Part 29 (2/2)

I thought Malene was seeing someone. A rich man. And he paid her for it.

Henrik dislikes Malene too but thinks Anne-Lise has gone a bit overboard. He leans back on the sofa, irritated. Anne-Lise, really just because she dresses the way she does?

Anne-Lise reaches out to him. No, no. Of course not. And the money comes from her mother. So there. She strokes his upper arm. That is, from her impoverished mother, who is always broke

chapter 31.

a few days after the business with Malenes medicine, a policeman phones the Center to let them know that there has been a new development in the e-mail case.

Camilla takes the call, switches it through to Paul at once, and then tells the others. Iben and Malene get up from their desks and walk over to stand by Pauls door. Anne-Lise joins them from the library and they wait anxiously.

When Paul finally emerges, he tells them that the CIA has been casting around Chicagos large Serbian community and has arrested two former private soldiers who have a record of war crimes. Interrogated, one of the men admitted to having sent e-mails to the DCIG.

Paul is deluged with questions.

Did he do it on his own?

Are they keeping him in prison?

Did he really want to kill us?

Does he know Mirko Zigic?

Why send the threats just to us? He didnt write to other people, did he?

Paul says that he doesnt have any answers. He has told them everything he knows. There are powerful forces at work out there, chasing Mirko Zigic and his a.s.sociates. The three brief e-mails to the DCIG have somehow taken on international importance.

Malene phones the police herself but gets no more information. Iben meanwhile makes a call to the U.S. emba.s.sy, but they dont have anything to add either. The women then ring various inst.i.tutions in the United States and, finally, their contacts in other genocide centers worldwide. Despite their efforts, they get nowhere.

While the others get more and more worked up, Anne-Lise withdraws to the library and sits looking at the photo of Henrik and the children on her desk. The e-mails never caused her to feel afraid. But she simply doesnt believe the alleged statement by that war criminal. Without a doubt, his confession was the result of a fair amount of pressure. In her own mind, shes certain that whoever wrote the e-mails had inside knowledge of the Center, and as far as shes concerned nothing has changed.

She listens as the others discuss the ways that an unknown war criminal living in Chicago could possibly have had access to Malenes tablets, and whether it could have been him who rigged up the blood trap in the library. Their conversation is suitably polite because the library door is of course still open. They discuss the blood on Anne-Lises bookshelf, sounding as if they had had nothing to do with putting it there.

Anne-Lise notes the line they take when they go on to tell lies about Malenes medicine. Obviously, the likeliest explanation by far is that Malene herself mixed up the pills by accident, but shes making a great show of being persecuted. It reminds Anne-Lise of someone who has lost, say, a wallet and fusses endlessly about who could have stolen it and why until it turns up in the persons jacket pocket. Camilla and Iben must notice this too, but no one argues with Malene.

In the weeks that follow the admission by the Serb soldier, Malene, Iben, and Camilla change their att.i.tude toward Anne-Lise.

Before, their hostility at times was confusing. One of them would suddenly be so friendly to her that Anne-Lise wondered if she hadnt misjudged them somehow. Maybe, she told herself, it was all just an enormous misunderstanding and the aggression was just a figment of her imagination.

Not now. They dont need to be frightened of what Iben might have called Anne-Lises dissociated murderous ident.i.ty anymore. Theyre free to destroy her, and the knives are clearly out. Their goal is to make her leave. Long-term sick leave would suit them. Too bad if it damages her and makes it impossible for her to work again.

One afternoon, weeks after Malene mixed up her pills, she is waiting in the corridor when Anne-Lise comes out from the bathroom. Malene starts to hum a few lines of a song louder than necessary, and at first it seems pointless.

But then it becomes obvious that its a signal.

Anne-Lise hears somebody in the library react. Its easy to recognize Ibens footsteps as she hurriedly leaves the library through the door into the Winter Garden. When Anne-Lise pa.s.ses Malene in the corridor, Malene meets her eyes and smiles broadly, as if Anne-Lise would think their snooping was just good clean fun. As if they were all simply playing a game together.

The moment Anne-Lise gets to her desk she spots what Iben has been up to. This morning Anne-Lise brought in a few cuttings from her garden and put the twigs in a tall gla.s.s of water to liven the place up. The vase is leaning now, because Iben has put a pad of Post-it notes and a pen underneath it. If Anne-Lise accidentally gives the desk even the tiniest shove, the container will topple.

She advances gingerly and repositions the vase. A pile of valuable papers has been saved.

Theres no point in complaining to Paul: she realizes that she has already been to see him too often. Also, its clear to her that it would make things easier for him if she simply went away and didnt come back. So far he has had enough integrity not to tell her this to her face, but he doesnt openly support her in the way he used to.

All she can do is put up with the situation and keep quiet until the day comes when they merge with Human Rights. Or she must do what Yngve advised: confront them.

Anne-Lise takes in a deep breath and, still standing, blinks so slowly that her eyes close for several seconds. There are no tears. She has a sensation of her skin becoming very thick. She feels as heavy and armored as a rhinoceros.

She steps through the doorway into the Winter Garden. Standing there, she looks down at the two women sitting at their desks. Iben glances at Malene. The look in her eyes says Weve got her now, and she doesnt give a d.a.m.n if Anne-Lise notices.

Anne-Lise begins to say her piece, resigned, knowing that she has been here before. Cant we just behave like professionals? You know: I dont interfere with you and you dont interfere with me. Then we could concentrate on our work without wasting our energy on other things.

Malenes inviting smile doesnt change. Anne-Lise, that would make for such a cold atmosphere, and we wouldnt want that. We are colleagues, after all.

Just stop doing these things. You know what I mean.

No, I dont.

Iben backs her up. What are you talking about?

You know well enough.

No.

Yes. You do. Dont go into other peoples rooms just to cause trouble.

Why should we ?

Anne-Lise, I dont understand what you mean. Please explain.

They manage to make her describe what she thought they had done, step by step. They listen, ready to reply in unison.

No. No, wed never do that. Whatever makes you think we would?

Their voices and body language bubble with laughter, giving their game away. They are enjoying this. Theyd just as soon slit my throat if they thought they could get away with it, Anne-Lise thinks. Its even better fun for them now that Im on to them.

Every night this last week Anne-Lise has had the same nightmares. She is thrown into the crater of a volcano, or strapped down on a table and tortured with red-hot iron bars driven through her flesh, or impaled and hung up in a tree. All the time Ibens and Malenes huge mouths, twisted and grinning, open wider and wider in antic.i.p.ation of Anne-Lises demise.

She has woken up and wandered about, trying to shake off the dreams. She has stroked the heads of her sleeping children. She has gone downstairs to the living room and stared at the trees outside the window. Gradually, the lingering sensations of the hot iron touching her, or her body sinking into the lava inside the volcano, evaporate.

Later, when she falls asleep from sheer exhaustion, the nightmares return and she awakes abruptly as she sees again the rows of teeth between their pulled-back lips.

Your Post-it pad mustve slipped under the gla.s.s, Malene reasons, and you were too busy to notice. How annoying! I mean, you couldve slopped water over everything.

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