The Library of Shadows (14 page)

Jon turned on the rest of the lights, and they silently walked through the flat, careful not to disturb anything or make any unnecessary noise. The kitchen bore all the signs of a bachelor. Dirty dishes and fast-food containers covered most of the table, and large sections of the floor were littered with empty bottles in bulging plastic bags. The toilet hadn't been cleaned in months, and Katherina stayed only long enough to find out that the small medicine cabinet behind the mirror contained nothing more than shaving gear, a toothbrush and other toiletries.

The main room was obviously where Lee had spent all his time. Two walls were covered with shelves filled with books. Against the third wall stood a chest of drawers, a nightstand and a bed – or rather, a bedstead, since the mattress had been removed. In front of the windows was a wide table on which stood two black computer monitors and a printer. The window ledge was overflowing with books and big stacks of printouts that threatened to topple over if anyone got too close.

For a moment Katherina stood in the doorway and looked at the empty bedstead before she stepped inside the room. She wasn't sure they were welcome here, not even if Lee had been alive, and an invisible barrier seemed to have stopped her in the doorway. It was the bookcases that finally made her cross the threshold and approach the rows of books. In contrast to the disarray that marked the rest of the flat, the books had been meticulously arranged, and they were all in very nice condition.

'What sort of books does he read?' she asked Jon, who was crouched down next to the computer table. He pressed a button under the table and the monitors came to life. Then he stood up and joined her in front of the bookcase. She followed along as he scanned the titles.

'A lot of science fiction and fantasy,' he said after looking over the shelves. 'But also some classics.' He pulled out a leather-bound volume and handed it to her. 'Joyce.' Katherina turned it over in her hands, opening it in several places at random. In the back of the book she found a small business card from Libri di Luca.

A couple of paces further along, Jon pointed to eight or nine other volumes.

'Kierkegaard, of all things.' He went on to scan the stacks of books on the window ledge and those piled up on the nightstand.

'I suppose we could say he had a wide range of interests,' said Katherina, setting
Ulysses
back on the shelf.

Jon nodded and went back to the computer, which in the meantime had finished booting up. He sat down and put his hand on the mouse. Katherina went to stand behind him and watched as he experimented with clicking on various buttons and menus.

'What are you doing?' she asked after a couple of minutes.

'To be perfectly honest, I don't know,' Jon admitted with a laugh. 'Computers aren't really my thing.'

Katherina giggled. There was something endearing about him as he sat there, fumbling with the unfamiliar equipment, well aware that he was out of his element. He was no longer the super-barrister but a human being with his own limitations, and he admitted as much.

At that moment his mobile phone rang. He took it out and studied the display.

'It's Kortmann,' he said, handing it to her. 'Could you talk to him while I keep working on this?'

Katherina took the mobile. 'Yes?'

'Are you inside?' she heard Kortmann ask.

'Yes, we are,' Katherina told him. 'Jon's inspecting the computer right now.'

'Did you notice anything else?'

'In the flat? No, not really.'

'What books was he reading?'

'Lots of different things,' Katherina replied. 'There are a couple of volumes of Kafka on the nightstand – that must have been the last thing he was reading.'

'Kafka?' repeated Kortmann. A few seconds of silence followed. 'Keep working on the computer. I'm going to have to leave now.'

'Okay,' said Katherina, but by then Kortmann had already rung off.

'Arghh,' exclaimed Jon in frustration. 'I can't get anything out of this.'

'Can we take the computer with us?' asked Katherina. 'Maybe someone else could help us with it.'

Jon broke out in a big smile. 'Of course. Why didn't I think of that?'

He got out his mobile again and punched in a phone number.

'It's Jon ... yes, I'm fine ... uh-huh, the case is coming along ...' He nodded impatiently as the other person finished talking.

'Listen here, Mehmet, I need to ask you a favour.'

It turned out not to be necessary to move the computer. Over the phone Mehmet guided Jon through various menus and programs, allowing him to locate the computer's IP address and switch off the security routines so that Mehmet would have access to the PC from outside. After less than five minutes Jon was able to lean back in his chair and watch as the computer was taken over. On the monitor in front of him windows were opened and closed at the command of the cursor, which dashed between programs like a bee in a field of clover.

'Okay, I'm in,' said Mehmet. 'What exactly are we looking for?'

'First of all, what were the last sites he visited on the Internet?' replied Jon. 'But otherwise just whatever he was working on, in general.'

'No problem,' said Mehmet. 'How much time do I have?'

'As much as you need. The owner isn't coming back any time soon.'

'In the slammer?'

'No, he's dead.'

Mehmet didn't say anything for a couple of seconds, and the activity on the monitor abruptly stopped.

'Was he a client of yours?' he asked. The cursor started up its dance across the screen again.

'No,' replied Jon, pausing before he went on. 'This has nothing to do with my job. That's why I also need to ask you not to talk about whatever you find.'

Again a moment of silence from Mehmet.

'I hope you know what you're doing, Lawman.'

'Take it easy. You know me.'

Jon glanced at Katherina, who had found a place to sit on the window ledge, far away from the bed, which she was staring at with a remote look in her green eyes. Her face was pale, and she had wrapped her arms around her body, as if trying to stay warm. She suddenly seemed very fragile.

'Listen, Mehmet, can you also shut down the computer by remote control?' asked Jon.

Mehmet muttered a reply, which Jon interpreted as affirmative. In the background he could hear keys tapping at impressive speed, and on the screen in front of him lines of illegible commands were appearing, followed by an equal number of incomprehensible replies.

'Then shut it off when you're done. We can't stay here any longer,' said Jon, standing up. 'I'll contact you later to hear what you've found out.'

'Okay, but drop by instead of ringing. For security's sake.'

'It's a deal. See you later, Mehmet.'

'Later.'

Jon hung up and stuck the mobile in his inside pocket. 'Are you okay?'

'Sure, I'm fine. Or rather ... it's just so strange to think that it happened right here and such a short time ago.'

Jon nodded and cast a glance at the bedstead. It was hard for him to see how they were supposed to find anything the police might have overlooked. There was nothing on the nightstand but a pile of books, and there was no sign of a struggle. He had the feeling that the main reason Kortmann had let them inside was to find out what was on the computer, and not to discover Lee's fate.

'Come on, let's go.'

*

Following Katherina's directions, Jon drove them to Sankt Hans Torv, where he found a parking place on one of the side streets. There was still over an hour before the meeting for receivers would start, and since neither of them had eaten, they went to an Italian restaurant on the square.

The colour in Katherina's face began to return, aided by Jon's attempts to take her mind off the flat in the Sydhavn district. He tried to talk about other things: his work, Italian food, trips abroad. They'd been given a table at the back of the restaurant where they could talk undisturbed, though for most of the meal they confined themselves to generalities. But it got more and more difficult to avoid mentioning Luca, or the bookshop, or the Society, and the awkward pauses in the conversation grew longer and longer.

Jon's thoughts were on the upcoming meeting. Luca had been a transmitter, and even though he was apparently the best of friends with everybody, his allegiance still must have been stronger to his own kind. For that reason, Jon had a feeling that he was about to enter enemy territory.

'What should I expect?' he asked, finally breaking the ice.

Katherina glanced around before she answered.

'In any case, a greater unity than among the transmitters.' She looked down at her hands. 'It can be very hard to be a receiver, especially in the beginning when you don't really know what's going on, so those of us who have been through it have a tight bond. We need each other, because no one else has any idea what it's like. Your father had some idea, and he respected us because of what we have to endure, but most other people think that the powers are just something we can switch off and on at will.'

'I'd go crazy,' said Jon.

'Many people do,' replied Katherina. 'Even more are branded as lunatics when they claim to hear voices.'

Jon nodded. He told her about his experience at the Clean Glass pub and the man who was drinking stout.

Katherina smiled.

'We know him well,' she said. 'Ole sometimes shows up at our meetings, but not very often any more. He's found his own way of keeping the voices at bay: alcohol. So we shouldn't expect to see him today.'

'Alcohol removes the voices?'

'For some people it mutes them, for others it makes the voices distorted and incomprehensible, which is even worse. We all have our own methods for keeping the voices at a tolerable level. The most skilful among us can mute them using special techniques, but those who aren't as lucky turn to other solutions. Some recite nonsense phrases or make certain repetitive motions to divert their focus, others go to extremes and resort to pain, by pinching or even cutting themselves.' She sighed. 'But the best method is to meet in a group.'

'Therapy?'

'In a way,' Katherina agreed reluctantly. 'It's always helpful to meet others in the same situation – to know you're not alone.' She looked Jon in the eye. 'As you can tell, our goal is to stay together as a group and help each other, not to take over the world or even harass a couple of booksellers. We simply don't have the energy for that.'

Jon nodded. He could see in her green eyes that what she was saying was more than just words.

She looked down as she rubbed her chin with her fingertips. 'Isn't it about time to go?'

From Sankt Hans Torv Katherina led the way along Nørre Allé. Across from the church they entered a doorway and went up the stairs of an older building. She rang the bell on a door with a big brass sign.

'Centre for Dyslexia Studies,' Jon read. 'Does dyslexia always go hand in hand with the powers of a receiver?'

'It's not a prerequisite,' she replied in a low voice. 'But more than a third of us are dyslexic, so it can't be just a coincidence.'

Behind the door they heard someone approach and undo the locks. A plump woman wearing a black dress opened the door. Her round face lit up with a smile when she saw them.

'Come in, come in,' she welcomed them, stepping aside. 'The others are already here.'

Katherina and Jon stepped into the hallway where rows of overcoats bore witness to the presence of more than twenty people.

'I'm Clara,' said the woman, shaking Jon's hand vigorously. 'I'm the head of the centre here.'

'Jon Campelli,' said Jon.

'You don't have to tell me that,' she said with a laugh. 'It's incredible how much you look like him – Luca, I mean. Besides, I saw you at the funeral.'

After they took off their jackets, Clara hustled them down the long corridor towards a white panelled door that stood open at the end of the hall. A buzz of voices streamed towards them from the room beyond. The sound stopped the moment Jon, who was first, stepped inside. Around an oval conference table sat at least ten people, with the same number or a few more seated along the walls.

'Hello,' said Jon, raising his hand in greeting. Everyone nodded and murmured in return.

'Sit down here at the end,' suggested Clara, pointing to two empty chairs at the table.

Jon and Katherina sat down, carefully observed by the others. Clara took her place at the opposite end of the table.

'As I mentioned,' she began, 'we have the pleasure of meeting with Luca's son, Jon, and our own Katherina, of course.' She smiled. 'Let me start by offering my condolences on Luca's death. He was a close friend to all of us, and we considered him one of the group. We miss him very much.' Scattered nods and murmurs of agreement were heard from all sides.

Jon nodded his thanks. He noted that the women were in the majority, making up about two-thirds of the group, but it was hard for him to see all their faces. The people seated around the table were lit from above by a long, oval lamp, but the light didn't reach all the way out to the walls, where the rest of the members sat. Some of them he glimpsed only as shadows or partial shapes, with the top half hidden in darkness.

'That's why we will do everything we can, of course, to help find out what happened,' Clara went on. 'We've followed the latest events with concern. We have nothing to gain from anything that has occurred, least of all from the loss of your father.'

'What function did he serve in your group?' asked Jon.

'First and foremost, he acted as an ambassador,' replied Clara. 'Up until the very end he was trying to reunite the Bibliophile Society, and without his efforts, the relationship between transmitters and receivers would be even worse than it is.'

'It's hard to imagine the relationship could be any worse,' said Jon.

'Things have escalated lately,' Clara admitted. 'But before these events started, we were actually very close to a reconciliation. It's not easy to forget twenty years of hostilities and mistakes – that requires a great deal of diplomacy and a willingness to compromise. You might say that Luca had already spent years laying the groundwork by holding evening readings at Libri di Luca, which was regarded by both sides as a neutral zone with a permanent cease-fire. But for the Society's part, the cooperation hadn't yet begun.'

'What would it mean?' asked Jon. 'Why is it so important to be united when your powers are so different?'

'Even though you haven't been activated yourself, you still must have some idea of how effective an instrument the respective powers that transmitters and receivers possess can be. But it's only when these powers are combined that their true force emerges. If a transmitter is supported by a receiver, the result is much more focused and the effect on the listeners is so strong that few can resist.'

'So it's a matter of power?'

Muted protests came from all sides, but Clara raised her voice.

'Power over the story, you might say. We would never dream of misusing our talents. The goal is to present the story as faithfully as possible and convey the message of the text as effectively as we can.'

'And yet these attacks have been occurring,' said Jon.

'That's correct,' Clara admitted with a nod. 'But there's no evidence that any receivers are behind them. We realize that Luca's death bears the mark of being provoked by a receiver, but it's also possible that he died of natural causes, or that his heart attack was prompted by something else.'

'Like what, for example?'

'Poison, or possibly shock,' Clara suggested, though she didn't sound very convinced.

'But if we assume that a receiver was behind it,' said Jon calmly, 'and all indications point in that direction, could it happen without you knowing something about it?'

Everyone sitting around the table turned to look at Clara. For a moment she glanced up at the ceiling and then shrugged her shoulders.

'I can't rule it out,' she said. 'But I find it very unlikely. We're a very tightly knit group and an act of betrayal is unthinkable. Besides, we've all enjoyed Luca's company, not just because of his personality and wisdom, but also in a purely practical sense, by training with him. Without his cooperation as a transmitter, our powers as receivers would not have reached the high level they have. Katherina here is a good example. If Luca hadn't taken her under his wing and trained with her almost every day, she wouldn't be one of the most skilled Lectors that we have today.'

Katherina nodded in agreement.

'Could it be a receiver outside the group?' Jon suggested. 'Someone you don't know?'

'In theory it could be a "freelance",' Clara said after pausing to think for a moment. 'But as a rule freelances aren't especially well trained, so they're not strong enough to kill someone. You have to remember that they often have no idea what their powers are, never mind what they might be used for. Sooner or later they end up with us, provided they don't get institutionalized, or worse.'

'Could it happen by accident? If you say they don't know their own abilities, could a freelance kill someone by accident?'

'That's very unlikely,' Clara said hastily. Her gaze shifted for a moment from Jon to Katherina before she continued. 'It requires a gradual build-up in effect, which in turn presupposes a great deal of training and self-control.'

'And nobody has ever left your group after having achieved the requisite powers? Someone who might have reason to seek revenge?'

'No,' Clara replied firmly.

Jon looked at the people who were visible in the light from the lamp. Some of them were whispering to each other, some were waiting expectantly with their arms crossed, as if challenging him to come up with a new and better scenario.

'So if the motive isn't revenge or power,' Jon summed up, 'then what is it?'

There was complete silence in the room. Some of those seated around the table exchanged glances, but most directed their attention at Clara.

'I didn't exactly dismiss either revenge or power,' Clara began, for the first time with a harsh undertone to her voice. 'I simply said it would be exceedingly doubtful that any of
us
would be driven by such a motive. In our opinion, this has to do with someone wanting to prevent the Society from reuniting. Someone who has something to lose, either in the form of power or prestige. The timing isn't coincidental. Only now, after twenty years of separation, did the attacks start up again because the prospect of reconciliation seems possible.' She took a deep breath. 'I wouldn't be surprised if the person or persons behind them also started the attacks twenty years ago. Someone who gained a certain status back then, and now is afraid of losing it.'