Trophy (23 page)

The glass doors of the imposing office block in Bredgade opened automatically. Michael walked past showcases with exquisite ceramics and hand-woven rugs and onwards through a covered atrium at the heart of the building. He smiled at a young woman stepping out of a cylindrical glass lift at the far end, entered and pressed the button for the third floor:
Holm, Joensen & Partners. Attorneys at Law
. He exited the lift, entered a tasteful reception area and addressed the young woman behind the counter.

‘Michael Sander to see Elizabeth Caspersen.’

‘Sander?’

Michael nodded, and the receptionist gestured towards an armchair in black leather and chrome.

‘Five minutes,’ she said. ‘Help yourself to coffee or water.’

‘Thank you.’

He sat down and glanced at the usual architecture magazines spread out in an inviting fan on a low glass coffee table between the armchairs. The air was dry, the temperature pleasant and there was a faint hum of air conditioning.

Michael rubbed his unshaven chin and thought glumly about the traumatized, broken superintendent at the Rigshospitalet. Despair had covered her like a heavy cloak: she had reached some sort of limit and there was nothing on the other side.

He heard hard heels on the polished granite floor tiles and got up.

‘Elizabeth …’

‘Michael.’

She was serious and focused while she led him through the glass doors and down a long corridor. She opened the last door and held it open for him.

There were bookcases full from floor to ceiling with law collections and bound legal journals, a worn Persian rug on the floor, and basic office furniture: Elizabeth Caspersen clearly didn’t feel the need to impress anyone. She sat down on a low sofa and offered him a seat at the other end.

She found it hard to sit still.

‘I have news, Michael,’ she said eagerly. ‘I really do, some good and some more problematic. Thanks for coming over straight away.’

‘Not at all,’ he said, trying to mobilize an enthusiastic smile.

‘I’ve spoken to my father’s chief accountant in Denmark, or rather … It’s an international firm, but he heads the Danish division.’

‘I understand,’ Michael said.

‘Good. I had to give him various passwords, otherwise he couldn’t …’ She blushed even more deeply as if confessing to sniffing lighter gas when she was fifteen.

Michael wished she would get to the point.

‘He has discovered a way of transferring money to the men who …’

‘Killed Kasper Hansen and Ingrid Sundsbö,’ he said.

‘Quite. The accountant found a channel, a private route through which very large sums could be transferred. You probably won’t believe it, but –’

‘Running Man Casino, Antigua and Barbuda?’ he suggested.

Her eyes widened and she shut her mouth with a smack.

‘How the hell did you know that? How could you possibly …’

He shrugged his shoulders, and she exploded.

‘For fuck’s sake why didn’t you tell me, Michael?’

Her knuckles were white and she shifted in her seat as if she were about to hit him. She was tall, slim, probably very fit and had large hands. He had no doubt that Elizabeth Caspersen would be capable of hurting him if she lost her temper. And could he permit himself to strike a client who had hit him first? Probably not.

He held up his hands in a gesture of surrender.

‘Because I only found out a few hours ago. Promise. I spoke to an old colleague, and I’m sure that he only knew for a couple of minutes before he called me.’

She looked at him. Her already narrow lips were pressed together in a line and the fists in her lap were still clenched.

He flashed her a conciliatory smile. ‘But it’s good to have it confirmed from other sources. It really is.’

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath.

‘Good? Right, it’s bloody brilliant.’

Michael laughed and scratched the back of his head.

‘What are you laughing at?’ she asked suspiciously.

‘You, sorry. Given that you’re a lawyer and a barrister who appears in the Supreme Court, and that you grew up on Richelieus Allé, I wonder why you swear like a trucker.’

She blushed and looked down at herself. Then she smiled shyly.

‘Is this how you talk in court?’ he asked. ‘I can just imagine it. God help anyone who gets on the wrong side of you.’

‘These days I rarely go near a courtroom. I’m a corporate lawyer. All I do is find legal loopholes for rich people.’

‘What did the accountant say about the casino? Does he know who owns it?’

‘Transparency isn’t really a feature of the West Indian banking sector. Practically anything goes out there. I think the accountant used a hacker.’

‘Excellent,’ Michael said.

‘Not one of those pizza-eating, Coca-Cola-guzzling ones with a snazzy nickname, but someone from an IT security company. Someone very good.’

‘Go on.’

‘Running Man Casino was started five years ago in Antigua,’ she said. ‘It offers online poker, blackjack, roulette, slot machines and so on. It’s part of a group of international gaming sites. They open and close, appear under new names and with fresh contact details. Like porn sites, the accountant, said.’

‘Porn sites?’

‘Don’t say you haven’t come across porn sites.’

‘I’ve heard of them,’ Michael said.

‘The casino is owned by a company in Panama City – Pan Pacific Equity. That means a secretary in an office with a computer and an answering machine.’

‘A shell company.’

‘That’s a common structure.’ She nodded. ‘But now I’ve found the answer to something that has always puzzled me …’

‘What’s that?’

‘How Sonartek pays bribes. It’s obvious now. And rather neat when you think about it.’

Michael nodded. Of course. Although Sonartek enjoyed a virtual monopoly in its niche, it didn’t trade solely with states that complied with every international convention. It counted both democracies and dictatorships among its customers. The arms industry wasn’t for the faint-hearted. If you wanted the order, you had to play the game.

‘How much are we talking about, Elizabeth?’

‘Around $30 million every year in the last five years.’

Michael whistled. It was more than enough to make all the tough guys in the world do what you wanted and grease the palms of high-ranking civil servants in any defence department.

‘Is there a Danish side to this?’

She didn’t reply, but got up and went over to a filing cabinet in the corner of her office. She placed a Copenhagen tabloid in front of him. A newspaper Michael knew very well.

‘Kim Andersen,’ she said. ‘I knew him from Pederslund, but he hadn’t crossed my mind until I saw this. Nor would I have paid much attention until I spoke to the accountant. Do you know the case?’

‘I do, as a matter of fact. A Royal Life Guard. Veteran. Suicide.’

‘He died a relatively wealthy man,’ Elizabeth Caspersen said drily.

Michael looked up from the newspaper’s front page. Lene Jensen was caught in midstride in the car park outside Holbæk Police Station. She looked at the photographer without smiling, wearing the same hoodie she had huddled inside at the hospital ward.

‘Did he now,’ he said.

‘He was paid 200,000 Swiss francs just over a month ago by Credit Suisse in Zurich.’

‘From Running Man Casino?’

‘Exactly. And the payment was authorized by Victor Schmidt in July 2011.’

Michael dropped the newspaper and he leaned back in the uncomfortable sofa.

‘Victor?’

‘His very own internal, digital signature. It can’t be faked.’

‘That’s interesting,’ Michael said. ‘That’s very, very interesting indeed. Proof, in fact.’

‘Yes, I know,’ she said. ‘Coffee? I’m afraid I haven’t got anything stronger, though Christ knows I could do with a drink right now.’

‘Yes, please,’ he said absent-mindedly.

‘Milk?’

‘Please.’

Elizabeth Caspersen got busy with the Thermos flask, two cups and a sugar bowl. She poured his coffee, sat down again and crossed her legs.

‘Why a month ago?’ he asked.

She put down her cup.

‘He was married the day before he hanged himself,’ she said. ‘Weddings have become showpieces these days, where people compete to outdo each other and prove all sorts of things. It costs a bomb.’

‘Of course.’

Twelve people had attended his and Sara’s wedding in a country church in Devon. Afterwards they had all gone to the pub – and later he was carried to his bed by the host and Keith Mallory, while Sara danced the night away downstairs. He smiled at the memory. The whole thing had been
unforgettable and cost them a few thousand pounds, including bed and breakfast.

Michael pointed to a small photograph of Lene Jensen on the front page.

‘This woman is a superintendent with the Rigspolitiet and is said to be strong, determined and good at her job. I met her earlier today at the Rigshospitalet. She’s broken. Something or someone has broken her.’

‘We can’t go on like this,’ Elizabeth Caspersen said quietly. ‘You don’t seem to trust me even though I hired you and face terrible consequences if that film comes out.’

‘Of course I trust you, but I’m also a professional and I see no reason to risk you making a slip of the tongue or for one of our conversations be to accidentally overheard by someone. It could be catastrophic.’

Elizabeth Caspersen pointed a well-manicured fingertip at her chest: ‘Why would I tell anyone that my father was a murderous psychopath?’

He calmly returned her furious stare.

‘Not deliberately, of course. And I might be the one who screws up. I’m not superhuman, far from it. But the fewer people who know what we’re doing, the better our chances. It’s a fine line, of course, because someone clearly has to know what’s going on.’

‘Communication, Michael. That’s what I was brought up with, just as you were brought up to keep your mouth shut. We’re on a bit of a collision course here.’

He smiled.

‘In my opinion communication is overrated,’ he said. ‘Excessive communication is the scourge of civilization. Meetings for the sake of it. Information without knowledge …’

Elizabeth Caspersen provided further evidence of her superior eyebrow technique.

‘You may be right.’ She picked up the newspaper and studied the front page. ‘Lene Jensen? Why are the police even investigating a suicide?’

‘I don’t know, but last night I found several photographs of Kim Andersen in Jakob’s room,’ he said. ‘Photographs from Iraq, Afghanistan and in front of Pederslund. Happy faces. Mrs Nielsen with a silver tray. Bugles and morning parade.’

‘You went to Jakob’s room? If he had found you, you would be dead. He’s the most private person I’ve ever met. He loathes people. In general, I mean.’

‘Of course I went to his room. Why do you think I wanted to visit Pederslund?’

She stared at him.

‘How the hell would I know?! You told me you wanted to meet the people who were close to my father. You told me so yourself, God damn you.’

‘Did I? Anyway, I was there for several reasons.’

‘So it would appear. You said she was broken? By what? An accident? What’s going on and why do you want to talk to her?’

She put down the newspaper and stared at him in alarm. ‘You’re not going to tell her anything about the hunt, are you? About the film? You can’t do that, Michael. You just can’t!’

‘The thought hadn’t even crossed my mind.’ He stirred his coffee. ‘Of course not. But Kim Andersen is dead so I can’t talk to him and I have to find out where he fits into the picture, the big picture, with the casino in the West Indies and the 200,000 Swiss francs from Credit Suisse. You must admit that it’s getting a bit complicated.’

‘Or perhaps it’s very simple, Michael. A big game hunting club. A club for men bored with conventional hunting. Who wanted to try something new and found a way of doing it.’

He looked grimly at her and drank his coffee.

‘Maybe. In any case, I was too late. She’s the most traumatized person I’ve ever met.’

‘So what do we do now?’ she asked.

‘Jakob Schmidt …’

‘What about him?’

‘Does he have any tattoos?’

She thought about it.

‘I think so. Most people do these days, don’t they? Why?’

Michael pointed to his own neck. ‘A scorpion, for example? Here, below his ear. I couldn’t find him in any of the photographs in his room. He really is a ghost as his father said.’

Elizabeth Caspersen nodded. ‘That’s how he wants it. A scorpion? No, I don’t think so, but I’ve hardly seen him in the
last few years, so he could have got one. Do you want me to ask him?’

‘God, no. Forget it.’

Michael looked out of the window. The light in the covered atrium had been switched on. Darkness was falling and he was exhausted.

‘You asked me just now what we’re going to do. I think the time has come for us to take the lead, Elizabeth.’

‘How?’

‘You said you were willing to spend everything you own, didn’t you?’

‘And I meant it, Michael,’ she said firmly. ‘I know I complained when you wanted to charter helicopters, but it’s fine. Fire away.’

‘Excellent. Because I’m very good at spending other people’s money. I have an idea. An expensive idea. A very, very expensive idea.’

‘What do you have in mind?’

He leaned back and looked absent-mindedly at the Persian rug.

‘I want to smuggle someone into the Running Man Casino,’ he said. ‘A Trojan horse.’

She nodded.

‘Do you have someone in mind, Michael?’

‘I know a really good guy.’

They spoke for several more minutes, after which Michael made a long call with Elizabeth Caspersen on speakerphone.

In the end it was her persuasive skills that proved to be the decisive factor. That and the money, of course.

Michael then drank more coffee while Elizabeth Caspersen got to work on her computer. A few minutes later she looked up, pinned her gaze on him, hit
enter
, leaned back and exhaled.

She rubbed her upper arms nervously.

‘So this is how it feels to sell 50,000 Sonartek shares. My father would kill me if he knew.’

Michael smiled to encourage her. ‘I hope you think it’s worth it, Elizabeth. Will Victor know?’

‘I do think it’s worth it, Michael. And no, he won’t. I’ll split the portfolio into smaller transactions through different stockbrokers in the next few days. Sonartek shares are traded thousands of times every day across the globe.’

‘I guess they are,’ said Michael, who still had his doubts. It was Elizabeth herself who had told him never to underestimate Victor Schmidt.

For a moment both were lost in their own private thoughts.

‘So what was the problematic news, Elizabeth?’ he then said.

‘I’m sorry?’

‘You said you had good news and some that was more problematic.’

She sighed and flattened the thick white envelope on the blotting pad with the palms of her hands.

‘This. Today the Probate Office appointed me to be my mother’s legal guardian and executor. The probate panel and the judge agreed unanimously. Here is a statement from a clinical psychologist and a medical expert’s report from a professor of neurology.’

‘Should I congratulate you?’

‘I really don’t know.’

‘I imagine you’ll have considerable influence over Sonartek now.’

She nodded.

‘Judging by Victor and Henrik’s reaction, I do.’ Her face was stripped of enthusiasm, let alone triumph. ‘They cornered me in the underground car park this afternoon and invited me for a drink. Practically forced me. Victor already knew about the probate decision. I’ve no idea how he could have.’

‘What did he want?’

She offered him a pale smile.

‘He wanted my assurance that I would vote for him as the new chairman at Sonartek’s extraordinary board meeting.’

‘And what did you say?’

‘What could I say? They seemed desperate. Oh God, Michael, I don’t want to join my own company. I just want to live my own life. Don’t you see?’

Michael nodded, but was really thinking: How hard can it be to have half of sixty-five billion in your hand?

‘So what did you say?’ he asked.

‘That of course I would vote for him. That continuity was important for Sonartek, company culture … whatever crap he wanted to hear. I think I’m scared of him, Michael. Both of them.’

The confident-businesswoman side of the barrister had evaporated. The light from the desk lamp reflected in a thin layer of perspiration on her forehead.

‘Including Henrik?’

‘Pardon?’

‘Henrik. Are you scared of him too?’

She shrugged her shoulders: ‘No … Yes! I don’t know. He has changed. Become obsessive and jumpy. They both have. Victor has never liked me and my mother all that much. I think he was jealous of us. So was Henrik. He worshipped my father.’

‘Jealous?’

‘Is that so hard to understand? My father and Victor had a very deep, but also complicated friendship. I don’t think Victor has any other friends. He trusts no one. Probably not
even his own children, and certainly not Monika. He hated having to share my father with anyone. Now Victor is no longer young and Sonartek is his life’s work. It must continue, and it must continue in Denmark. He suffered when they outsourced production even though he could see it was the right thing to do, financially speaking. But he’s a patriot and he was absurdly proud when Jakob became an officer, and absurdly disappointed when he left the army and started clearing mines and doing logistics for aid organizations.’

‘And Henrik?’

‘Teflon. His father’s spitting image and his right hand, loyal till the end. He’s a people-pleaser, and terrified of losing his parents’ love if he were to do anything to upset them. Such as having a mind of his own.’

Michael got up.

‘I understand,’ he said.

She looked up at him. She tried to smile.

‘What do I do?’ she asked.

‘Keep playing the game, Elizabeth. Just for a little longer. Don’t challenge them. For your own sake,’ he said gravely. ‘And watch your back.’

She nodded, took a deep breath and found a small envelope in her handbag. She blushed as she passed it to him.

‘And then there was this small matter, Michael, I’m sorry. I really am. I’m so sorry. Victor gave it to me. He was terribly pleased with himself and I had no idea what to say.’

Michael opened the envelope and took out the document with a sense of foreboding. He read the few lines on the single piece of paper and sat down again.

It was a photocopy of surgical notes from Næstved Central Hospital dated 3 May 1997. The day a surgeon had performed a vasectomy on Flemming Caspersen.

‘Great,’ he mumbled.

‘I didn’t know. I swear,’ she said miserably.

‘How the hell could you not know, you moron?’ Michael erupted in anger before he remembered that she was his only client and source of income for the time being. ‘I’m sorry, Elizabeth, but really.’

‘That’s all right. He never mentioned it to me and I’ve never heard my mother say anything about it.’

‘But why …?’

‘Why did he want a vasectomy? No idea.’

He got up again and looked at her. ‘One last thing.’

‘Yes, Michael?’ she said, sounding exhausted.

‘Who is Jakob Schmidt’s father?’

‘What?’

He watched her carefully.

‘He’s not the spitting image of Victor, unlike his brother, Henrik,’ he said. ‘All you have to do is look at the portrait over the mantelpiece at Pederslund and compare it with the picture of your father in Hellerup.’

Elizabeth Caspersen stared down at her shoes.

‘I’m paying you to find the men in the film, Michael,’ she
said calmly. ‘Not for anything else. Is that clear? It’s not important.’

‘As crystal, Elizabeth.’

‘Let me show you out,’ she said.

*

Young workaholics buzzed around the law offices.

‘By the way, she wasn’t alone,’ Michael said on impulse.

‘Who?’

‘The superintendent. Lene Jensen. A woman arrived just as I was about to leave. She’s a chief superintendent and a lawyer. I googled her. I know there are a lot of you lawyers about, but she’s Lene Jensen’s immediate superior in the Rigspolitiet and I wondered if you know her.’

‘What’s her name?’

‘Falster. Charlotte Falster.’

Elizabeth Caspersen stopped in her tracks and looked at him.

‘Falster?’

‘Do you know her?’

‘I know her husband: Joakim. He’s a permanent secretary. We were at university together. I was at their wedding.’

Michael nodded. He had no doubt it had been a very grand affair.

‘Do you want me to have a word with her?’ she asked.

‘Yes, but how will you explain your sudden interest in one of her employees?’

‘I’ll think of something. You’ve taught me more than
smoking, Michael. Such as telling a good lie. Just because it didn’t stand up to scrutiny doesn’t mean it wasn’t good.’

‘Oh, good. You’re a quick learner. You’ll go to hell.’

‘And meet up with my father? That would be wonderful.’

Michael smiled wryly.