The Last Good Man

by A. J. Kazinsky

  “We only have a few minutes left.”

  “I’m going to die, Hannah. And so will—”

  “No, Niels.”

  She took something out of her bag. “We’re going to use this.”

  With an effort, he raised his head. “No, Hannah.”

  She was holding his gun in her hand.

  3:37 P.M.—4 minutes until sundown

  The dark van came roaring down the ramp, going much too fast. For a moment it seemed about to skid. The brakes locked, and only sheer luck saved it from torpedoing into one of the cement pillars.

  Leon and the other officers surrounded the vehicle, their guns raised.

  Albrectsen moved into position behind the van as Leon approached the side door. “Copenhagen Police! Open the door! Do it slowly. Very slowly.”

  Then they heard it. A voice. At first plaintive. Followed by a scream. Terrible and loud, sending shivers down their backs.

  A man stepped out of the van. He couldn’t be more than twenty. His hair was sticking out all over, and he looked scared.

  “Down on the ground!” shouted Leon.

  “I—”

  “Shut up and get down before I shoot you!”

  At that moment Albrectsen opened the back door of the van. Inside, he saw a woman lying on a mattress. She was screaming.

  “What the hell is going on, Albrectsen?” yelled Leon as he cuffed the young man.

  “Boss?” Albrectsen sounded almost like he was laughing.

  “What?”

  “It’s my girlfriend. She . . .” the young man started to explain.

  Leon stood up. He went around to the back of the van and looked inside. The woman was lying there with her legs spread apart. Leon was positive that he could see a small head on its way out.

  For two seconds the police officers stood frozen in place. Then the woman yelled at them, “Are you just going to stand there staring?”

  19

  3:39 P.M.—2 minutes until sundown

  From up here they had a view of all of Copenhagen.

  The sun, partially obscured by clouds and snow, was hovering on the horizon. Niels looked back as Hannah continued toward the middle of the helicopter pad. The blowing snow struck their skin like tiny needles. “This is a good place,” she whispered, but her words were instantly whirled away by the wind. “Take it!” Hannah had to shout to make herself heard. “Take the gun.”

  “No, Hannah.”

  “Look at me.” She came back, grabbed hold of Niels, and tried to force him to look her in the eye.

  “I can’t do it.”

  “You have to, Niels.”

  “Leave me alone.” He tried to push her away, but he was too weak, and she refused to release her grip.

  “It ends here, Niels. Do you understand?” She pressed the gun into his hand. Even though he could have thrown it away—tossed it in a gentle arc into the dusk—he didn’t. “It ends here,” Hannah repeated.

  He released the safety and glanced toward the door. A tiny movement that nonetheless required all his strength. He raised the gun and pointed it at the only entrance to the roof. The elevator door.

  “No one’s going to come up here, Niels.”

  “Get away from me!”

  She didn’t move.

  He shouted, “I said, ‘Get away from me!’ ”

  She moved a few feet away.

  “Farther.” He staggered but kept a tight grip on the gun. As if that small object, created for the sole purpose of taking lives, was now, paradoxically enough, his only remaining lifeline.

  “Niels!”

  She was shouting in vain. He didn’t hear her.

  “Niels!” She came very close. Grabbed hold of him again and refused to let him push her away.

  “Get away from me.”

  “Listen to me, Niels. Nobody’s going to come up here. There’s no murderer. It’s just us.”

  He didn’t reply.

  “You need to stop being good. You need to sacrifice me.”

  “Stop it, Hannah.” He tried again to push her away.

  “It’s the only option. Can’t you see that? You have to act.”

  He didn’t say a word. Blood was running out of his nose and down his lips. His knees were buckling. Hannah thought he was going to fall. She thought it might be too late. A quick glance toward the west told her that the sun was still hesitating on the horizon.

  “No murderer is going to make an appearance up here, Niels. Can’t you understand that? There’s no terrorist. No stupid serial killer. This is about us.”

  “Stop it right now.”

  “Shoot me, Niels.”

  “No.”

  “You have to act. You have to show that you’re listening. That’s what this is all about. You have to sacrifice what you love.” Hannah took hold of the cold barrel of the gun and pointed it at her own heart. “It doesn’t make any difference to me, Niels. That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you. I was dead when you found me. I died when Johannes died.”

  “Hannah . . .”

  She leaned in close; her lips touched his ear as she whispered, “We have to show that we’re listening. That we know there’s something more.” She placed his finger on the trigger. “You need to fire the gun, Niels. Just do it. I want to go back. I’ve seen what awaits us. It’s the only thing I want. To go back. To Johannes.”

  “No.”

  “No one will suspect you. Everyone will think it was suicide. I’m an emotional wreck. Your boss was right.” An unexpected smile appeared on her lips. “I have nothing to lose, Niels. Nothing.”

  “No, I can’t do it.”

  Suddenly, all sound disappeared. Niels could see her lips moving, but no words came out. The noise of the wind and the storm and the city far below them had vanished. All that remained was a silence that he didn’t know was possible. A silence so moving that it made him close his eyes, just to savor it.

  “It’s so quiet,” he whispered. “So quiet.”

  A warmth streamed through his body. A wondrous warmth that made the pain in his back disappear and brought him peace—respite at last. Maybe Hannah was right; maybe this was a promise of what awaited him. Warmth, calm, peace. It felt as if the storm had stopped altogether. The snow was gone, and the clouds parted to let him glimpse the stars overhead, close enough to touch. Again he looked at Hannah, who was screaming, pleading with him, though he heard nothing. She pressed the muzzle of the gun to her heart and mouthed the words “Do it now, Niels,” but he still couldn’t hear her. Niels closed his eyes. He knew she was right. He didn’t want to listen to her. He couldn’t do it.

  But he pulled the trigger.

  The firing pin sent a powerful jolt through his hand.

  Hannah jerked away. Seemed to stagger. Niels looked at her, saw her take a step back. There was no blood.

  At that instant, sound returned to his ears, striking his eardrums with a bang.

  “But . . .”

  Hannah turned around. Looked toward the west. The sun was gone. Twilight had descended. “You did it, Niels.”

  Niels could feel his legs shaking. He was looking for the entrance wound in Hannah’s chest. He couldn’t understand why blood wasn’t pouring out of her. Tiny spasms passed through his body, and he sank to the ground.

  She held out her fist to him and slowly opened it. There, in the palm of her hand, was the gun magazine.

  She sat down and put her arms around him. He shut his eyes.

  He could hear footsteps and voices. Leon was calling him. “Bentzon? Are you up here?”

  Niels opened his eyes.

  “Bentzon?” Leon shouted again.

  But Niels saw only Hannah—and the soft snowflakes dancing in the air between them.

  20

  Monday, January 4, 2010

  Niels could clearly feel the change in his body as he packed his suitcase in the hospital. Not only was the pain in his back gone, but he was also having an easier time walking. Something inside him had changed.
Normally, the mere act of packing a suitcase would have reminded him so much of traveling that anxiety would have settled over his body, getting ready, like some invincible adversary, to defeat him.

  This time it was different. He was totally calm as he carefully placed his clothes inside the suitcase. With his police ID and gun on top. He felt no apprehension as he zipped up the bag.

  “You’re going home today?” The nurse was changing the sheets on the bed.

  “Yes. It’s about time. I’m putting on weight, eating all this good food.” He patted his stomach.

  “I’m glad that you’re feeling so much better.”

  “Thanks for all your help.” He held out his hand, but to his surprise, the nurse gave him a hug instead.

  “Good luck with everything, Niels.” She sounded almost sad, as if she was going to miss him. But she was smiling.

  Hannah wouldn’t be discharged for a few days. When Niels went to her room to say goodbye, he brought a bouquet of flowers with him. He couldn’t find a vase.

  “Just put them here,” Hannah said, patting the bedcovers. “They’re lovely. What kind are they?”

  Niels shrugged. “I don’t know anything about flowers.”

  “I once dreamed of making a real garden out at the summer house. Putting in all sorts of plants and, well . . . you know.”

  He kissed her on the mouth. Just briefly. Her warm, soft lips. He may have been a bit clumsy, but it worked—he could feel the effect deep down inside him.

  He handed her a present, wrapped in newspaper.

  “What’s this?” Hannah said, flushed from the kiss.

  “Open it.”

  She tore off the wrapping paper with childish glee. But her expression changed when she saw what was inside. The gun magazine.

  “Don’t worry. I took out the bullets.”

  She picked it up, sighing as she turned it this way and that. “I was positive that I had to die,” she said. “That I was meant to die.”

  “When did you change your mind?”

  She looked up at him. “You know what? I didn’t. I’m not sure that I even took out the magazine. Or whether . . .”

  She didn’t finish what she was thinking. “I’ll walk you to the door,” she said.

  They’d talked about it several times over the past few days. About what had actually happened up there on the roof. Every time Niels had asked who had done it, Hannah had corrected him. “Not who but what, Niels. What did it?”

  Niels had no answer.

  A long white corridor. A swarm of doctors, nurses, patients, and family members. One sound pierced all the other sounds: a baby crying. Niels stopped and looked around. A young mother, looking tired but happy, was carrying her baby in her arms. Coming toward Niels and Hannah. He turned his head to look at the new little creature as the woman passed. Maybe that was why he bumped into a nurse.

  “Sorry.”

  She was about to move on, but he stopped her. “Could I ask you a question?”

  She turned to look at him.

  “How can I find out if a baby was born here last Friday at sundown?”

  The nurse considered his question. “You need to go over to the maternity ward.”

  “Thanks.”

  Hannah tugged at his sleeve.

  “What?” he asked.

  “Niels. Isn’t that a bit far-fetched?”

  “Why? Don’t you believe that the baton has been passed?”

  Niels knocked politely, and when no one answered, he simply went into the room. Hannah remained outside.

  Flowers, boxes of chocolate, teddy bears, and infant clothes. The mother was lying in bed, dozing with her newborn in her arms. The young father was sitting in a chair, snoring. They perfectly matched Leon’s description of the couple who had arrived in the dark-colored van. The mother looked up.

  “Congratulations,” said Niels. It was the first word that came to him.

  “Thanks.” She gave him a puzzled look, trying to place him. “Do we know each other?”

  Niels shrugged and looked at the baby, who was stirring. “A boy?”

  “Yes.” She smiled. “An impatient little guy. He arrived a month early.”

  “Will you promise me something?”

  She looked at him in surprise.

  “When he gets older, if he has trouble traveling, will you promise not to get mad at him?”

  “I don’t think I understand what you mean.”

  “Just promise me that.”

  And Niels left the room.

  21

  Setting out on a trip for the very first time. Most people can remember that experience—the childish sense of adventure when the plane takes off. How everything is new: the flight attendants, the food, the little cups and plastic utensils and accessories that look like they belong in a dollhouse. The way you leave all worries behind and allow someone else to determine the destination and route.

  Venice

  The smell of the lagoon was like no other Niels had ever experienced. Welcoming, even though it was also musty. The brackish water was blue-black, and yet it was so inviting that Lord Byron had jumped into the canal. That was something Niels had read about in his guidebook.

  For most of the flight, he had simply stared out the window of the plane. As they flew over the Alps, he wept without making a sound, without moving. It was a good thing that Hannah wasn’t with him. She would have told him that the Alps were nothing more than the result of two continental plates ramming into each other. And that in a few hundred million years, the Mediterranean would be gone when the African continent caught up with Europe. Kathrine probably couldn’t wait that long, so Niels had bought himself a ticket from Venice to South Africa. He had to change planes three times along the way, and it would take a whole day to get there.

  One of the young men at the water taxis called out: “Venice, mister?”

  Niels got out his guidebook and pointed to the island with the cemetery.

  “San Michele? The cemetery?”

  Niels ventured a faint sì. Which prompted the young man to name a price: ninety euros. What the hell. Even though Hannah had told him to haggle over all the prices in Venice, especially at this time of year when everyone was desperate to make money.

  Niels started laughing as the taxi driver floored the throttle and the boat leaped over the water like a skipping stone. The young man looked at Niels and couldn’t help sharing his passenger’s genuine joy at the speed.

  At San Michele they had to wait for a coffin to be unloaded from a small black-varnished boat before they could dock. As Niels hopped up onto the wharf, the driver held on to his arm and then waved enthusiastically as he headed off in the water taxi. Only then did Niels realize he had no idea how he would get back from the island.

  If the cemetery was a preview of the beauty of the rest of the city, then it boded well. Chapels, colonnades, palm trees and willows, ornamentation, angel faces and wings—a cornucopia of sacred art to help people depart this life in style. Niels spent almost an hour walking around, feeling both amazed and bewildered. Slowly, he began to see the system: where the newest urns had been placed and where the Protestants were interred.

  Niels walked down the endless rows of urns placed on top of urns. Faces and names. Flowers and lit candles placed in little red glasses that protected the flames from the rain.

  He found Tommaso’s earthly remains squeezed in between those of Negrim Emilio and Zanovello Edvigne. TOMMASO DI BARBARA. There was also a small photograph: a face and enough of his shoulders to show that he was in uniform. A pleasant-looking man. A friend.

  Niels sat down on the bench under the weeping willow, right next to Tommaso. He hadn’t brought anything with him. No flowers or candles. He’d brought only himself. No longer good. Just himself.

  Acknowledgments

  A. J. Kazinski would like to thank:

  For ideas, systems, theories, patience, and for making us realize the full extent of our glaring ignorance: astrophysicist
Anja C. Andersen from the Dark Cosmology Center, the Niels Bohr Institute, Copenhagen.

  In Venice: For invaluable details about work shifts, tourists, and island eccentrics: Luca Cosson of the Venice Police.

  For giving us a tour and guiding us around the flooding: Sister Mary Grace and Father Elisio of the Order of St. John of God Hospital at the hospice Ospedale Fatebenefratelli.

  In Copenhagen: For conversations and e-mails about the Talmud, the Torah, and the thirty-six: Head Rabbi Bent Lexner.

  For a glimpse into eternity: Anja Lysholm.

  For showing us the world below: Bjarne Rødtjer, Bent Jensen, and Susanne Hansen of the National Hospital’s Central Archives.

  For a tour of Copenhagen’s most beautiful villa, and for helping us take the first step on the Diamond Way: Jørn Jensen and Mikkel Uth of the Buddhist Center.

  For willingly sharing his experiences about police work: Jørn Moos.

  For at least a handful of religious legends: Sara Møldrup Thejls, professor of religious history, Copenhagen University.

  For a dizzying tour of the mysterious world of mathematics: Professor Christian Berg of the Institute of Mathematics Studies, Copenhagen University.

  For his indefatigable reading of the manuscript and his impeccable notes: David Drachman.

  For a conversation about skin: Professor Jørgen Serup of the Dermatological Department, Bispebjerg Hospital.

  Special thanks to our supporters: Lars Ringhof, Lene Juul, Charlotte Weiss, Anne-Marie Christensen, and Peter Aalbæk Jensen.

  The Last Good Man

  A.J. Kazinski

  Reading Group Guide

  Introduction

  In Jewish scripture there is a legend: there are thirty-six righteous people on earth. When humanitarians the world over begin turning up dead—all with the same tattoo-like mark on their backs—an enterprising Italian policeman named Tommaso di Barbara link the deaths. In Copenhagen, Barbara’s Interpol alert lands on the desk of veteran detective Niels Bentzon. His task: find the “good people” of Denmark and warn them of the threat. But Bentzon is a man who is trained to see the worst in humanity, not the good. One by one, people are crossed off his list, as he sees through their upright façade and learns of their secrets and wrongdoings. Just as Bentzon is ready to give up, he meets Hannah Lund, a brilliant astrophysicist. With Hannah’s help, Bentzon begins to piece together the puzzle of these far-flung deaths. It is, they realize, a perfect plan of murder. There have been thirty-four deaths. According to the pattern, Bentzon and Hannah can predict the time and place of the final two murders. The deaths will occur in Venice and Copenhagen. And the time is now.