Murder on the Thirty-First Floor Page 15
‘Yes?’
‘Since then the whole awful thing’s just carried on, basically as before. Day after day, month after month, year after year, this country’s cultural elite, the last of their kind, have sat in their ghostly offices dutifully but ever less enthusiastically putting together a magazine that’s still, in spite of everything, the only one in this country worthy of the name. And it’s never published! Over the course of that time they’ve had a hundred different excuses for why it has to be that way. The latest design wasn’t acceptable; the rate of production was too slow; there wasn’t enough capacity in the presses. And so on. The only thing they’ve never had any problem with is the actual content.’
He tapped the edge of the table with the middle finger of his right hand.
‘And that content could have changed everything. It could have made people aware of things before it was too late, it could even have saved a lot of them. I know that’s true.’
The man suddenly raised his hand, as if to break off a reply that had never begun.
‘I know, you’re going to ask me why we didn’t leave. The answer’s simple: we couldn’t.’
‘Explain.’
‘Gladly. The way our contracts were drawn up meant we were soon in terrible debt to the group. By the end of the first year, I owed the company more than half the money I’d earned. After five years the sum had increased fivefold, after fifteen it was astronomical, at least for people in ordinary financial circumstances. The debt was a so-called technical one. We were sent regular statements of how much it had grown by. But no one ever demanded that we pay it back. Not until the moment any of us tried to leave Department 31.’
‘But you were able to leave anyway?’
‘Only thanks to a complete fluke. I inherited a fortune, out of the blue. Although it was vast, almost half of it went on paying my debt to the publishing house. A debt, incidentally, that they managed to keep ramping up by various tricks until the very moment I wrote the cheque. But I was free. Even if it had cost me my entire inheritance, I’d still have torn myself free. Once I’d scented freedom I’d probably even have robbed or stolen to get the money together.’
He laughed.
‘Robbing and stealing, they’re a couple of disciplines without many practitioners these days, eh?’
‘Do you admit that you—’
The man instantly interrupted him.
‘Do you understand the full implication of what I’ve been saying? This is murder, intellectual murder, far more loathsome and distasteful than the physical kind. The murder of countless ideas, the murder of the capacity to form an opinion, of freedom of expression. First-degree murder of a whole cultural sector. And the motive was the lowest of them all: guaranteeing people peace of mind, to make them inclined to swallow uncritically the rubbish that’s forced down them. Do you see: spreading indifference without opposition, injecting a compulsory dose of poison after first making sure there’s no doctor and no antidote.’
He gabbled all this with great vehemence, and went straight on, not even pausing for breath:
‘You may argue, of course, that we all did very nicely out of it, apart from the nine who went out of their minds or dropped down dead or killed themselves. And that it cost the group a lot of money to pretend to publish a magazine it never published. Bah, what’s money to them, with their accountancy lawyers who also happen to work at the tax office …’
He stopped himself, and seemed suddenly tranquil.
‘Sorry for having sunk to that kind of argument. Yes, of course I admit it. You knew I would, from the very start. But I wanted to explain a few things first, and it was also a sort of experiment on my part. I wanted to see how long I could avoid conceding it.’
The man smiled again and said casually:
‘I lack talent when it comes to not telling the truth.’
‘Be more specific about the motive for what you did.’
‘Once I’d wrenched myself free, I wanted to draw at least some attention to what was going on. But I soon realised that my hope of writing something and getting it published somewhere or other was a vain one. In the end I decided there might conceivably still be some kind of reaction to events of a brutal and sensational nature. That was why I sent the letter. I was wrong, of course. That very day I had permission to visit one of my former colleagues in the mental hospital just opposite the head office. I stood there watching the police close off the area and the fire brigade arrive and the whole Skyscraper being evacuated. But not a word was said or printed about the incident, and as for any kind of analysis, forget it.’
‘Are you prepared to repeat your confession in the presence of witnesses? And to sign a statement?’
‘Of course,’ the man said absently. ‘In any case, you’d have no difficulty finding all the technical evidence you might need. Right here in this house.’
Jensen nodded. The man got to his feet and went over to one of the bookshelves.
‘I’d like to present some technical evidence, too. This is an issue of the magazine that doesn’t exist. The last one we produced before I left.’
The magazine was a sober piece of workmanship. Jensen leafed through it.
‘Though the years wore us down, we didn’t get so toothless that they dared to let us go,’ said the man. ‘We tackled all sorts of issues. Nothing was taboo.’
The magazine’s content was astounding. Jensen’s expression remained entirely deadpan. He stopped at a double-page spread that seemed to be about the physical aspects of the falling birth rate and the decline of sexuality. Two large pictures of naked women flanked the text. They were evidently meant to represent two types. One was reminiscent of the pictures in the sealed envelope he had found in the chief editor’s desk drawer: a smooth, straight, well-nourished body with narrow hips and shaven or non-existent pubic hair. The other picture was of Number 4, the woman in whose flat he had been standing twenty-four hours before, leaning on the doorpost and drinking a glass of water. She had big, dark nipples, broad hips and a rounded belly. From between her legs protruded a luxuriant patch of black hair, spreading up across the lower part of her abdomen. Even so, the genitals were visible; they seemed to be protruding from the angle between her thighs.
‘That’s a newly taken photo,’ the man commented. ‘We wouldn’t settle for anything less, but it was hard to get. That type’s apparently even more of a rarity now than it was before.’
Jensen flicked on through the pages. Closed the magazine and looked at the time. 21.06.
‘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:
&nb
sp; ‘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.
CHAPTER 26
‘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 superfluou
s 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.