She keeps running. The air is much colder now. Normally, taking in lungfuls of icy air would hurt, but it doesn’t. She is becoming conscious of the pain in her hands and feet.
At last, she reaches Gunnar’s street.
50
She throws herself into his arms. Her nose is running and her wrist is bleeding, making large, dark stains on his shirt.
Gunnar carries her inside. ‘Iben, what on earth …?’
He dries her face gently with his shirt and asks where the blood is coming from. She is crying so much he cannot make sense of what she’s trying to say.
He examines her hands and starts picking fragments of glass from her blouse.
‘Iben, listen. You need to get out of your blouse and take a bath so we can see where your wounds are …’
‘I want to lie down.’
‘Of course. You will. But first we need to find out where you’re bleeding.’
‘I want to lie down!’
‘Yes, yes. Of course.’ He helps her to the sofa.
The light is too strong. She closes her eyes, but the brightness won’t go away. It seems to make dancing patterns against her lids. She asks for a cushion to cover her eyes. With her face partly hidden, she tries to pull herself together.
‘We have to get hold of Malene and warn her. It is very important.’
She tries to explain what happened, but hears how garbled she sounds.
‘Iben, let’s phone the police right now.’
Iben doesn’t reply.
‘Are you absolutely sure that no one saw you coming here?’
‘I don’t think so.’
‘Yes, we definitely have to phone the police.’
‘Wait. Just a little.’
‘But Iben, it’s essential …’
‘Just wait.’ Her whole body is shaking.
Gunnar gets up.
‘Don’t go.’
‘I was going to phone a doctor.’
‘I’ve only got a few cuts on my hands. That’s all. It looks worse than it is.’
‘Sure, but …’
‘Gunnar, please stay. You’re not to phone anyone.’
She hears him sit down in a chair next to her.
‘I need to get some paper towels and a bowl of water. I can clean your cuts while you lie here. That’s all right, isn’t it?’
‘Yes. I’d like that.’
‘Tell you what … I won’t phone anyone until tomorrow morning.’
‘That’s very good of you. I’m just so …’
When Iben takes the cushion away, the first thing she sees is that the room is full of books, just like her own. The flat is large with ample space between the pieces of furniture. The effect is somehow unfinished, as if he had been allowed half of the family home after his divorce and let the years pass without buying anything new.
She looks at Gunnar. She wants him to hold her close again, like the moment she arrived. She tries to recall what his warm body felt like. She has found a safe place where Zigic won’t find her and where she will be taken care of. She touches Gunnar’s thigh with her hand and relaxes. She suddenly burps. They both burst out laughing. She begins to feel well enough to feel self-conscious in front of him.
Slow footsteps. Somewhere. Iben can’t quite make it out, but they could be coming from outside the door at the far end of the room.
She reacts without thinking. In an instant, the knife is in her hand. Her other hand, still flecked with drying blood, has grabbed a piece of orange stone that was on the coffee table. Before Gunnar can say a thing, Iben is standing, ready to fight.
Malene steps into the room, a damp towel wrapped round her head. ‘Iben? What are you doing here?’
Malene looks very sensual. Her hair and body are radiating warmth.
‘Oh, no! My God! Iben? Jesus, what have you done?’
Iben blinks several times and shouts: ‘What have you done?’
‘But … didn’t I tell you? Gunnar and I are together.’
Iben had no idea. ‘No, what’s going on with Zigic?’
‘Zigic? What do you mean?’
‘Have you stolen his address list? Are you blackmailing him?’
‘No! No way!’ By now Malene looks terrified. She must think that Iben is out of her mind.
Still, Iben can’t stop herself from almost screaming: ‘You and your tricks! You almost had me killed!’
‘What?’
‘Who do you work for? Apart from the Centre?’
‘But Iben, I don’t understand.’
Malene is so believable – as if she has done nothing wrong. It’s too much. Gunnar tries to intervene and calm the two women down.
‘You keep out of this!’
He reaches out to hold her, but Iben backs away quickly and raises her knife.
‘Watch out! Stay away from me!’
Gunnar and Malene stare at her. Suddenly Iben comes to her senses. ‘Oh, no, please. Gunnar, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it. You know that I’d never …’
Everyone is frozen.
‘It’s all so confusing.’
‘Don’t worry. I understand, perfectly. Come and lie back down.’
‘I’m not at all like this … I don’t want you to think that I am …’
‘Iben, believe me, we both understand. We’ll look after you.’
Iben fights her suspicion that they are collaborating with Zigic. She must not be paranoid. She notices the bloodstains on the sofa. Gunnar won’t be able to use it any more. She mumbles, ‘I’m sorry,’ and lies down slowly, after putting Gunnar’s stone back in its place.
Iben begins to tell Gunnar and Malene the story, but more coherently this time. Several times she interrupts herself to ask Malene what kind of contact she has had with Zigic. Malene insists that she has had nothing to do with Zigic or his files. He must have mistaken her for someone else.
Gunnar goes to the kitchen to find something for Iben to eat. Iben starts cleaning her left arm but Malene stops her.
‘Iben, let me do it. Just lie down.’
How strange to be looked after by Malene. During the last six years it has always been the other way round.
For the first time Iben picks up the smell of sex that hovers in the air – as if Gunnar and Malene have been on a sexual rampage for days, using every available surface. Iben feels so bitter. Everything is falling apart. The pain is starting to get to her.
Malene must have noticed. She produces two strong painkillers from her handbag. Iben lies still, waiting for the pills to take effect, and looks at Malene’s hands. While she was being held captive by Zigic, those hands were caressing Gunnar.
Gunnar returns with a bottle of whisky, a plate of sandwiches and mugs of hot chocolate for all of them.
Iben repeats how Zigic captured her all over again.
This time Malene says they ought to phone the police.
‘But what if one of the men who chased me saw which street I ran to but not which door? Maybe they’re still waiting. When the police arrive, their problem will be solved.’
‘So that’s why you didn’t want me to phone earlier!’
Malene starts to mumble. ‘Isn’t it just a little …’
But instead, she changes tack. ‘I think I may know how all of this started. Remember, the very first time I called Rasmus on my mobile to tell him about the email threats? He talked about the possibility of writing a spyware program. He kept working on the program whenever he had time. The idea was to forward it to the sender. It would then copy data from the sender’s computer. Anything – like the address book and the calendar – and afterwards the data would be sent back to us, to help us trap the criminal. But I didn’t know he had got that far with it.’
‘But how would Zigic know who copied his files?’
‘I suppose he couldn’t – unless he got his own spyware set up after Rasmus’s death. I don’t know. But let’s say that he found my name from the subscriptions that I paid for on-line via Rasmus’s computer. Then
if he Googled me he’d have found out that I work at DCGI and might think that I had something to do with his computer being infected.’
‘It’s just so … It means that if Rasmus’s software did copy everything, there has to be a file somewhere in your computer that could wipe out Zigic’s entire organisation – bank accounts, supporters’ names, details of people he is using or blackmailing.’
Malene goes and gets the laptop. She logs on as Rasmus, then experiments briefly with whatever other email identities he could use.
They watch her in silence, Iben on the sofa and Gunnar on an armchair. Gunnar is so close Iben could reach out her arm and touch him.
Suddenly Malene calls out excitedly. ‘Yes! Yes, look! Rasmus sent an email with the attached program to [email protected]. It has to be Ljiljana Peric – the woman you interviewed about Zigic.’
‘But why send it to her?’
‘I don’t know.’
Iben has an idea. ‘What if he wanted to see if it would work with the Serbian version of Windows? That would make sense, don’t you think?’
‘It would. And it must’ve worked all right, because the following day he sent an email to [email protected]. And another one to [email protected]. That must be Zigic’s email address. I wonder how he got hold of that?’
‘What if the spyware program found it in Ljiljana’s Contacts list? She and Zigic were classmates, after all. She probably knows him better than she likes to let on.’
Malene talks while she clicks her way through Rasmus’s mail. ‘Look. The spyware has returned mail from both addresses. The header shows that Zigic’s mail goes via a Serbian server. The other mail was sent on from a Danish server.’
A wave of nausea flows through Iben, the same sickness as made her sit down on the bin at the bus stop. The inside of her mouth feels as if it’s coated in thick mucus.
Malene speaks, half to herself. ‘So, it obviously wasn’t Zigic who sent the threatening emails. It was someone in this country. And the name must be in this file!’
Gunnar and Iben lean forward, straining to see. Iben’s forehead is covered in drops of sweat. She tries to speak enthusiastically, but her tongue doesn’t seem to move. ‘Imagine! Rasmus found out who it is.’
Malene’s voice is dry. ‘So he did. And then he died.’
It happens so suddenly. Something contracts inside Iben and her nose fills with the stench of creosote and rendered pork fat. She can smell evil now.
Iben jumps up from the sofa and manages a few paces towards the bathroom before throwing up everything she ate. She kneels, as if about to dive head first. The pool of fluid is brown, darker than the world of evil into which she almost disappeared earlier.
Gunnar and Malene come to help her, one on either side. Malene’s hand supports her forehead.
‘Iben, you’ve had such a dreadful day. It’s understandable, you just can’t take any more.’
Iben’s head is churning again with the same thoughts she had earlier: What if my memories were real? What if I sent the emails and Rasmus found out? I would have known that he could destroy my life. Everything.
Iben whispers, ‘I’m not very well.’
‘We can see that. You mustn’t worry.’
She closes her eyes and tries to think. Her clammy forehead rests on Malene’s hand.
What exactly do I remember from the day Rasmus was moving out? He was very serious and said he had to ‘talk to me’. He told me about the spyware and how he had designed it. I had expected him to ramble on about Malene and himself, but he started to lecture me about programming and … he lost me. Afterwards I helped him carry things to the van. What was the subject he approached so hesitantly? Why was it important to talk to me?
‘Iben, come with me. Let’s get you back on the sofa.’
Malene stinks like piss.
She listened to Rasmus talk about his program, but then what happened? Did I take some cycling gear downstairs? A can of oil without a stopper? Did I spill some oil on the steps, just in front of the only window without a guardrail? Did I tell myself to wipe it up and warn Rasmus? Did I carefully skirt around the oily spot instead? And fail to warn Rasmus? Did I look at my greasy hands and think: Oh, I’d better wash my hands before I carry anything else down – why am I so filthy? Did I drop something?
Malene looks down at Iben. ‘It feels so good that I can take care of you, just for once.’
‘Malene, I feel so … confused.’
‘You’re to rest now. Relax. We’ll sit here with you and open Rasmus’s files.’
Iben gags again but her stomach is empty.
Malene double-clicks on the file attached to the return email from revenge_is_near. It doesn’t open. A dialogue box asks about the correct application for this unknown file type.
‘I haven’t the faintest. Rasmus created the file type himself. What am I supposed to do now?’
Gunnar makes a few suggestions, but nothing works.
Malene is becoming irritated. ‘Why is it messing with us?
When we’re so close to finding out who sent those fucking emails that started everything!’
Gunnar has another suggestion: ‘Maybe Rasmus wrote a special file-opening program as part of his spyware.’
Iben says: ‘Maybe it’s not installed on this computer at all.’
Malene brightens. ‘Are you feeling better now, Iben? I’m so glad.’
After exhausting all the possibilities, the file is still closed. Defeated, they sit looking at the little machine on the table in front of them.
Iben drinks a whole pitcher of water. No more smells now. Her thoughts are more coherent and she recalls what a good atmosphere there was between Rasmus and herself when she helped him move out. It makes no sense to think that Rasmus accused her of sending the death threats. She makes up her mind that, like the emails, she imagined what had happened in the stairwell. As before, her illness made it all seem real. She glances at her friend. Something has changed. The warmth has returned to Malene’s eyes.
Malene, however, sounds let down. ‘What I don’t understand is why Rasmus didn’t tell me that he had found out who sent the emails.’
Iben notices that Gunnar seems to withdraw a little every time Malene mentions Rasmus.
‘Maybe it’s because you had broken up two days before Zigic’s data arrived?’
‘But all the same …’ Malene looks at Iben. ‘And you were with him when he moved out. Why didn’t he tell you then?’
Iben struggles to find an answer. Nothing comes to mind. ‘I don’t know. I really don’t know.’
51
It’s late now. Iben convinces herself that it would be too paranoid to argue that Zigic is still watching the street. She agrees that they should call the police.
Shortly afterwards, the entry phone rings. ‘Police here.’
Iben has an urge to warn them: ‘Be on your guard! You might be attacked when the door unlocks,’ but doesn’t want the man to think that she’s neurotic.
While Malene and Gunnar go to the hall, Iben looks for a way to defend herself. Zigic mustn’t find her knife if he does a body search this time. She runs to Gunnar’s desk, finds a roll of tape and quickly tapes the knife underneath the middle of the three armchairs. Zigic won’t look there.
She has just enough time to put the tape back and return to the sofa.
Malene screams. The next moment the front door slams and then, with a kind of cracking noise, it is pushed open again.
Iben’s heart starts hammering. Driven by an instinct to jump, she runs to the window. They are on the fourth floor, but it doesn’t matter. What else can she do? She turns her head to scan the room while she pulls back the handles on the largest window.
Nenad is at her side in an instant. She tries to put up a fight. But he easily throws her to the floor and orders her to lie face down with her hands behind her neck. It will be so much worse this time. They will take no chances. She chokes on her sobs. It’s hard to cough in such an awkw
ard position.
Gunnar and Malene are led in and ordered to lie on the floor in the same position as Iben. They are all searched. The men are much less relaxed this time, tougher and more efficient. Even so, they play with Malene and search her repeatedly. Denim Suit is so rough that Malene cries out with pain and fear until she is told to shut up.
Zigic jams his hand up hard between her legs, but looks at Iben when he speaks. ‘You wish you got that, don’t you?’
She knew it was coming. She knows what he is like. Gunnar and Malene had no idea. I should have acted, Iben tells herself. The phrase sticks. I should have acted. I should have acted.
From somewhere above her she hears Zigic parroting a woman’s voice, meant to be Iben’s. ‘Oh, dear! I think I’ll just run away from Mirko Zigic.’
She raises her head a little. He brings a heavy boot down on the back of her head.
Something cracks – like when a pair of poultry shears cut through a strong chicken thigh. Pain suddenly shoots into every part of her face. Iben screams in agony. In front of her eyes the pale, mottled surface turns a deep red.
Zigic kicks her in the side. ‘Shut up. I tried to be kind and take it easy on you. You didn’t want to cooperate, did you? You forced me to treat you differently.’
Nenad has spotted the computer. The open email with its attached file makes him whistle excitedly, which attracts Zigic’s attention.
Iben raises her head cautiously and turns it sideways to shift its weight from her broken nose. Now the coffee table is in her line of sight. She can see Nenad is talking and pointing to the screen, and Zigic is smiling, obviously pleased. The new position of her head slows the flow of blood to a steady drip. Iben watches the drops and tries to forget the pain by thinking ahead. Zigic will have to move his prisoners somewhere else, she thinks. Sooner or later Gunnar’s neighbours will call the police. And besides that, the police station will begin to worry about the lost radio contact with their men, who are probably lying dead downstairs.
Where will Zigic take them? Some secret place where he can hold them indefinitely. He will need to torture them until he knows who might have seen the file or made copies of the disk. He will make the outside world seem utterly distant and meaningless to them. Will he want all three of them? Three prisoners are harder to control than two, or one. Will Zigic pick them out one by one to find out if they know anything, then kill them if they don’t? If he decides to get rid of someone right now, who will he choose?
The Exception Page 49