Mikkel Birkegaard - The Library of Shadows

'I'd like to be sure,' he said. 'Right now this type of coincidence seems highly suspicious, and we shouldn't rule out any possibilities. Partly so as not to overlook anything, but also so we don't panic. Both things could destroy us.'

'But if the police couldn't find anything-' Jon began.

'The police found what they were looking for. They were looking for a suicide and that's what they found. He fitted the profile: young loner-type with no girlfriend or family or social network. Even his colleague confirmed that Lee sometimes seemed paranoid.'

'Then what is it we're looking for?' asked Jon.

'Two things,' replied Kortmann. 'First, any sign that it wasn't suicide after all. Second, we need to know what Lee found on the Internet, if he actually did find something.'

'Are we going to break into a dead man's flat, or do you have a key?' asked Katherina without concealing her sarcasm.

'I actually do have a key, now that you mention it,' Kortmann calmly replied as he pulled an envelope out of his inside pocket. 'Don't ask where I got it.' He handed the envelope to Jon. 'I'll ring while you're up there.'

Jon and Katherina got out of the car, passing the driver on their way to the stairwell. He nodded to them gratefully, rubbing his hands up and down his shirtsleeves as he jogged back to the car.

The flat was on the fourth floor, with the entrance from a hallway with access to nine other flats. As they walked past the cell-like doors, they could hear TVs blaring, children shouting or crying, and petty quarrels brewing. The only thing that Katherina could sense being read were the Danish subtitles to American movies or sitcoms, and as always with those sorts of texts, the images they evoked were vague and diffuse.

At Lee's flat Jon shook the key out of the envelope and unlocked the door. They waited to turn on the light until the door was shut. A rice-paper ceiling lamp revealed a small entryway with a cramped kitchen to one side and a toilet on the other. Straight ahead was the flat's only real room, a space that was a good thirty square metres with windows running along one whole wall.

Even though they could still hear a television from one of the neighbouring flats, Katherina felt as if they'd stepped into a vacuum. It was less than twenty-four hours ago that Lee had died here, but the flat seemed abandoned and devoid of personality.

Jon turned on the rest of the lights, and they silently walked through the flat, careful not to disturb anything or make any unnecessary noise. The kitchen bore all the signs of a bachelor. Dirty dishes and fast-food containers covered most of the table, and large sections of the floor were littered with empty bottles in bulging plastic bags. The toilet hadn't been cleaned in months, and Katherina stayed only long enough to find out that the small medicine cabinet behind the mirror contained nothing more than shaving gear, a toothbrush and other toiletries.

The main room was obviously where Lee had spent all his time. Two walls were covered with shelves filled with books. Against the third wall stood a chest of drawers, a nightstand and a bed – or rather, a bedstead, since the mattress had been removed. In front of the windows was a wide table on which stood two black computer monitors and a printer. The window ledge was overflowing with books and big stacks of printouts that threatened to topple over if anyone got too close.

For a moment Katherina stood in the doorway and looked at the empty bedstead before she stepped inside the room. She wasn't sure they were welcome here, not even if Lee had been alive, and an invisible barrier seemed to have stopped her in the doorway. It was the bookcases that finally made her cross the threshold and approach the rows of books. In contrast to the disarray that marked the rest of the flat, the books had been meticulously arranged, and they were all in very nice condition.

'What sort of books does he read?' she asked Jon, who was crouched down next to the computer table. He pressed a button under the table and the monitors came to life. Then he stood up and joined her in front of the bookcase. She followed along as he scanned the titles.

'A lot of science fiction and fantasy,' he said after looking over the shelves. 'But also some classics.' He pulled out a leather-bound volume and handed it to her. 'Joyce.' Katherina turned it over in her hands, opening it in several places at random. In the back of the book she found a small business card from Libri di Luca.

A couple of paces further along, Jon pointed to eight or nine other volumes.

'Kierkegaard, of all things.' He went on to scan the stacks of books on the window ledge and those piled up on the nightstand.

'I suppose we could say he had a wide range of interests,' said Katherina, settingUlysses back on the shelf.

Jon nodded and went back to the computer, which in the meantime had finished booting up. He sat down and put his hand on the mouse. Katherina went to stand behind him and watched as he experimented with clicking on various buttons and menus.

'What are you doing?' she asked after a couple of minutes.

'To be perfectly honest, I don't know,' Jon admitted with a laugh. 'Computers aren't really my thing.'

Katherina giggled. There was something endearing about him as he sat there, fumbling with the unfamiliar equipment, well aware that he was out of his element. He was no longer the super-barrister but a human being with his own limitations, and he admitted as much.

At that moment his mobile phone rang. He took it out and studied the display.

'It's Kortmann,' he said, handing it to her. 'Could you talk to him while I keep working on this?'

Katherina took the mobile. 'Yes?'

'Are you inside?' she heard Kortmann ask.

'Yes, we are,' Katherina told him. 'Jon's inspecting the computer right now.'

'Did you notice anything else?'

'In the flat? No, not really.'

'What books was he reading?'

'Lots of different things,' Katherina replied. 'There are a couple of volumes of Kafka on the nightstand – that must have been the last thing he was reading.'

'Kafka?' repeated Kortmann. A few seconds of silence followed. 'Keep working on the computer. I'm going to have to leave now.'

'Okay,' said Katherina, but by then Kortmann had already rung off.

'Arghh,' exclaimed Jon in frustration. 'I can't get anything out of this.'

'Can we take the computer with us?' asked Katherina. 'Maybe someone else could help us with it.'

Jon broke out in a big smile. 'Of course. Why didn't I think of that?'

He got out his mobile again and punched in a phone number.

'It's Jon… yes, I'm fine… uh-huh, the case is coming along…' He nodded impatiently as the other person finished talking.

'Listen here, Mehmet, I need to ask you a favour.'

It turned out not to be necessary to move the computer. Over the phone Mehmet guided Jon through various menus and programs, allowing him to locate the computer's IP address and switch off the security routines so that Mehmet would have access to the PC from outside. After less than five minutes Jon was able to lean back in his chair and watch as the computer was taken over. On the monitor in front of him windows were opened and closed at the command of the cursor, which dashed between programs like a bee in a field of clover.

'Okay, I'm in,' said Mehmet. 'What exactly are we looking for?'

'First of all, what were the last sites he visited on the Internet?' replied Jon. 'But otherwise just whatever he was working on, in general.'

'No problem,' said Mehmet. 'How much time do I have?'

'As much as you need. The owner isn't coming back any time soon.'

'In the slammer?'

'No, he's dead.'

Mehmet didn't say anything for a couple of seconds, and the activity on the monitor abruptly stopped.