The Last Good Man

by A. J. Kazinsky

“They’re all taking a break while the children are here to meet the author.”

  “It’s urgent. I’m from the Copenhagen Police.”

  Now all the kids turned to look at Niels.

  “Why don’t you go over to the break room and ask for her there?” The nurse leaned back and pointed down the hall.

  Niels glanced at his watch. Less than half an hour until 3:37. He paused to rub his eyes. He couldn’t tell if it was because of the children’s small faces, but he felt overcome by how unfair things were. Young kids shouldn’t have to be sick. There must be some sort of flaw in creation; it was the sort of thing that made a person want to demand an explanation from God. Or maybe it was the task at hand that overwhelmed him. He was going to fail. Hannah was right, it couldn’t be done. A new thought: Maybe his reaction was just a manifestation of what others called his manic-depressive personality. Was he in the midst of a manic episode? Niels leaned against the wall for support as he caught his breath. Maybe Hannah was as crazy as Sommersted thought. Or maybe the reverse was true and the murders were all too real. And inexplicable.

  The door at the end of the hall opened. He briefly saw a blond woman move off quickly and disappear. He saw her only from the back. Was she the one? “Okay, you need to focus,” he whispered to himself. The children were laughing about something, and Niels caught a glimpse of the sun through the window. The children’s spontaneous laughter had restored his hope. He found himself running again. He turned the corner and heard the nurses’ voices in the break room.

  “Maria Deleuran?” No answer. The three nurses continued their conversation. Niels took out his police ID. “I’m looking for Maria Deleuran.”

  They stopped talking and turned to look at Niels.

  “Has something happened?”

  “Is she on duty?” he asked.

  “She’s not here.”

  Niels looked at the other nurses. The eldest seemed to know her best, or at least she was the one who spoke. “Has something happened?”

  “Are you sure she’s not here?”

  The nurse’s gaze wavered. Niels noticed it at once.

  “Could you call her?”

  “I can try.” Without hurrying, she got to her feet. Her rear end had left a big dent in the imitation leather of the sofa.

  “Would you mind making it snappy?”

  She gave Niels an angry look. An old matron. Domineering. The other nurses were undoubtedly afraid of her.

  “We’re not supposed to give out cell phone numbers, actually.”

  “I’m not asking you to give me the number. All you have to do is call her and say that the Copenhagen Police are here and want to talk to her.”

  “But she’s left for the day.”

  “Then why hasn’t she punched out?”

  “Sometimes we forget. What’s this all about?”

  “I need to ask you to make that call. Now!”

  I hope you’re not married, thought Niels as she tapped in the number. I pity your husband if you are. He looked around. A bulletin board. Postcards, work schedules, photographs, little notes. A beautiful, fair-haired young woman standing in the middle of an African village, surrounded by children.

  “Maybe there’s something I can help you with instead?” said the old nurse.

  Niels ignored her as he removed the photo. “Is this Maria?”

  No one answered. The nurses exchanged glances. On the back, it said: Here are my children. I hope you’re all doing well back home in the frozen north. I miss our coffee klatsches. A smiley face followed by: Love, Maria.

  “Maria Deleuran?”

  “Yes.”

  “Does she have children?”

  “Why?”

  “Does Maria Deleuran have any children?”

  An inexplicable silence settled over the room.

  “No,” said the matron after a moment.

  “When did she get off work? Are you positive she’s not still here? There’s somebody’s jacket over there.” Niels pointed at an empty chair with a jacket draped over the back. “Is that hers?”

  One of the nurses got up. She gave him a friendly smile. “Now, look here. Maria was off at two o’clock. She has the morning shift. You can see for yourself on the work schedule.” The nurse nodded toward the bulletin board. “She may have been doing a little overtime, but she’s not here, at any rate. I’d be happy to take a message for her.”

  The older matron said, “She’s not picking up her phone.”

  “Does she have any women friends here?” asked Niels. “Does she usually meet up with anybody after work?”

  “I’m a friend of hers.”

  Niels turned. It was the first time this particular nurse had spoken. He looked at her name badge: TOVE FANØ, RN.

  “Does she spend time with anyone else at the hospital, Tove? It’s a big place.”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Friends, lovers, maybe something related to her aid work?”

  Tove paused to think and then shook her head. Niels glanced at the matron. She shrugged, her expression surly.

  “Do all of you like her?”

  “What?”

  “Do you have children? All of you?”

  Confused looks.

  “I asked you a question.”

  Everyone nodded. Except for Maria’s friend. Tove. She could easily be in her midforties. Niels stared at her. Then she moved her hands to reveal a big pregnant belly.

  73

  Personnel office, the National Hospital—Copenhagen

  3:16 P.M.

  Normally, Hannah preferred the hours just before sundown. For someone who had come to a standstill in the middle of life, the daytime hours could be difficult. People in a hurry, people on their way to or from work, school, the day-care center. In the daytime, other people did all the things that exposed her life for what it was. Nothing. No job, no husband, and worst of all, not even her son. Then the sun went down, people disappeared, and things became a bit easier for Hannah. But not today.

  She got up, went over to the window, and looked at the sun, which was hiding behind the trees. Just a pale, flat disk that refused to share its warmth with this part of the world. It would be a while yet before the sun went down. At the other end of the office corridor, employees were still at work. A TV was on. Hannah couldn’t help getting caught up in the frantic tumult on the screen. Something had happened. Someone was on the ground. People wearing suits had gathered around the poor man; others were rushing to bring water and a blanket. Hannah pictured in her mind the Bella Center—an awful place. Bad air indoors, too many people, and too little time. Who wouldn’t faint inside that place?

  “Okay!” Casper looked up from his screen with an eager expression. “I’ve found another angel.”

  Hannah went back to where Casper and Thor were hunched in front of their computer screens. “All right, tell me,” she said.

  “At the Center for Medical Parasitology. Professor Samuel Hviid. Forty-nine years old. No children, according to the civil registry. But listen to this.” Casper glanced up at Hannah before he went on. “He’s one of the world’s foremost researchers on malaria. It’s thought that his work has already saved the lives of half a million people living near the equator.”

  “Is he at work right now?”

  “He’s a researcher at the university, but apparently they have departments connected to the hospital.”

  “If he’s not in the building, he’s not in any danger,” Hannah told Casper as she looked at the picture of the researcher. Alexander the Great died of malaria, which is regarded as one of the three greatest challenges to public health, killing three million people every year. That was as much as she managed to read from the text under the photograph of Samuel Hviid before a thought occurred to her. “Call his department. Find out if he’s here in the building.”

  “Okay.” Thor made the call.

  Casper continued his search as he muttered, “Gry Libak. Not bad, either—”

  Th
or interrupted him. “He’s in the building. Samuel Hviid. In the administrative wing, Section 5222. He’s in a meeting.”

  3:19 P.M.

  Maria Deleuran was still in the hospital. Niels was sure of it. Why were her colleagues lying? He could see that Hannah was trying to call his cell, but he didn’t answer it. The nurses were getting up and leaving the break room. Niels waited until the surly matron had left. Then he followed Maria’s friend Tove into the women’s bathroom.

  “What are you doing?” She gave Niels an angry look as he quickly closed the door behind him. “Should I start screaming?”

  “You need to tell me where she is.”

  “What’s this all about? Why is it so important? Why can’t you just wait until—”

  “Her life may be in danger,” Niels interrupted her.

  Tove paused to consider what he’d said. “But why? Maria is an angel. Nobody would want to hurt her. I just don’t believe it.”

  “Trust me.”

  Tove weighed whether to tell him something—Niels could see it in her face. Words were on the tip of her tongue. She wore the same expression as a criminal a few minutes before deciding to confess. “She left. I don’t know what else to tell you.”

  Tove resolutely walked out the door. Niels’s cell was ringing.

  “Hannah?”

  “Samuel Hviid. You need to go over to Section 5222. He’s a researcher. He matches the profile perfectly. At the moment he’s in an administrative meeting.”

  The secretary looked at Niels’s police ID with surprising composure. She was used to having people in authority pass by her desk: the health minister, highly placed government officials, professors, and scientists from all over Europe. It was her job to decide who would be allowed in to see the head of the hospital, and she didn’t let anyone slip past easily.

  “Professor Hviid is in a meeting with the directors. Can’t it wait?”

  “No, it can’t.”

  “May I ask what this is about?”

  “I need to talk to Samuel Hviid. Now.”

  She got up, shamelessly taking her time. People in this country make the police feel like we’re more of a nuisance than a help, thought Niels. On the other hand, the secretary treated the hospital directors as if they were the oracle of Delphi. She tapped cautiously on the door and then went in, looking apologetic and stooping submissively. On the TV screen behind the secretary, Niels saw the same images that Hannah had seen. The climate conference was in its last stages, and one of the top delegates had suddenly collapsed. Blood was running from his head, and he was gasping for air like a dying codfish that had been pulled out of its natural habitat. The world press was on hand to witness the whole scene.

  The secretary was still talking to the directors. The walls of the hospital conference room were glass. Total transparency, as if to underscore that no shady decisions were ever made in the room. Niels stared at the people in the meeting room. They stared back. He couldn’t hear what they were saying. Only the faint sounds from the TV broke the silence: We don’t know whether he was just not feeling well . . . or whether his condition is more serious. Possibly a stroke. An ambulance is on its way here right now.

  The secretary came back. “All right. He’ll be with you in a minute.”

  “Good.”

  Samuel Hviid hitched up his trousers and cleared his throat as he came through the door. The other people in the room tried to hide their curiosity.

  “Samuel Hviid?” Niels asked.

  “How can I help you?”

  “I’m Niels Bentzon. From the Copenhagen Police.”

  Niels’s phone beeped. A text message from Hannah: We have one more. Gry Libak.

  “What’s this about?” The professor looked at Niels with kind, intelligent eyes.

  The sun was going to set in a few minutes. Niels could see the pink sky through the big picture windows of the administrative office. “We have reason to believe that your life is in danger.”

  Samuel Hviid’s expression didn’t change.

  “I need to ask you to leave the hospital. Just for the next half hour.”

  “Leave the hospital? Why?”

  “I can’t tell you right now. All I can say is that it’s not safe for you to stay here.”

  Hviid shook his head and than glanced over his shoulder. “I refuse to hide. That case is almost twenty years old.” He looked at Niels. Was there a trace of sorrow in his eyes?

  “It’s just for half an hour. Not even that long.”

  “And then what?”

  “Then we’ll have the situation under control.”

  “No. It’s my life, and I have to learn to live with it. I can’t do that if I run away with my tail between my legs every time. When did he escape?”

  Niels had no idea what to say. “I can’t divulge that information.”

  “Can’t divulge? Come on! I’m a doctor. We make mistakes. The man has been threatening me for half my lifetime because of a case that I wasn’t even responsible for. I just happened to be the young doctor who was last in contact with his wife before her tragic death. Administering the medication—that was the job of the anesthesiologist. These things happen.”

  Samuel Hviid glanced back at the directors in the conference room. Niels could see what the man was thinking: He’d come a long way, and no one was going to destroy things for him. The directors sitting behind the thick panes of glass knew nothing about this matter. If he left the meeting now, people would start to wonder.

  Yet another text from Hannah. Forget Hviid. Focus on Gry Libak. Department C. Only a few minutes left.

  74

  Cannaregio, the Ghetto—Venice

  Sister Magdalena had entered the Order of the Sacred Heart because she believed in God. For the same reason, a little water in the streets wasn’t going to hold her back. Signor Tommaso needed to be given the message. Magdalena had made a promise to a dying woman, a woman who had received a last message from the beyond, and it was important to heed messages like that. Magdalena knew this better than anyone. If she hadn’t paid attention, she wouldn’t be alive today. She would have died at Shaw Station in Manila along with the nineteen other people. But she had been saved by God. In her bag she had the receipt from the bicycle repair shop that she’d kept all these years. For her, it was a form of proof. A tangible proof of God’s existence. Mostly as a reminder to herself in case she ever happened to doubt her own memory.

  She knocked. The door was ajar, and the entryway was flooded.

  “Signor di Barbara? Tommaso? I have a message from your mother.”

  Not a sound. Magdalena went inside, calling out again. It was against her nature to barge into someone’s home, but she had to do it. This was important.

  She went upstairs, calling his name, but no one answered. In the living room she saw the display Tommaso had made of the photos of the victims. The worldwide murder case covered the entire wall from floor to ceiling. At first she didn’t understand what she was looking at. Then she realized that they were pictures of dead people. Her mouth went dry, and she tasted her own blood. Sister Magdalena didn’t understand, but she had a feeling that she was too late.

  75

  Personnel office, the National Hospital—Copenhagen

  3:21 P.M.

  Poul Spreckelsen, the Cardiology Clinic,” said Casper, looking up. “His achievements may not be as spectacular as Samuel Hviid’s and the fight against malaria. But Spreckelsen has developed . . .”

  Hannah wasn’t listening. She was looking through the glass pane at the TV screen in the next office. Helicopter cameras showed two ambulances driving up to the Bella Center. Doctors and medics jumping out. The text crawl appeared at the bottom of the screen: Breaking news. Climate negotiator collapses.

  “Are you listening?”

  Hannah wasn’t. She left the personnel office and went into the office next door.

  “Can I help you?” The woman stared at Hannah.

  “Yes. Would you mind turning up
the volume?”

  The woman didn’t move.

  “It will only take two minutes. Please.”

  The woman sighed, fumbled with the remote control, and turned up the sound. He’s being transported through the Bella Center, said the TV reporter. Casper appeared behind Hannah. “Are you thinking the same thing I am?” he asked.

  “Possibly.”

  The reporter continued to describe in detail what the cameras were showing on the screen: He’s being transported past the press box. Two doctors are walking alongside, and it looks as if an IV has been started.

  “Why don’t you tell us his name!” cried Hannah impatiently. At that instant, as if on command, the TV reporter summed up the situation: What we’re watching is a very critical moment. In the midst of the negotiations, the climate negotiator for the NGOs, Yves Devort, has collapsed. He’s being taken to the National Hospital.

  Casper and Hannah ran back to their computers.

  Google: NGO. Copenhagen and . . . Casper spelled his way through the man’s name: “Yves Devort.”

  “We’ve only got fifteen minutes left,” said Hannah. “Can the ambulance get here in fifteen minutes?”

  “Probably not.”

  Casper had already found Yves Devort. A handsome man. As French as a baguette. “Fifty years old. I can’t tell whether he has children. Or what the French police might have on him.” They looked at the TV screen. Commotion. Chaos. Delegates, demonstrators, ambulances, security guards, and police officers.

  Niels was calling them. Hannah answered. He sounded out of breath. “I’m lost.”

  “Where are you? Tell me what one of the signs says.”

  “Orthopedic Department. Section 2162.”

  Hannah looked at Thor. “What’s the fastest way from Section 2162 to the Cardiology Department?”

  “Tell him to find the nearest elevator.”

  “Did you hear that, Niels? It’s three twenty-two right now. You have exactly fifteen minutes.”

  “Hannah?”

  “Yes, Niels?”

  “It’s not going to work. We can’t do it.”