Murder on the Thirty-First Floor (20 page)

‘Understood.’

‘As soon as the public prosecutor’s office has assumed responsibility for the man you can close the case and log it. Then you and I are both free to forget the whole thing.’

‘Understood.’

‘That’s fine then, Jensen. Goodbye.’

The men from the public prosecutor’s office arrived at the appointed time. Inspector Jensen stood at the window and
watched as they took their charge out to the car. The man in the velour hat and the speckled grey overcoat appeared unconcerned, and looked curiously around the concrete yard. All there was to see were hoses, buckets and a couple of constables from the sanitary squad in rubber boiler suits of a sulphurous yellow.

The two guards seemed to be taking their task very seriously. They had not put handcuffs on the man and were not holding his arms, but were keeping close on both sides, and Jensen observed that one of them kept his right hand in his overcoat pocket the whole time. Presumably he was new to the job.

Jensen stayed there at the window for a long time after the car drove off. Then he sat down at his desk, took out his spiral-bound pad and read through his notes. At several points he paused for a long time, or turned back to something he had just read.

When the wall clock announced the time with eleven short rings he put down the pad and stared at it for thirty minutes. Then he put it in a brown envelope, which he sealed. He wrote a number on the back of the envelope and put it in the bottom drawer of his desk.

Inspector Jensen stood up and went down to the canteen. On the way he gave automatic answers to the greetings of other staff.

He ordered the set lunch, received a loaded tray and took it over to the corner table that was always reserved for him. The lunch comprised three slices of meatloaf, two baked onions, five overcooked boiled potatoes and a limp lettuce leaf, all covered in a thick, starchy sauce. Then half a litre of
homogenised milk, four slices of dry bread, a portion of vitamin-enriched vegetable margarine, a piece of processed cheese, a mug of black coffee and a gooey iced cake with candied fruit on top.

He ate slowly and systematically and did not seem quite there, as if the whole procedure was nothing to do with him.

When he had eaten the lot he picked his teeth carefully, taking his time. Then he sat completely still, with a straight back and his hands resting on the edge of the table. He did not seem to be looking at anything in particular, and those passing his table could not catch his eye.

After half an hour he went up to his office and sat down at his desk. He looked through some routine files that had come through about the latest suicides and alcoholic cases, and pulled one from the file. He tried to read it but found it hard to concentrate.

He was sweating copiously and his thought processes were becoming undisciplined, breaking through barriers in a way they very rarely did.

The lunch was too much for his defective digestion.

He put down the report and got up, crossed the corridor and went into the toilet.

Inspector Jensen shut the door, stuck his middle and index fingers down his throat and threw up. The contents of his stomach felt acidic and wrong, and after a while it did not come up so readily.

He knelt in front of the toilet bowl and gripped it, and as he was being sick he thought someone could come through the door and shoot him from behind. If the person shooting had a good revolver, the back of his head would be blown away
and he would be thrown headlong over the toilet and that’s how they would find him.

As the convulsions abated, his thoughts returned to their ingrained courses.

Once he had had a wash, he splashed his wrists and the back of his neck with cold water. Then he combed his hair, brushed down his jacket and returned to his office.

Inspector Jensen had just sat down when the telephone rang. He lifted the receiver, glancing at the clock from force of habit. 13.08.

‘Jensen?’

‘Yes.’

‘They’ve had the letter, just as you predicted.’

‘Yes?’

‘The head of publishing has just contacted me. He sounded doubtful and worried.’

‘Why?’

‘As I told you, the chairman and publisher are both out of the country. So he’s in sole charge over there, and he doesn’t seem to have been left any particular instructions.’

‘About what?’

‘About the steps he should take. He evidently wasn’t warned to expect the letter. It hit him like a bomb, so to speak. I got the impression he wasn’t even aware the culprit had been caught.’

‘I see.’

‘He asked me over and over again whether it really was a hundred per cent certain there was no explosive device in the building. I told him the risk seemed very small, at any event. But guaranteeing something, anything at all, one hundred per cent, could you do that?’

‘No.’

‘Anyway, he wants some men there to help out in any eventuality. And we can hardly refuse him that.’

‘I see.’

The police chief cleared his throat.

‘Jensen?’

‘Yes.’

‘There’s no call for you to go over there personally. For one thing you’ve had a trying week, and for another, it’s virtually a matter of routine this time round. And besides …’

He paused for a moment.

‘The head of publishing didn’t seem exactly delighted at the prospect of seeing you again. Let’s not go into why that might be.’

‘No.’

‘Send the same manpower as before. Your right-hand man knows the details of the case now. Let him take command.’

‘Understood.’

‘That naturally doesn’t imply any kind of repudiation of you, I hope you realise. But there’s no reason not to show a certain amount of flexibility, when the occasion arises.’

‘I see.’

Jensen sounded the alert as he was instructing the head of the plainclothes patrol.

‘Be discreet. Avoid creating any kind of disturbance.’

‘Yes, Inspector.’

He hung up and heard the bell ringing on the ground floor.

Ninety seconds later, the cars were moving out of the yard. It was 13.12.

He sat there for a minute more and tried to muster his thoughts. Then he got to his feet and walked the few steps to
the radio control centre. The policeman at the switchboard got up and stood to attention. Inspector Jensen took his place.

‘Where are you?’

‘Three blocks from the Trades Union Palace.’

‘Turn off your sirens once you’re through the square.’

‘Understood.’

Jensen’s voice was calm and normal. He did not look at the clock. He knew the timings already. The head of the plainclothes patrol would reach the building at 13.26.

‘Just through the square. I can see the Skyscraper now.’

‘No uniformed personnel inside, or in the immediate vicinity of, the building.’

‘Understood.’

‘Station the flying squad officers and vehicles three hundred metres from the building, half at each approach road.’

‘Understood.’

‘Increase the spacing between the vehicles.’

‘Done.’

‘Follow the same timetable as last week.’

‘Understood.’

‘Contact me as soon as you’ve made your assessment. I’ll be waiting here.’

‘Understood.’

Jensen stared at the control panel in silence.

The Skyscraper was among the tallest buildings in the country, its elevated position making it visible from all over the city. You could always see it there above you, and whatever direction you were coming from, it seemed to be the point towards which your approach road was leading. It had a square ground plan and was thirty-one floors high. Each of its façades had four hundred and fifty windows and a white clock with
red hands. Its exterior was of glass, the panes dark blue at ground level, fading gradually to lighter shades on the higher floors. The Skyscraper enlarged to fill his entire field of vision.

‘I’m there now. Over and out.’

‘Over and out.’

Inspector Jensen looked at his watch. 13.27.

The radio operator flicked the switch.

Jensen did not move and kept his eyes on the clock face. The second hand ate up the time in quick little jerks.

There was total silence in the room. Jensen’s face was tense and focused; his pupils had shrunk, and there was a network of fine lines round his eyes. The operator gave his superior an enquiring look.

13.34 … 13.35 … 13.36 … 13.37 …

The radio apparatus crackled; Jensen didn’t move a muscle.

‘Inspector?’

‘Yes.’

‘I’ve seen the letter. There’s no doubt it was put together by the same person. Same types of lettering and everything. Only the paper’s different.’

‘Go on.’

‘The man I spoke to, the head of publishing, he was terribly on edge. Clearly petrified something might happen while the bosses are away.’

‘And?’

‘They’re evacuating the whole building, just like last time. Four thousand, one hundred people. The evacuation’s already started.’

‘Where are you?’

‘Outside the main entrance. The people are flooding out.’

‘The fire brigade?’

‘Alerted. One fire engine. That’ll do for backup. Excuse me … I must just sort out the road closure. I’ll get back to you.’

He heard the head of the plainclothes patrol giving orders to someone. Then it all went quiet.

13.46. Inspector Jensen was still sitting there in the same position. His expression was unchanged.

The radio operator shrugged and stifled a yawn.

13.52. The speaker crackled again.

‘Inspector?’

‘Yes.’

‘It’s thinning out. It was quicker this time. These ought to be the last ones, just coming out now.’

‘What’s the situation?’

‘All in order. The road closure’s a hundred per cent effective. We’re blaming it on a fault in the district heating. The fire engine’s here. It’s all going fine.’

The head of the plainclothes patrol sounded calm and assured. His tone was almost relaxed, almost soothing.

‘Jesus, what a lot of people. Like a horde of army worms. They’re all out now.’

Jensen’s eyes followed the second hand, round and round and round. 13.55.

The radio operator yawned.

‘Lucky it’s not raining,’ said the head of the plainclothes branch.

‘Avoid unnec—’

Inspector Jensen gave a sudden start and half rose from his chair.

‘Have all the staff left the building? Answer concisely.’

‘Yes, apart from a small Special Department. They say it’s
in a well-protected position and tricky to evacuate at such short notice.’

The pattern was all falling into place. He saw everything very clearly as if in the glare of a magnesium flash. Jensen sat back down while the other man was speaking.

‘Where are you?’

‘Just outside …’

‘Get into the entrance hall. Be quick about it.’

The light flash died. Inspector Jensen knew what he had been thinking for that fraction of a second, the instant he woke up.

‘Yes, Inspector.’

‘Quick, the telephone at the security desk. Dial Department 31. You’ll see the list of numbers in front of you.’

Silence. 13.56.

‘The phone’s … dead, I got the number …’

‘The lifts?’

‘The whole electrical system’s shut down. Telephones and everything.’

‘To run upstairs. How long?’

‘Don’t know. Ten minutes.’

‘Have you got anyone in the building?’

‘Two men, but neither of them higher than the fourth floor.’

‘Call them down. Don’t answer me. You’re short of time.’

13.57.

‘They’re coming down.’

‘Where’s the fire engine?’

‘Outside the front entrance. My men are here now.’

‘Get it round the corner of the annexe.’

‘Done.’

13.58.

‘Take cover. Behind the annexe. Run.’

A crackle of heavy, panting breath.

‘Is the building empty?’

‘Yes … apart from those … thirty-first.’

‘I know. Press yourself against the wall, out of range of falling debris. Open your mouth. Let yourself go slack. Think about your tongue. Over and out.’

13.59.

Jensen flicked the switch.

‘Major incident alert,’ he told the radio operator. ‘Don’t forget the helicopter branch. Be quick about it.’

Inspector Jensen got up and went back to his office.

He sat down at his desk and waited. He sat utterly still and wondered if he would hear the bang from there.