Part 15 (2/2)

Her toothless companion clings to her and tries to make Iben follow her into the network of sewer paths between the houses. She speaks all the time, a fast, meaningless babble, but Iben cannot face running away from the crowd that turned up to help her when she and her companions lives were in danger. The woman throws her arms around Iben and weighs her down, sobbing helplessly.

Already at a distance, Iben shouts at the police that theyre hitting the wrong people. But the road has emptied quickly as the crowd flees into the fine-meshed network of alleyways. The police wont chase them there. Only the injured are left behind, scattered here and there on the road. And in the middle of it all, the large white SEC truck stands untouched.

A couple of yards away from the police, Iben begins to think again. She stops shouting and glances quickly over her shoulder. Is the old woman still around? Is there a place to disappear into?

Then two policemen grab hold of her. They dont hit her, just march her off to join her fellow hostages and their captors. She tries to explain whats happened. Several times. Still they escort her back to the seat she managed to get away from.

Cathy buries her face in her hands. She whispers to Roberto, her voice despairing, Its you who should know about the police. They protect these men. You should have known.

She seems to be br.i.m.m.i.n.g with a mixture of tears, anger, and something else, something new at least to Iben. Cathy keeps repeating herself, mumbling like the old bag lady who hangs around on the street corner near the DCIG office. Its your fault. Youre in charge. Its your job to protect us.

Iben steals a glance at Robertos face, but it looks blank.

Two policemen heave the dead drivers body onto the back of the truck.

The way ahead has been cleared, and now the hostage takers can drive on.

chapter 17.

one evening, at dusk, Iben was walking along the suburban streets. It wasnt long after her fathers death. The snow reflected the blue-tinged winter light. She was breathing easily, listening to the snow crystals crunching under her boots. Beneath a fruit tree, its branches covered with snow, two women were calling their cats. There must be others in this quiet town who came to call their cats at nightfall.

Kitty, kitty, kitty, come to Mommy.

Iben suddenly felt that all these women were calling her dead father. All around town, mothers straightened their backs and got up from their kitchen tables or from the corner of their sofas or from double beds with only a single duvet and a tear-stained pillow. They got up and stood in lit doorways, calling out into Roskildes still darkness.

Kitty kitty, come to Mommy. Come inside. Kitty-cat, come to me.

Iben is rooting around in the discount boxes at Companys, looking for blouses. Next to one box are bits of fur that look like the dyed coats of cats.

Could they be?

She has already been to seven shops without finding anything that would do. All this tramping around shops is Gunnars fault. He doesnt appear to be interested in how people dress, but he fell for Malene and she both knows and cares about clothes.

While Iben examines a cream-colored blouse to see if its shaped properly at the waist, she tells herself that it doesnt matter in the slightest what she wears.

Why would I start running into him now? Where, anyway? Ive never met him by chance before.

She starts looking through the next box, wrestling with her thoughts.

The following morning, Paul, carrying a stack of papers, wanders into the library to say something to Anne-Lise. He sounds annoyed. The new arrangements mean that the entire office can hear them.

Anne-Lise, there are some mysterious stains on the printouts you just gave me. Theyre covered in fingerprints and something like toner, but its brown.

When Iben looks up from her screen Malene is already watching her. They do their best not to smile.

Oh, no, Anne-Lise replies. The stuffs all over my hands as well. What could it be?

Now Paul sounds more confused than irritated. And theres some on your nose. A long mark. You must have rubbed it with your finger. And there are some stains on your blouse.

Oh, no!

There are sounds of Anne-Lise rummaging through papers, and then of drawers being opened and shut. She cant find the source of the color. Paul leaves and walks back to his office. Iben and Malene dont move.

A little later Anne-Lise comes into the Winter Garden to ask the others opinion. You know, at first I thought maybe my lipstick had come apart, but its fine. My handbag is completely clean inside. And now Ive no idea.

Iben watches Anne-Lise. Does she suspect them of playing a practical joke? Anne-Lise shows them her hands. The reddish brown material has stuck under her cuticles and in the deep crevices on the backs of her fingers.

Iben asks if it smells of anything.

Anne-Lise holds one of her hands a bit away from her nose and considers the odor.

I dont know. It smells a bit like food. Slightly sweet, maybe?

Later, back in the library, Anne-Lise screams. They all jump up and run to her.

She is standing in the middle of the floor, her hands stretched out stiffly in front of her with her fingers spread.

It came from the shelf and I thought Id Its easy to see what has happened. Anne-Lise had noticed more reddish brown spots on a shelf unit she uses regularly. She pulled out books and box files and found a trail of dried drops that apparently came from a magazine box on the top shelf. When she reached for it, the box slipped from her hand. Anne-Lise leapt backward and the box landed just in front of her, spraying her clothes and face. Fortunately, it wasnt a large amount. Even so, it is now sticking to her hair and face, and her right hand and arm are moist and gluey with blood.

She stands still, gasping for breath, speechless. n.o.body is keen on getting too close to her, as that would mean stepping in the pool around her feet.

Iben steels herself to do something. Anne-Lise, this is awful! I dont look, you lie down. Well clean up Iben gasps and holds her breath in a futile attempt to escape the sweetly nauseating stench of the congealing blood that covers the floor. She would like to help, but has to run to the lavatory. As she hovers over the basin wondering if sh.e.l.l throw up, Malene joins her. She says she feels just as bad.

By the time they return, Camilla has opened all the windows and found a cloth and a bucket. She is wiping the floor. Anne-Lise is sitting limply in her chair, about to pa.s.s out. She has taken off her cardigan, dropped it on the floor, and tried to clean herself up with damp tissues, but she still looks dreadful.

They cant think of what to say. What does this mean? Who couldve thought up such a thing?

When Paul finds out, his first reaction is to march over to each window and door, without a word, to check for any signs of a break-in.

When was it done? Iben asks Anne-Lise. I mean, the blood when could it have been put there?

Anne-Lises voice is a whisper: I dont I dont use that box often. It When was it last week?

They are all immersed in their own thoughts as they clean up Anne-Lises books and papers. Each item has to be wiped with a damp cloth.

After a while Anne-Lise pulls herself together and goes off to the restroom to wash. Paul comes back to say that, as far as he can see, no locks have been tampered with. He manages to lower the shelf to the floor so they can clean behind it.

Most likely it was pigs blood from a butchers, they tell each other as they work away. Theyre doing absolutely everything they shouldnt do at the scene of a crime, Iben thinks. Every single clue is being washed away. But they carry on, just the same. It seems that all of them, including Paul, tacitly agree that the police should not be asked to deal with this, which also means they must think that someone connected to the Center is responsible.

Once the worst of the mess has been cleared up and Anne-Lise has returned from the restroom, Paul takes charge. We need to have a meeting about this. Anne-Lise, is there anything we can do for you? It mustve been appalling. I mean, the Center will put up the money to pay for new clothes. But, well, I dont know. Would you like to see a psychologist?

Anne-Lise looks better in one piece again. She doesnt want any counseling, she says, but she would like to go home. Now. She is not in the mood for a meeting.

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