The Exception

by Christian Jungersen

  It is the day after the funeral and Iben is seated in the DC GI Small Meeting Room. There is only one other person in the room: Dorte Jorgensen, the plump woman detective, who spoke to Iben after Rasmus’s fall.

  Dorte frowns and closes the door firmly. Iben is being interrogated. She doesn’t intend to cave in to the tension that the detective is trying to create, but continues her line of thought.

  ‘It was nothing short of miraculous. The way human beings behave is subject to natural laws. Then, suddenly, from one moment to the next, an exception occurs. That I am alive is precisely because of such an exception, as extraordinary as an apple rising from the ground to attach itself to a branch on an apple-tree. Or a malignant tumour regressing and disappearing without trace. Or blood dripping from a statue of Christ.’

  ‘Interesting. Now, do you have any explanation for how the hard disk from Rasmus’s computer could’ve disappeared?’

  ‘I guess Zigic must have thrown it away somewhere in or around the Ministry.’

  ‘You see, it contains data about his organisation. We have searched everywhere. And I mean everywhere. Even the bottom of the canal. We’ve drawn a blank every time.’

  ‘Well, I really can’t…’ Dorte is getting on Iben’s nerves.

  ‘That hard disk contained not only data on Zigic. It also held the name of your email sender, who is based here in Denmark. It’s not too hard to see what I’m thinking, is it?’

  ‘I’m afraid it is. I don’t understand.’

  ‘I should have thought it was pretty obvious. The man you killed in the car could’ve had the disk in one of his pockets. And you could have taken it before you ran. In all that excitement, nobody searched you.’

  ‘But I’d have no reason …’

  ‘Well, now, that’s questionable.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘One possibility is that it was you who sent the emails and that a file on the disk proved it. Rasmus might even have told you he knew when you helped him move.’

  ‘But… why would I send anyone threatening emails?’

  ‘Why indeed? Why should anyone?’

  ‘I had no reason at all.’

  Iben has heard from Malene’s mother that the police have sealed Malene’s flat and that they can’t start clearing it yet. And with the discovery that Zigic was in Denmark, the police are now considering the theory that Rasmus may have been murdered.

  Dorte pauses deliberately before continuing. ‘The special something I sensed between you and Gunnar when you were both at the station – am I wrong about it?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  Iben knows that Dorte can see something in her face, and she scratches the bandages on her nose.

  ‘If, before the emails were sent, you had already fallen in love with the man who was Malene’s lover … it could’ve caused bad blood between you, couldn’t it?’

  Iben can’t reply. She takes a deep breath.

  ‘Maybe you regretted sending the emails. Or maybe you didn’t. One way or the other, the spyware found you out and Rasmus told you.’

  Does Dorte do this to other people she interrogates? Is making wild accusations part of her method, just to see if one of them hits home?

  Iben tries to prevent herself sounding strained. ‘Look, it doesn’t make sense! Rasmus and I had a good time together that day. I helped him carry some of his things. There is no way we’d get along so well just minutes after he accused me of emailing death threats.’

  Dorte’s eyes are still fixed on Iben. ‘You might have told him that your laptop had been left in the office and that Anne-Lise had access to it. That would calm him down. After all, Anne-Lise is the one you people tried to pin the emails on.’

  Iben can’t think what to say.

  Dorte rests her arms on the table. ‘But, if Anne-Lise did not have access to your computer at the time when the emails were sent, that could have been established the following day. And you would have lost your job, your old friend, and all hope of Gunnar ever becoming your lover.’

  It’s unbelievable. This woman, Dorte JØrgensen, is installed here, in their lunch room, calmly accusing Iben of having killed her best friend’s partner! Surely she doesn’t go that far with everyone?

  Iben feels like waving her arms about and shouting that this is all totally insane. Living through these last few weeks has upset her terribly and somehow she feels that Dorte might even be right.

  She pinches her thigh to wake herself up. She must concentrate.

  What did happen? Should I give myself up? Should I say I did it and serve a life sentence in prison?

  Once more her mind conjures up an image that has recurred since the first time she met Gunnar. She is in his kitchen, cooking lots of nice dishes, he stands behind her and puts his arms round her. And his daughters come running in, laughing, from the sitting room.

  Iben is not herself during the rest of the interrogation. When Dorte gets up, opens the door and walks into the hallway, she turns and speaks over her shoulder. ‘Well, Iben, we’ll take a look at that. It’s a good idea. Malene’s mother has mentioned that Malene kept writing letters to Rasmus after his death. We are definitely going to follow up that line of enquiry.’

  53

  On the pavement a little ahead of me a man in a wheelchair was being pushed along by his wife. I caught up with them. They both seemed quite elderly and were deep in discussion. Just as I passed, the woman spluttered with laughter. A little later I turned to look at them and they were both still talking at the same time, apparently sharing a story that they enjoyed hugely. And I came to think of Iben.

  Rasmus, you were always loving and kind, helping me whenever I needed it. But I couldn’t help feeling that I was a nuisance to you. It was never like that with Iben.

  At times when I couldn’t do a thing for myself and needed hospital treatment and had to be hauled downstairs to the taxi, she never acted as if she was sacrificing herself. I didn’t feel I was a problem. Or when she went shopping for me, helped me dress – things like that. For years she was with me and saw more of me than even you did. And all the while we had such a good time. We laughed a lot.

  I hate her now for what she has made me suffer over these last few months. That’s a fact. But, I’ll never find a friend like her again. She really was special: an exception.

  I remember one time when I was in the sitting room and you were in the kitchen. And suddenly I heard a crash.

  At first I actually felt pleased. He’s dropped something, I thought. Maybe he’s poured boiling water all over his feet. Just for once, I thought, he’ll know what it’s like not to have full control of your hands. But it didn’t take long at all before I started to worry.

  I called out to you: ‘Oh, God! Rasmus? Did you drop something? Did you hurt yourself?’

  Of course you didn’t know what had been going on inside my head. In its own small way, that moment seemed like the sort of Dissociative Identity Disorder that Iben was always talking about.

  Rasmus, I am so very sorry about what happened on the stairs. I simply don’t know what came over me. You are the only one who knows how badly I feel about it. You are the only one who can understand.

  God alone knows how much Iben heard. It wasn’t my intention to push you out through the window. I have no idea why it made me so blindly furious when you insisted that your spyware proved that I had sent those emails.

  I gave you a shove. Nobody can be sorrier than I am now. Am I truly sick in the head, Rasmus? Is that it?

  54

  They’re sweet now. They speak to her and laugh with her. Everything has changed completely – so much so that Anne-Lise finds it hard to believe the way things were not so long ago.

  Paul is different too, quite unlike his old self. He is in the office much more and is suddenly of the opinion that it is ‘simply natural that the functions of DCGI and DIHR should be coordinated’. He is no longer prepared to fight to maintain the independence of the Centre.

 
; Anne-Lise cannot make him out. Only recently he did everything he could to help the Centre survive, even trying to force Frederik from the board. Was that some kind of macho thing? Could the reason be that any organisation only has room for one man of their kind?

  The office was closed for the day after Malene’s death. The following day Iben brought in a red rose, which she placed on Malene’s desk. The next morning Iben replaced it with a fresh rose and again the next day. It was as if Iben believed that Malene was a saint and that her desk and chair were sacred.

  When people turned up to use the library, Iben lectured them at length about how her own survival had been due to a ‘psychological miracle’. Paul told her repeatedly that if she felt like staying at home she should, but Iben didn’t seem to get the hint. Perhaps she wanted to be at work.

  Every day people phoned to offer their condolences and find out what happened. At times, it became too much for Iben and Anne-Lise took over.

  ‘Iben was climbing this ladder on the houseboat, so she couldn’t follow what happened on the quay. But a lot of the warehouses have been converted into flats and people were watching from their windows because they had heard the shot Iben fired at Zigic. The witnesses all say that Zigic was aiming his gun at Iben. But at the moment he was ready to pull the trigger, Malene called out. No one knows why. She threw herself in front of the gun. Iben was then able to reach the roof and that saved her. The metal ridge protected her.’

  At some point in every single phone call, the person would wonder about Malene’s brave act. They wanted to know more and Anne-Lise’s replies became more and more precise.

  ‘Yes, it’s true. Quite remarkable. I’ve never heard of anything like it … Of course, but what Iben did in Kenya was different. She says so herself, you know. After escaping, when she ran back to the hostages, she didn’t think of it as taking a risk. She simply couldn’t imagine that the Kenyan police might side with the hostage-takers.’ …

  ‘Yes, how true that is. Malene was very special. We were so proud to have worked with her. No, I suppose we didn’t realise that she had this in her.’ Anne-Lise isn’t completely sorry that Malene is dead.

  Some time after Malene’s funeral, Iben puts a large portrait of Malene on the bulletin board. She stops bringing in roses and also suggests to Anne-Lise that the two of them should leave their desks in the library and move into the Winter Garden.

  Taking over Malene’s place so soon after her death makes Anne-Lise uneasy, but Iben says that it’s OK with her. Paul and Camilla agree.

  Malene’s things are put away on a shelf behind Iben and Anne-Lise takes the seat opposite her. Anne-Lise puts her photo of Henrik and the children almost exactly where Malene’s plastic troll used to be.

  Until a new project manager is appointed, Iben takes over Malene’s tasks. They stop speaking incessantly about Malene during the breaks and move onto other things. As they continue working together on the special Turkey issue, the talk flows easily between the desks in just the way Anne-Lise used to dream it would. Everything is as she hoped it would be when she left Lyngby Central Library. The only problems troubling Anne-Lise are rooted inside her own mind.

  Look how they smile, she thinks, sweet as pie, as if they never tried to drive me insane. Of course they tell themselves that never happened. It makes them feel good. And how much better would it be if I managed to forget everything as well? But how can I forgive them? How will I ever be able to trust anyone the way I did just a year and a half ago?

  One evening she agrees to go with Henrik to a tasting arranged by his wine club.

  He beams and gives her a kiss. ‘You’re my old Anne-Lise again!’

  The tasting takes place in a large, specialist wine shop in Østerbro. It is crowded, and everyone seems to be in a good mood. Some come straight from work and are still in their suits. Others, like Henrik, have changed their clothes.

  A couple of Henrik’s old friends from university started the club and most of their circle joined it, mainly because it was a nice way to keep in touch. Henrik and Anne-Lise usually meet many of their old gang.

  Nicola rushes up to greet Anne-Lise. ‘It’s great that you’ll be at Jutta and Stig’s! And thank you so much for the invitation to your place. I’m so pleased that you’re your old self again!’

  Anne-Lise and Nicola see much more of each other these days.

  The shop’s proprietor introduces the first wine and the first round of glasses is being filled at the long, French-style dining table in the middle of the room.

  As one wine follows another, several people come over to say how delighted they are to see Anne-Lise. They must have been talking about me more than I ever realised, she thinks. It’s as if she’s been away in hospital with a disease or something.

  It all becomes too much for her. She finds Henrik and nods towards a narrow passage between two walls of boxes of wine. They slip away from the others.

  ‘Henrik, listen. It’s good that nobody has noticed anything different about me, but it isn’t right what they’re all saying: I’m not “the old Anne-Lise”.’

  Henrik looks stunned, takes a step back and hits his head against the protruding corner of a box. She must have sounded much more adamant than she intended.

  ‘I’m trying to behave like a good person, but it’s such an effort. I’m so bitter.’

  ‘But Anne-Lise, darling.’

  ‘My head is bursting with fantasies about revenge. You have no idea! And they won’t stop. I can’t cope with it! I’ll never ever be my old self again!’ Anne-Lise’s lips are tightly closed and she sinks down on a spindly wooden chair.

  Henrik sighs, drags a box along to the chair, sits down and puts an arm round her. He speaks to her gently. ‘You will be yourself again, Anne-Lise. Of course you will. It just won’t happen overnight, that’s all.’

  ‘No. Iben is right. Other people shape who I am. I can’t make myself into who I want to be. We all have it in us to be murderers and executioners and war criminals.’

  Henrik’s arm tightens round Anne-Lise’s shoulders. ‘What are you saying?’

  ‘Henrik, for God’s sake. I wouldn’t be the woman I am now if I could choose. But Iben says we can’t choose. Other people determine who we are.’

  Henrik shifts the box so he can sit facing her and takes her face in his hands. ‘Please, explain this to me slowly. Try to help me understand what you’re saying.’

  Anne-Lise feels like throwing her glass of red wine on the storeroom floor.

  ‘It’s like this. Iben watches nature films and says that people behave the same way as animals. She says that there are patterns of behaviour that everyone conforms to because they are instinctive and predestined – psychological laws of nature. She’s been studying developmental biology and social psychology and research papers about the psychology of the perpetrator. And she has written two articles about evil called “The Psychology of Evil I” and “II”.

  ‘I hate those articles of hers and her lectures too. Iben’s outlook is so grim and black. I’ve heard her say things like: “The more I learn, the more convinced I am that we would all act in exactly the same way as the perpetrators if we had been in their situation.”’

  ‘I see. What do the others say to all this?’

  ‘No one in the office ever argues with Iben. And I realise now that she’s right.’

  ‘She’s wrong, you know.’

  Anne-Lise mustn’t start sobbing now, when all their friends are within earshot. She tries to be as quiet as possible. ‘I don’t want to be like this, Henrik. I’m evil.’ She looks into Henrik’s face and senses him thinking: Oh God, will this never end? He deserves so much better.

  ‘Anne-Lise. You are not evil.’

  ‘But I wasn’t sorry to hear that the back of Malene’s head had been blown to bits, was I? If the others had died as well, I wouldn’t have minded. Does that sound like the “old Anne-Lise” – does it?’

  Anne-Lise drives Henrik’s large, dark-blue car home
from the wine tasting. He asks her to stop just before they reach the house where Anne-Lise’s parents live. Her mother has looked after the children, but he would prefer them to wait a little before picking them up.

  ‘I’ve thought about what you said. Remember what Malene did. She was the worst of them; nonetheless, she did something that Iben’s theories couldn’t explain in a thousand years.

  ‘To sacrifice your life for someone who is not your child – how would Iben get around that? She can’t. And if Malene can do something like that, then there is something in all of us that is both unpredictable and potentially good. It exists in you. And in me.’

  They sit together in silence. Anne-Lise moves close to Henrik and rests her head on his shoulder. He puts his arm around her.

  One week after the police interrogated everyone in the Centre about Rasmus’s death, Camilla starts pressing Iben to find out how the investigation is going. She feels nervous about her sessions with Dorte Jørgensen and is keen to know what is going on.

  When Iben puts down the receiver, her hand is shaking. ‘I spoke to Dorte Jørgensen. The investigation is closed. Malene has written on her home computer that she was aware of having a split personality. She admits to having killed Rasmus.’

  All work ceases. It seems unbelievable at first and then Malene’s image changes in an instant. They decide to phone again to make sure Iben hasn’t misheard. Anne-Lise makes the call.

  Iben is shocked, but then, they all are. They had put together a shared memory of Malene, like a jigsaw puzzle. Now it has come apart and every piece takes on a new meaning.

  The rumours about Malene spread rapidly through the world of human rights. Anne-Lise hears Iben speaking to one of the callers: ‘Naturally I’m deeply grateful for Malene’s self-sacrifice. Deeply. But I did wonder. It didn’t fit somehow. It’s understandable now. She was tormented by her guilt over having killed Rasmus. And, perhaps, she was mentally ill. That would explain a lot.’

  Iben listens to the voice at the other end of the line, and continues.