‘Michael,’ said a voice.
‘Keith. How are you?’
‘Great.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘Of course,’ he said.
The invalid bird took off and a couple of feathers fluttered into the gap between the wall and the railing. They twirled around themselves before settling between cigarette butts and empty juice cartons.
‘Running Man Casino,’ the Englishman said. ‘The West Indies. Antigua and Barbuda. North of Venezuela and west of Puerto Rico. Pirate country. A micro state. That’s who is financing your man hunters.’
‘A casino?’
‘It’s a poker website. They’ve become a West Indian speciality. And it’s a great idea, if you ask me,’ his old mentor said. ‘A really great idea. Strange that no one has thought of it before.’
‘Perhaps they have.’
Michael thought about the crescent of Caribbean islands, former Spanish and British colonies that stretched from Florida in the north to Venezuela in the south like a scimitar. The area was politically, geologically and meteorologically an unstable nightmare: sugar plantations, slaves, rum, dictators, tropical hurricanes, earthquakes, cocaine, wonderful beaches and Armani-dressed pirates of the modern type with dreadlocks, gold chains, Bentleys and machine guns.
‘It’s an independent state,’ Keith Mallory said. ‘Commonwealth, beaches, reggae, steel bands, drinks with little parasols, Rastafarians and –’
‘Small banks and poker websites,’ Michael said.
‘Small banks with very big private accounts that make their living by never, ever providing information about their clients to anyone.’ The Englishman completed his sentence. ‘The Colombian and Mexican drug cartels have to invest their coke dollars somewhere and online casinos are a great way to launder money. All you need is a bamboo hut on the beach with one heck of an Internet connection, a couple of high-spec, water-cooled servers, a small, friendly bank, and you’re in business.’
Michael nodded to himself.
It was a good idea. The question was now, whose was it? Flemming Caspersen’s? He was probably pally with the richest and most influential people on the planet: top lobbyists in Washington, Mumbai billionaires, Russian oligarchs, the CEOs of oil companies. They all depended on Sonartek’s products and every one of them would surely like nothing better than to do Flemming Caspersen a favour … such as helping him set up an online casino in the West Indies. The next question was if he was its only client, or if it had become a supplier of exclusive leisure activities for old and weary but mighty men seeking increasingly bigger thrills.
‘Christ, Keith. I …’
‘What?’
The encrypted telephone the Englishman was using crackled and howled.
‘Who is your source? Is it reliable?’
‘Who is? You and I are. I trust no one else, Mike. But as a source, it’s good enough. My source was contacted by some guys from Running Man who asked him if he fancied being a tour guide for some very special hunting trips for super-rich clients; he declined. Later he got curious and discovered that their website offers a special bonus for regular high-rolling players on games where there’s no limit. They also advertise unique experiences on scrolling advertisements that don’t appear to relate to the casino itself, but which I haven’t been able to find on any other website, either. The ads offer safaris for the discerning customer.’
‘And you pay for them by losing a hell of a lot of money playing poker?’
‘I would think so.’
‘And if you win?’
‘You don’t win, Mike. The whole thing is as fake as Cher’s tits. It’s just a scheme to enable the select few to meet up, arrange and pay for events. Everything is encrypted, and then double encrypted. Unbreakable algorithms.’
‘Running Man Casino?’
‘Great name, isn’t it?’
Michael thought about Elizabeth Caspersen’s DVD, Kasper Hansen’s face and the empty cliff edge.
‘How apt,’ he said. ‘Thank you, Keith.’
‘Don’t mention it.’
There was another small pause.
‘I wasn’t going to tell you,’ the Englishman then said. ‘But I think this is very different from your usual work, Mike. What I’m saying is, this is … big. Do you understand? Very big indeed.’
Michael nodded. The pigeon had returned and was sitting a few metres away on the railing. It watched him as if he were a large burger bun for which it had unrealistic plans.
‘Yes, but I think it comes with this particular job.’
‘Are you sure? There’s a job with S&W right now if you want it.’
‘Uzbekistan?’
‘Worse. Nigeria.’
‘I thought they were in the middle of a civil war there? The locals are setting fire to oil barrels?’
‘It’s our bread-and-butter, Mike. We guard the oil so your kids won’t be cold in winter. Have you forgotten that?’
Michael had a flashback to the bitter, choking smell of burning crude oil. As if a furious mother Earth were spewing flames to swallow up greedy humans drilling holes several kilometres into her abdomen.
‘Thanks, but no thanks, Keith. I like Denmark in springtime. Besides …’
‘Wife and kids,’ the Englishman said. ‘I understand. Bye, Mike, and send the money straight away.’
Chapter 33
Michael stood for a moment with the mobile in his hand, staring blankly into space. Nigeria? The Dark Continent. The name suited the place all too well. He had been there many times.
Then he wondered what it was that had struck a chord in his subconscious as he had raced down the corridor to get outside with his offending mobile. He looked at the door to the ward again. A colour. He had caught a glimpse of chestnut red when he passed the door to one of the side wards. The right shade. He switched his mobile to silent and opened the door to the ward of the country’s finest Ear, Nose and Throat surgeon.
He headed down the corridor and found the door, which was still ajar. The colour matched. He could see some hair, part of a low armchair, a small section of a deathly pale face and a dark blue hoodie. He knocked carefully on the door and watched the figure inside. It didn’t move. He knocked harder and looked around. The mummies at the dining table had noticed him again. One had inserted a drinking straw in the middle of a metal construction and he thought he could see a woman’s eyes behind the bandages.
He pushed open the door and found himself in a passage outside a small bathroom lined with linoleum.
‘Excuse me?’
He cleared his throat. The figure in the armchair by the window didn’t stir. The hair was still beautiful, red and vibrant, but the face was empty and turned to the floor. It was a single-occupancy room, but there was no bed. There was only the woman in the chair; Michael squatted down in front of her.
Very carefully he placed a hand on the jeans-clad knee, but withdrew it immediately.
‘Lene?’
The superintendent’s left ear was covered with a compress and there was dried blood on her neck below it. Her head lifted slightly from her clenched fists on which it had been resting and her green, dry eyes were aimed at him, but didn’t seem to register him as relevant. There was nothing in her eyes.
‘Lene? My name is Michael Sander. I’m …’
What could he say?
He got up. The superintendent didn’t move and her eyes returned to the floor. From his wallet Michael took one of his rarely used business cards, which stated only his name and nothing else. He wrote today’s mobile number on the card and put it on the armrest.
‘Call me. It’s about Kim Andersen. I think we can help each other.’
He shrugged helplessly, stuck his hands in his pockets and made to leave.
Then he changed his mind and turned to her again.
‘Erm … I don’t think we have an awful lot of time, so please call me when … well, when you’re feeling better.’
He had put his hand on the doo
r handle when she whispered something. He took a step back and looked at her.
‘What did you say?’
‘I can’t talk to anyone,’ she said, slowly shaking her head. ‘I can’t talk to anyone.’
‘Why not?’
Lene Jensen’s green eyes filled with tears and she wiped them away mechanically with the back of her hand. Her hands were filthy and several of her nails were broken.
‘I can’t,’ she said.
She took the business card from the armrest and looked at it.
‘Who are you?’
He moved closer and balanced between necessary closeness and a safe distance. Lene Jensen looked like a hunted animal.
He hesitated before taking a deep breath.
‘I’ll try to do the talking for both of us, Lene. You can interrupt me if you like, and you can nod if you think what I say makes sense, or shake your head if you think it doesn’t, okay? Kim Andersen was a Royal Life Guards veteran. He was deployed in Afghanistan, Iraq and Bosnia. He was also a member of a group of ex-soldiers who arranged a safari – hunting a couple of human beings in northern Norway. I’m talking about a young engineer, Kasper Hansen, and his Norwegian wife, Ingrid Sundsbö, aged thirty-one and twenty-nine years old. The hunt took place on 24 March 2011. I don’t know when exactly Ingrid Sundsbö was killed, but Kasper Hansen was shot at six thirty in the evening. They left behind two-year-old twins.’
Michael paused and looked at the superintendent. Had she taken anything in at all? There was no expression on her face, but was it possible that there was a tiny flicker deep in her green eyes?
‘I believe that Kim Andersen injured his leg during the hunt. There is a … a recording of the end of the hunt. It’s a trophy of some kind for the client. I don’t know if the two murders were a one-off or if the killers have organized human safaris before, but they seemed experienced. I work as a private investigator for a client who has come into possession of the film and wants to find the hunters. I believe that the gang operates from a country house on south Sjælland. I think they’re Danish army veterans and that they were recruited from the estate’s shooting syndicates. I’ve learned that their fees were paid out as gambling prizes from an online casino in the West Indies, Running Man Casino. What I don’t have is evidence and more information, especially about Kim Andersen. Did he hang himself or did someone lend him a hand? It would be good if we could join forces … a huge help, to be honest.’
‘Are you one of them?’ she asked the floor.
‘One of whom?’
‘Is this a test? I won’t say anything. I’ve told you already. I promised you … Please don’t hurt her.’
Fresh tears ran down her face.
Michael wondered what in God’s name they had done to her. He remembered the photographs of the superintendent from the newspapers and Daniel Tarnovski’s opinion of her as a woman who was hard as nails. And famous for it.
He squatted down in front of her again and tried to catch her eye under the red hair, but it was impossible. She refused to look at him.
‘No, I’m not one of them, Lene,’ he said in his kindest voice. ‘I work alone. I don’t know what has happened to you or why there’s no bed in this ward, but like I said, I believe we can help each other. Please call me when you’ve had a chance to think.’ He smiled to her. ‘I’ll answer your call, day or night, and I really want to talk to you.’
Michael got up, looked down at her and was about to add something when there was a knock on the door. Whoever knocked didn’t wait for a reply, but walked straight in. The slim, grey-haired woman in the dark suit stopped when she saw him. Her bob haircut was perfect and her eyes were clear and critical behind her glasses. Michael smiled to the new arrival, but his smile wasn’t reciprocated.
He held out his hand. ‘Michael Sander.
‘Charlotte Falster. I’m sorry, I thought … So you’re not Josefine’s father?’
He hadn’t heard the superintendent get up and was taken aback by the strength in the hand which she placed on his upper arm. He was pushed to one side by Lene Jensen, who still didn’t look at him, but only at the woman with the grey hair.
‘He’s leaving,’ she said.
A couple of embarrassing seconds passed before Charlotte Falster was the first to pull herself together.
‘I’m happy to wait outside, Lene, until you …’
The superintendent looked past Michael and nodded towards the door.
‘You can stay, Charlotte,’ she said. ‘Goodbye and thank you for coming, Michael.’
He looked at her.
‘You’re welcome.’
Michael smiled briefly to the grey-haired woman as he slipped past her. He shut the door behind him and heard Charlotte Falster start to ask questions in a loud and clear voice. And he heard the police superintendent burst into tears.
He smiled to himself. Not that there was anything to smile about, but he had noticed Lene Jensen’s stealthy movement when she slipped his business card into the pocket of her hoodie.
Chapter 34
The glass doors of the imposing office block in Bredgade opened automatically. Michael walked past showcases with exquisite ceramics and hand-woven rugs and onwards through a covered atrium at the heart of the building. He smiled at a young woman stepping out of a cylindrical glass lift at the far end, entered and pressed the button for the third floor: Holm, Joensen & Partners. Attorneys at Law. He exited the lift, entered a tasteful reception area and addressed the young woman behind the counter.
‘Michael Sander to see Elizabeth Caspersen.’
‘Sander?’
Michael nodded, and the receptionist gestured towards an armchair in black leather and chrome.
‘Five minutes,’ she said. ‘Help yourself to coffee or water.’
‘Thank you.’
He sat down and glanced at the usual architecture magazines spread out in an inviting fan on a low glass coffee table between the armchairs. The air was dry, the temperature pleasant and there was a faint hum of air conditioning.
Michael rubbed his unshaven chin and thought glumly about the traumatized, broken superintendent at the Rigshospitalet. Despair had covered her like a heavy cloak: she had reached some sort of limit and there was nothing on the other side.
He heard hard heels on the polished granite floor tiles and got up.
‘Elizabeth …’
‘Michael.’
She was serious and focused while she led him through the glass doors and down a long corridor. She opened the last door and held it open for him.
There were bookcases full from floor to ceiling with law collections and bound legal journals, a worn Persian rug on the floor, and basic office furniture: Elizabeth Caspersen clearly didn’t feel the need to impress anyone. She sat down on a low sofa and offered him a seat at the other end.
She found it hard to sit still.
‘I have news, Michael,’ she said eagerly. ‘I really do, some good and some more problematic. Thanks for coming over straight away.’
‘Not at all,’ he said, trying to mobilize an enthusiastic smile.
‘I’ve spoken to my father’s chief accountant in Denmark, or rather … It’s an international firm, but he heads the Danish division.’
‘I understand,’ Michael said.
‘Good. I had to give him various passwords, otherwise he couldn’t …’ She blushed even more deeply as if confessing to sniffing lighter gas when she was fifteen.
Michael wished she would get to the point.
‘He has discovered a way of transferring money to the men who …’
‘Killed Kasper Hansen and Ingrid Sundsbö,’ he said.
‘Quite. The accountant found a channel, a private route through which very large sums could be transferred. You probably won’t believe it, but –’
‘Running Man Casino, Antigua and Barbuda?’ he suggested.
Her eyes widened and she shut her mouth with a smack.
‘How the hell did you know th
at? How could you possibly …’
He shrugged his shoulders, and she exploded.
‘For fuck’s sake why didn’t you tell me, Michael?’
Her knuckles were white and she shifted in her seat as if she were about to hit him. She was tall, slim, probably very fit and had large hands. He had no doubt that Elizabeth Caspersen would be capable of hurting him if she lost her temper. And could he permit himself to strike a client who had hit him first? Probably not.
He held up his hands in a gesture of surrender.
‘Because I only found out a few hours ago. Promise. I spoke to an old colleague, and I’m sure that he only knew for a couple of minutes before he called me.’
She looked at him. Her already narrow lips were pressed together in a line and the fists in her lap were still clenched.
He flashed her a conciliatory smile. ‘But it’s good to have it confirmed from other sources. It really is.’
She closed her eyes and took a deep breath.
‘Good? Right, it’s bloody brilliant.’
Michael laughed and scratched the back of his head.
‘What are you laughing at?’ she asked suspiciously.
‘You, sorry. Given that you’re a lawyer and a barrister who appears in the Supreme Court, and that you grew up on Richelieus Allé, I wonder why you swear like a trucker.’
She blushed and looked down at herself. Then she smiled shyly.
‘Is this how you talk in court?’ he asked. ‘I can just imagine it. God help anyone who gets on the wrong side of you.’
‘These days I rarely go near a courtroom. I’m a corporate lawyer. All I do is find legal loopholes for rich people.’
‘What did the accountant say about the casino? Does he know who owns it?’
‘Transparency isn’t really a feature of the West Indian banking sector. Practically anything goes out there. I think the accountant used a hacker.’
‘Excellent,’ Michael said.
‘Not one of those pizza-eating, Coca-Cola-guzzling ones with a snazzy nickname, but someone from an IT security company. Someone very good.’
‘Go on.’
‘Running Man Casino was started five years ago in Antigua,’ she said. ‘It offers online poker, blackjack, roulette, slot machines and so on. It’s part of a group of international gaming sites. They open and close, appear under new names and with fresh contact details. Like porn sites, the accountant, said.’
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