Murder on the Thirty-First Floor (19 page)

‘Fetch your wash things and come with me,’ he said.

The little man with the glasses nodded.

Their conversation was concluded in the car.

‘There’s one more thing I must confess to.’

‘What’s that?’

‘They’re going to get an identical letter at the same time tomorrow. I’d just been out to post it when you came.’

‘Why?’

‘I don’t give up that easily. But this time I don’t suppose they’ll take any notice of it at all.’

‘What do you know about explosives?’

‘Less than the director of publishing knows about Hegel.’

‘Which means?’

‘Which means nothing at all. I didn’t even do military service. I was a pacifist even then. If I had a whole army supply depot at my disposal I still wouldn’t be able to make anything explode. Do you believe me?’

‘Yes.’

Halfway to the Sixteenth District station, Inspector Jensen said:

‘Did the idea of really blowing up the Skyscraper ever cross your mind?’

The man under arrest did not answer until they were turning into the gateway of the police building.

‘Yes. If I’d been capable of making a bomb, and if I could have been certain no one would get hurt, then I might have blown up the Skyscraper. As it was, I had to make do with a symbolic bomb.’

As the car drew to a halt the man said, as if to himself:

‘Well I’ve told somebody now, at any rate. A policeman.’

He turned to his companion and said:

‘The trial won’t be public, presumably?’

‘Don’t know,’ said Inspector Jensen.

He switched off the tape recorder under the dashboard, got out, walked round the car and opened the door on the passenger
side. He took his charge through to the body search area, went up to his room and rang the head of the plainclothes patrol.

‘You’ve made a note of the address?’

‘Yes.’

‘Take two crime scene investigators and get out there. Collect all the technical evidence you can find. Be quick about it.’

‘Understood.’

‘One more thing.’

‘Yes?’

‘Send your chief interrogator to the solitary confinement cell. It’s a confession.’

‘Understood.’

Then he looked at the clock. It showed twenty-five to ten. There were two hours and twenty-five minutes left until midnight.

‘Jensen? What have you been doing?’

‘Completing the investigation.’

‘I’ve been trying to get hold of you for two days. Matters have taken a new turn.’

Jensen said nothing.

‘And what do you mean by completing?’

‘The guilty party has been taken into custody.’

He could hear the police chief’s heavy intake of breath.

‘Has the person in question confessed?’

‘Yes.’

‘Entirely convincing?’

‘Yes.’

‘Linked to the crime?’

‘Yes.’

The police chief seemed to be thinking.

‘Jensen, the group chairman must be informed immediately.’

‘Yes.’

‘You’ll have to deal with it. You should probably deliver the news in person.’

‘Understood.’

‘Maybe it’s just as well I wasn’t able to get through to you any earlier.’

‘I don’t understand.’

‘The group management contacted me yesterday. Via the minister. They thought it appropriate to break off the case. They were even prepared to withdraw their report of the crime.’

‘Why?’

‘We got the impression they felt the preliminary investigation had reached a dead end. Plus they were annoyed by your methods. Thought you were groping about in the dark, merely creating unpleasantness for innocent and evidently quite prominent people.’

‘I see.’

‘It was all very embarrassing. But since quite honestly I didn’t think there was much prospect of your pulling it off within the time, I felt inclined to accept. The minister asked me straight out if I thought you had a chance. I was obliged to say no. But now …’

‘Yes?’

‘Now that’s all changed, as far as I can see.’

‘Yes. One other matter.’

‘What’s that?’

‘The perpetrator has apparently written another threatening letter, just like the previous one. It ought to arrive tomorrow.’

‘Is he harmless?’

‘Probably.’

‘Hmph, if he turns out not to be we shall be in the unique position of having caught the culprit sixteen hours before the crime is committed.’

Jensen said nothing.

‘The important thing now is for you to inform the chairman of the group. You need to get hold of him now, this evening. For your own sake.’

‘Understood.’

‘Jensen?’

‘Yes?’

‘You’ve made a good job of it. Goodbye.’

Inspector Jensen did not leave the receiver in its cradle for more than ten seconds before he raised it to his ear again. As he dialled the number, he heard protracted, hysterical howls from down in the yard.

It took him five minutes to locate the chairman of the group at one of his country houses; five minutes later he got through. The person he was speaking to was clearly a member of the domestic staff.

‘It’s important.’

‘The master is not to be disturbed.’

‘It’s urgent.’

‘I can’t do anything. The master has been involved in an accident and is in bed.’

‘Has he got a telephone in his bedroom?’

‘Yes he has.’

‘Put me through.’

‘I’m sorry, but I’m afraid I can’t do that. The master has been involved in an accident.’

‘I’ve got that. Let me speak to a member of the family.’

‘The mistress has gone out.’

‘When will she be back?’

‘Don’t know.’

Jensen hung up and looked at the clock, which showed a quarter past ten.

The cheese and clear soup made their presence felt in the form of heartburn, and once he had taken off his outdoor things he went to the toilets and drank a paper cup of bicarbonate of soda.

The country house was located about thirty kilometres east of the city, beside the lake and in an area of relatively unspoilt countryside. Jensen drove fast, with his sirens on, and covered the distance in under twenty-five minutes.

He stopped a little way from the house and waited. As the man from the plainclothes patrol emerged from the darkness, he wound down his side window.

‘Apparently there’s been an accident.’

‘I suppose you could call it that. He seems to be in bed, anyway. But I haven’t seen any doctors. It happened several hours ago.’

‘Give me the details.’

‘Well, the time can’t have been … it was dusk, at any rate.’

‘Did you get some idea of what was going on?’

‘Yes, I saw the whole thing. I was in a good position. Couldn’t be seen myself but had a view over the terrace in front of the house, and I could see into the ground floor room, and up the flight of stairs to his bedroom. And the door up there.’

‘What happened?’

‘They’ve got guests. With young children, for the weekend apparently.’ He stopped.

‘Yes.’

‘Small children, they may be foreign,’ the policeman said pensively. ‘Well, the children were playing on the terrace, and he was sitting in the big room with his guests, having a drink. Alcoholic, I think, but only in moderate quantities as far as I could make out.’

‘Get to the point.’

‘Well, this badger comes ambling up on to the terrace.’

‘And?’

‘It must have lost its way. So the children start shrieking and
the badger can’t find its way back down, there’s a kind of balustrade round the terrace and it’s running up and down. The children are screaming louder and louder.’

‘Yes?’

‘There were no domestic staff around. And no men except for him. Oh, and me, of course. So he gets up and goes out on to the terrace and looks at the badger running up and down. The children are screaming their heads off. He hesitates at first and then he goes up to the badger and kicks it to shoo it away. The badger tosses its head and sort of snaps at his foot. And then the badger finds the way out and runs off.’

‘And the chairman?’

‘Well, he goes back into the house but he doesn’t sit down; he goes slowly upstairs. And then I see he’s opened the door to his bedroom, but he collapses just inside the doorway. Moans, and calls out for his wife. She rushes up there and guides him to the bedroom. They close the door, but I think she must be helping him get undressed. She goes out and in a few times, with various stuff like cups, a thermometer maybe, I didn’t look very closely.’

‘Did he get bitten by the animal?’

‘Er, not bitten exactly. More like scared, I’d say. Strange.’

‘What?’

‘The badger, strange at this time of year, I mean. Badgers usually hibernate. I remember seeing it on that nature programme they used to have on TV.’

‘Avoid superfluous comments.’

‘Yes, Inspector.’

‘You can return to normal duties from this point on.’

‘Yes, Inspector.’

The man fingered his binoculars.

‘This has been a very varied operation, if you don’t mind my saying so.’

‘Avoid superfluous comments. One more thing.’

‘Yes, Inspector.’

‘Your reporting-back technique leaves a great deal to be desired.’

‘Yes, Inspector.’

Jensen went up to the house, where a maid let him in. A clock somewhere in the building struck eleven. He stood waiting, hat in hand. After five minutes, the chairman’s wife appeared.

‘At this time of night?’ she said haughtily. ‘What’s more, my husband has narrowly escaped a very serious accident, and is resting in bed.’

‘It’s an important matter. And urgent.’

She went upstairs. She returned a few minutes later and said:

‘Use the telephone over there and you can speak to him. But keep the call short.’

Jensen lifted the receiver.

The chairman sounded exhausted, but his voice was still steady and melodic.

‘I see. Have you taken him into custody?’

‘We’ve arrested him.’

‘Where is he?’

‘For the next three days, in the arrest cells of the Sixteenth District station.’

‘Excellent. The poor fellow’s mentally deranged, of course.’

Jensen said nothing.

‘Has your investigation brought anything else to light?’

‘Nothing of interest.’

‘Excellent. Then I bid you good evening.’

‘One more thing.’

‘Make it quick. You’ve come very late and I’ve had a taxing day.’

‘Before the man was arrested, he appears to have posted another anonymous letter.’

‘I see. Do you know what’s in it?’

‘According to him, the wording is exactly the same as in the last one.’

Such a long silence ensued that Jensen began to think the conversation was over. When the chairman finally spoke, his vocal pitch had changed.

‘So he’s threatening another bomb attack?’

‘Apparently.’

‘Could he have had the occasion or opportunity to smuggle an explosive device into the building and hide it there?’

‘It seems unlikely.’

‘But it can’t be entirely ruled out?’

‘Naturally not. It can be viewed as extremely unlikely, however.’

The chairman’s tone had grown thoughtful. After a thirty-second pause, he concluded the call by saying:

‘The man’s clearly deranged. It all seems most unpleasant. But if there are any steps to be taken, it can scarcely be done until tomorrow, can it? I wish you a good evening.’

Jensen drove slowly, and at midnight he was still some fifteen kilometres from the city. Very soon afterwards he was overtaken by a big black car. It looked like the chairman’s, but he couldn’t be sure.

It was two by the time he got home.

He was tired and hungry, and lacked that sensation of relative satisfaction he generally experienced when he wrapped up a case.

He got undressed in the dark, went out to the kitchen and poured about fifteen centilitres of spirits into a glass. Then he drank the lot in one go, standing by the sink, rinsed the glass and went to bed.

Inspector Jensen fell asleep almost at once. His last conscious impression was a sense of isolation and discontent.

Inspector Jensen was wide awake the instant he opened his eyes. Something had woken him but he didn’t know what. It could hardly have been an external phenomenon like a shout or the ringing of a telephone. It was more as if his sleep had been penetrated by a thought as sharp and bright as a flashlight, though it disintegrated as he opened his eyes.

He lay there on his back in bed, looking up at the ceiling. The electric clock showed five minutes to seven and it was Monday.

Jensen got a bottle of mineral water out of the refrigerator, poured it and went over to the window with the glass in his hand. The scenery outside was scrubby, grey and depressing. He finished the mineral water, went into the bathroom and filled the bathtub, took off his pyjamas and got in. He lay there in the hot water until it started to cool; then he stood up, showered, towelled himself dry and got dressed.

He did not bother to read the morning paper but ate three rusks with his hot water and honey. They had no effect to speak of, leaving him emptier than ever, with a wild, painful, churning hunger.

Although he kept to a moderate speed on the motorway, he almost went through a red light at the bridge and had to slam on the brakes. The cars behind hooted their reproaches in unison.

At exactly half past eight he entered his office, and two minutes later the telephone rang.

‘Did you speak to the group chairman?’

‘Yes, on the phone. He was indisposed. He’d gone to bed.’

‘What was wrong with him? Was he ill?’

‘A badger gave him a scare.’

The police chief said nothing for a bit, and Jensen was left listening to his uneven breathing as usual.

‘Well it plainly can’t have been that serious. Early this morning the chairman and the publisher both took a plane to some conference abroad.’

‘And?’

‘That wasn’t why I rang. I wanted to tell you your worries are over this time round. I assume all the paperwork’s in order?’

Jensen leafed through the reports on his desk.

‘Yes,’ he said.

‘The state prosecutor’s given this one priority treatment. His people will be coming to fetch the man from the arrest cells in about ten minutes to put him into detention on remand. This is the appropriate time for you to send along all the reports and interview transcripts relevant to the case.’