the claims assessor, holding out his hand.

Jon shook hands with him.

'Jon Campelli. I'm the owner of Libri di Luca.'

'You're the owner?' replied the claims assessor in astonishment, letting go of his hand as if he'd had an electric shock.

'Yes, is there something wrong?'

'I think there's been a misunderstanding,' said Mogens Verner, smiling uncertainly. 'You really must forgive me.'

'What do you mean?' asked Jon. He pointed at the windows. 'The fire damage isn't a misunderstanding.'

'That's not it,' explained the claims assessor, who was now bright red in the face. 'Although I generally work as a claims assessor, in this case I wasn't hired to evaluate the fire damage. My assignment is to evaluate the shop and its contents for the purposes of selling the property.'

'Selling?' Katherina burst out, giving Jon an alarmed look.

He shook his head. 'That's not something I requested.' He turned to look at the stranger. 'Who hired you?'

'The buyer and ... well, I thought he was the owner,' replied the claims assessor, clearly embarrassed about the situation. 'I'm afraid I can't reveal their names.'

'Don't you think it's rather strange that one of them would purport to be the owner?'

Mogens Verner nodded. 'Yes, and again I apologize. I'm going to straighten this whole thing out as fast as possible.' He put out his hand again. 'I'm sorry for wasting your time.'

Jon shook hands with the man, and Katherina did the same before he vanished out of the door as quickly as he had arrived.

'What do you think that was all about?' asked Katherina.

'I have an idea,' replied Jon. 'Do you remember the article I had with me on the night the shop caught fire? The man in the photo is one of my clients who's been asking questions about Libri di Luca, wanting to know whether I plan to sell it or not. He was quite insistent.'

Katherina nodded and quickly went behind the counter to rummage through the drawer. In all the commotion when the shop was attacked, the article had ended up on the floor, but she remembered tossing a bunch of loose papers into the drawer when she was cleaning up. Triumphantly she pulled out the article and studied the picture.

It was definitely the same man she had glimpsed in the thoughts of the claims assessor.

'The strange thing is,' Jon went on, 'that I was actually talking to him, to Remer, a few hours before you rang. I even made it clear to him that I didn't want to sell.'

'Some people won't take no for an answer,' said Katherina and told him about the image she had picked up of the two men in the café.

'The other man could be Remer's bookseller friend,' said Jon. 'You didn't recognize him?'

Katherina shook her head. There had been something disturbing about the red-haired man. Images she received in this way were often strongly coloured by the individual's perception of the situation in question, and something had made the claims assessor nervous at that meeting in the café. In reality the man was probably not nearly so tall and his eyes weren't as deep-set or dark, but Mogens Verner had felt uneasy, maybe even threatened by the man, which made him appear as he did in Verner's memory.

'Do you think there's any connection with Luca?' she asked.

'No,' replied Jon hastily. 'Except that they're trying to snap up the bookshop at a propitious moment. I know Remer's type – always on the lookout for a good deal.' He paused, as if he were also trying to convince himself, before he went on. 'Besides, he's not part of the bookselling trade, so how would he know anything about what's really going on?'

'I have no clue about the business side of things,' said Katherina. 'But at least I can say that I've never seen either of them in Lector circles.' She raised her index finger. 'By the way, there's a meeting for receivers tonight. They've agreed to allow you to attend if you have time.'

'Hmm, I was actually supposed to work on the Remer case, but I'm not feeling very motivated at the moment, after that stunt he pulled today. Maybe I should get hold of him right now and tell him what he can do with his appraisal.' He got out his mobile phone and started pressing numbers.

'Is he an important client?' asked Katherina.

'Very important,' said Jon with a nod. He raised his eyes, stared straight ahead and his courage seemed to flag as she looked at him. Finally he gave her an embarrassed smile. 'Well, okay, maybe I should wait a while.'

When his mobile suddenly rang as he was holding it, they both flinched and Jon almost dropped it.

'Jon Campelli,' he said into the phone after fumbling it up to his ear. 'Kortmann,' he said, looking at Katherina. 'Yes, she's here.' He listened some more, shaking his head a couple of times. 'When?' He glanced at his watch. 'We can be there in fifteen minutes. Fine. Goodbye.'

Katherina expectantly studied Jon's face as he folded his mobile closed and stuck it in his inside pocket.

'Do you remember Lee? The IT guy from the meeting yesterday?'

Katherina nodded.

'He's dead,' said Jon. 'Suicide.'

'When?' asked Katherina, shocked.

'Last night,' replied Jon. 'He was found early this morning.'

'But suicide?' The man she had seen in the reading room of Østerbro Library hadn't seemed like a candidate for suicide. On the contrary, he radiated an overbearing arrogance which, even though it was annoying, didn't seem outright self-destructive.

Jon shrugged. 'Kortmann isn't convinced either. He wants to meet us at the flat where it happened. I think it's best if we both go over there now.'

Katherina closed up the bookshop and they drove over to the Sydhavn district in Jon's car. Darkness was in the process of taking over the day, and by the time they reached the place, the sky was coloured from deep blue to red.

Lee's flat was in a complex with a view of a commuter-train station and several other grey blocks of flats. Katherina shivered as they climbed out of the car, both from the cold and from the surrounding atmosphere. The car park in front of the building was half-filled, but one car stood out. Among the Polos, Fiats and a long row of Japanese vehicles was a big black Mercedes. In the dark it looked empty, but as they approached a light went on above the back seat. In the glow of the light they could see the outline of someone in the driver's seat and another figure in the back.

When they reached the Mercedes, they recognized Kortmann as the person sitting in the back. He motioned them closer and gestured towards the back door. The inside of the black Mercedes had been customized. Half the back seat had been removed and the floor had been lowered so that Kortmann could easily roll his wheelchair right into the car. The front passenger seat had been turned round so that anyone sitting there would be riding backwards. Jon sat down on this seat while Katherina got in next to Kortmann.

As if on command, the driver got out as soon as Katherina closed the door. Kortmann made sure the driver was far enough away before he started talking.

'Lee was found this morning by one of his colleagues. They both worked in Allerød, north of Copenhagen, and commuted together in Lee's car every morning. The colleague usually met Lee at his flat because he had a tendency to oversleep. He would often stay up all night, working. That's why his colleague even had his own key, and that was how he happened to find Lee, not asleep but dead.' Kortmann took a deep breath. 'The police found several empty ampoules of insulin on the nightstand. Lee was apparently diabetic. In addition, they found a letter which, according to the colleague, had Lee's signature on it.'

'So it was suicide?' asked Jon.

'All indications are that he took an overdose of insulin,' said Kortmann. 'The police are convinced and have closed the case.'

'But you don't agree?'

Kortmann glanced at Katherina for a moment. For once there was no trace of suspicion in his eyes; it seemed that he was trying to gauge her reaction to what he was telling them.

'I'd like to be sure,' he said. 'Right now this type of coincidence seems highly suspicious, and we shouldn't rule out any possibilities. Partly so as not to overlook anything, but also so we don't panic. Both things could destroy us.'

'But if the police couldn't find anything—' Jon began.

'The police found what they were looking for. They were looking for a suicide and that's what they found. He fitted the profile: young loner-type with no girlfriend or family or social network. Even his colleague confirmed that Lee sometimes seemed paranoid.'

'Then what is it we're looking for?' asked Jon.

'Two things,' replied Kortmann. 'First, any sign that it wasn't suicide after all. Second, we need to know what Lee found on the Internet, if he actually did find something.'

'Are we going to break into a dead man's flat, or do you have a key?' asked Katherina without concealing her sarcasm.

'I actually do have a key, now that you mention it,' Kortmann calmly replied as he pulled an envelope out of his inside pocket. 'Don't ask where I got it.' He handed the envelope to Jon. 'I'll ring while you're up there.'

Jon and Katherina got out of the car, passing the driver on their way to the stairwell. He nodded to them gratefully, rubbing his hands up and down his shirtsleeves as he jogged back to the car.

The flat was on the fourth floor, with the entrance from a hallway with access to nine other flats. As they walked past the cell-like doors, they could hear TVs blaring, children shouting or crying, and petty quarrels brewing. The only thing that Katherina could sense being read were the Danish subtitles to American movies or sitcoms, and as always with those sorts of texts, the images they evoked were vague and diffuse.

At Lee's flat Jon shook the key out of the envelope and unlocked the door. They waited to turn on the light until the door was shut. A rice-paper ceiling lamp revealed a small entryway with a cramped kitchen to one side and a toilet on the other. Straight ahead was the flat's only real room, a space that was a good thirty square metres with windows running along one whole wall.

Even though they could still hear a television from one of the neighbouring flats, Katherina felt as if they'd stepped into a vacuum. It was less than twenty-four hours ago that Lee had died here, but the flat seemed abandoned and devoid of personality.