Mikkel Birkegaard - The Library of Shadows

'Was he a client of yours?' he asked. The cursor started up its dance across the screen again.

'No,' replied Jon, pausing before he went on. 'This has nothing to do with my job. That's why I also need to ask you not to talk about whatever you find.'

Again a moment of silence from Mehmet.

'I hope you know what you're doing, Lawman.'

'Take it easy. You know me.'

Jon glanced at Katherina, who had found a place to sit on the window ledge, far away from the bed, which she was staring at with a remote look in her green eyes. Her face was pale, and she had wrapped her arms around her body, as if trying to stay warm. She suddenly seemed very fragile.

'Listen, Mehmet, can you also shut down the computer by remote control?' asked Jon.

Mehmet muttered a reply, which Jon interpreted as affirmative. In the background he could hear keys tapping at impressive speed, and on the screen in front of him lines of illegible commands were appearing, followed by an equal number of incomprehensible replies.

'Then shut it off when you're done. We can't stay here any longer,' said Jon, standing up. 'I'll contact you later to hear what you've found out.'

'Okay, but drop by instead of ringing. For security's sake.'

'It's a deal. See you later, Mehmet.'

'Later.'

Jon hung up and stuck the mobile in his inside pocket. 'Are you okay?'

'Sure, I'm fine. Or rather… it's just so strange to think that it happened right here and such a short time ago.'

Jon nodded and cast a glance at the bedstead. It was hard for him to see how they were supposed to find anything the police might have overlooked. There was nothing on the nightstand but a pile of books, and there was no sign of a struggle. He had the feeling that the main reason Kortmann had let them inside was to find out what was on the computer, and not to discover Lee's fate.

'Come on, let's go.'

Following Katherina's directions, Jon drove them to Sankt Hans Torv, where he found a parking place on one of the side streets. There was still over an hour before the meeting for receivers would start, and since neither of them had eaten, they went to an Italian restaurant on the square.

The colour in Katherina's face began to return, aided by Jon's attempts to take her mind off the flat in the Sydhavn district. He tried to talk about other things: his work, Italian food, trips abroad. They'd been given a table at the back of the restaurant where they could talk undisturbed, though for most of the meal they confined themselves to generalities. But it got more and more difficult to avoid mentioning Luca, or the bookshop, or the Society, and the awkward pauses in the conversation grew longer and longer.

Jon's thoughts were on the upcoming meeting. Luca had been a transmitter, and even though he was apparently the best of friends with everybody, his allegiance still must have been stronger to his own kind. For that reason, Jon had a feeling that he was about to enter enemy territory.

'What should I expect?' he asked, finally breaking the ice.

Katherina glanced around before she answered.

'In any case, a greater unity than among the transmitters.' She looked down at her hands. 'It can be very hard to be a receiver, especially in the beginning when you don't really know what's going on, so those of us who have been through it have a tight bond. We need each other, because no one else has any idea what it's like. Your father had some idea, and he respected us because of what we have to endure, but most other people think that the powers are just something we can switch off and on at will.'

'I'd go crazy,' said Jon.

'Many people do,' replied Katherina. 'Even more are branded as lunatics when they claim to hear voices.'

Jon nodded. He told her about his experience at the Clean Glass pub and the man who was drinking stout.

Katherina smiled.

'We know him well,' she said. 'Ole sometimes shows up at our meetings, but not very often any more. He's found his own way of keeping the voices at bay: alcohol. So we shouldn't expect to see him today.'

'Alcohol removes the voices?'

'For some people it mutes them, for others it makes the voices distorted and incomprehensible, which is even worse. We all have our own methods for keeping the voices at a tolerable level. The most skilful among us can mute them using special techniques, but those who aren't as lucky turn to other solutions. Some recite nonsense phrases or make certain repetitive motions to divert their focus, others go to extremes and resort to pain, by pinching or even cutting themselves.' She sighed. 'But the best method is to meet in a group.'

'Therapy?'

'In a way,' Katherina agreed reluctantly. 'It's always helpful to meet others in the same situation – to know you're not alone.' She looked Jon in the eye. 'As you can tell, our goal is to stay together as a group and help each other, not to take over the world or even harass a couple of booksellers. We simply don't have the energy for that.'

Jon nodded. He could see in her green eyes that what she was saying was more than just words.

She looked down as she rubbed her chin with her fingertips. 'Isn't it about time to go?'

From Sankt Hans Torv Katherina led the way along Nшrre Allй. Across from the church they entered a doorway and went up the stairs of an older building. She rang the bell on a door with a big brass sign.

'Centre for Dyslexia Studies,' Jon read. 'Does dyslexia always go hand in hand with the powers of a receiver?'

'It's not a prerequisite,' she replied in a low voice. 'But more than a third of us are dyslexic, so it can't be just a coincidence.'

Behind the door they heard someone approach and undo the locks. A plump woman wearing a black dress opened the door. Her round face lit up with a smile when she saw them.

'Come in, come in,' she welcomed them, stepping aside. 'The others are already here.'

Katherina and Jon stepped into the hallway where rows of overcoats bore witness to the presence of more than twenty people.

'I'm Clara,' said the woman, shaking Jon's hand vigorously. 'I'm the head of the centre here.'

'Jon Campelli,' said Jon.

'You don't have to tell me that,' she said with a laugh. 'It's incredible how much you look like him – Luca, I mean. Besides, I saw you at the funeral.'

After they took off their jackets, Clara hustled them down the long corridor towards a white panelled door that stood open at the end of the hall. A buzz of voices streamed towards them from the room beyond. The sound stopped the moment Jon, who was first, stepped inside. Around an oval conference table sat at least ten people, with the same number or a few more seated along the walls.

'Hello,' said Jon, raising his hand in greeting. Everyone nodded and murmured in return.

'Sit down here at the end,' suggested Clara, pointing to two empty chairs at the table.

Jon and Katherina sat down, carefully observed by the others. Clara took her place at the opposite end of the table.

'As I mentioned,' she began, 'we have the pleasure of meeting with Luca's son, Jon, and our own Katherina, of course.' She smiled. 'Let me start by offering my condolences on Luca's death. He was a close friend to all of us, and we considered him one of the group. We miss him very much.' Scattered nods and murmurs of agreement were heard from all sides.

Jon nodded his thanks. He noted that the women were in the majority, making up about two-thirds of the group, but it was hard for him to see all their faces. The people seated around the table were lit from above by a long, oval lamp, but the light didn't reach all the way out to the walls, where the rest of the members sat. Some of them he glimpsed only as shadows or partial shapes, with the top half hidden in darkness.