Mikkel Birkegaard - The Library of Shadows

The purpose of all this meticulous preparation and constant consulting of the text was that during the speech Jon was able to concentrate on the presentation itself. Even though the content was fixed, he could still change the emphasis, taking his audience into account; he could accentuate certain sections and downplay others, colouring the statements as needed.

The only time he had ever tried to explain his technique to a colleague, he had compared it to the work of an orchestral conductor. Except that in this case he himself was the instrument, and he could turn the effects up or down as needed to fit the situation, precisely the way a conductor can alter the experience of a piece of music. Jon's colleague had looked at him as if he were crazy, and since then Jon hadn't tried to explain or teach anyone his approach, even though it had never yet failed him.

The effect wasn't lost this time either. Before long everyone's attention was directed towards him, and the mood could be read in the satisfied expressions on the faces of Mehmet's friends and in the small nods of acknowledgement from Jon's colleagues. Even with his back turned, Jon could sense their support, as if it were a home game. The judges leaned forward in their chairs, their bored expressions were gone, and their eyes attentively followed Jon's performance. The prosecutor, on the other hand, sank lower and lower in his chair, uncertainly plucking at the papers on the table in front of him. He emanated defeat, and Jon was audacious enough to lend the police officers' report of the case a sarcastic tone that provoked a good deal of amusement in the courtroom.

It was over. Jon read the last sentence of his speech and stood in silence for a moment before he folded up the pages of his text and returned to his place, accompanied by spontaneous applause from the spectators as the judges called for order.

His client slapped him on the shoulder. 'Pure Perry Mason,' whispered Mehmet with a smile. Jon replied with a wink but maintained a neutral expression.

The judges withdrew to deliberate while everyone else in the courtroom dispersed, slowly and reluctantly like a group of school kids after an outing. The prosecutor approached his opponent and shook hands, giving Jon a smile of acknowledgement. As Mehmet joined his friends, who loudly greeted him, Jon gathered his papers into two neat stacks.

'Congratulations, Campelli,' said a hoarse voice behind him. He turned round and stood face to face with Frank Halbech, one of his law firm's three partners.

Like Jon he wore a dark suit, a Valentino as far as Jon could tell, but it was his manicured hands that revealed that this man was not encumbered with work; he had people for that. He'd become a partner in the law firm five years ago at the age of forty-five, and judging by his appearance, he now spent his time at hair salons, tanning spas and fitness centres.

'Open-and-shut case, but good argument,' said Halbech, offering his hand. Jon took it. Halbech leaned forward without releasing Jon's hand. 'He's losing his grip, Steiner,' he whispered, motioning with his head towards the prosecutor.

Jon nodded. 'The case should never have gone to court,' he whispered in reply.

Halbech straightened up, released Jon's hand and took a small step back to give him the once-over. His grey-blue eyes scrutinized Jon, while a little smile formed on his lips.

'What would you say to a real challenge, Campelli? A case that will put hair on your chest?'

'Of course,' said Jon.

Halbech nodded with satisfaction. 'That's what I figured. You seem like a man who dares take up the gauntlet, someone who will come through when it counts.' He formed his fingers into a pistol and aimed them at Jon. 'The Remer case. It's yours.' He broke out in a big smile. 'Drop by my office tomorrow and we'll talk about it.'

Before Jon had time to react, Halbech turned on his heel and strode towards the exit. Astonished, Jon watched his boss go until a short, stout man wearing a light-grey suit stepped in front of him and blocked his view.

'Wow, was that Halbech?' asked the man, alternating his gaze between Jon and the disappearing Halbech. The short man was Jon's colleague, Anders Hellstrшm, whose speciality was traffic cases and who had a penchant for Irish pubs and Guinness.

'None other,' replied Jon distractedly.

'Incredible. I can't remember when I last saw him inside a courtroom,' said Hellstrшm, sounding impressed. 'What in the world did he want?'

'I'm not really sure,' said Jon pensively. 'But I've got the Remer case.'

Hellstrшm gawked at him in disbelief.

'Remer?' He gave a low whistle. 'Either he wants to gild you, or else he wants to murder you.'

'Thanks for the support,' said Jon with a crooked smile.

'Wait until the others hear about this.' Hellstrшm rubbed his hands and glanced around. 'But that was a hell of a good closing argument, Jon,' he added before he turned and set off for the far end of the room where some of their colleagues had gathered.

Jon needed some fresh air. He felt as if everyone's eyes were directed at him, even though his performance was over. He made his way towards the exit, accompanied by congratulations and slaps on the back. A moment later he was outside on the courtroom steps. It had stopped raining and gaps in the light-grey clouds revealed patches of blue sky. He stuck his hands in his pockets and took a deep breath.

The Remer case had to do with corporate raiding of the highest order. The main player, Otto Remer, was accused of bankrupting no fewer than a hundred and fifty companies over a period of years. There was no doubt that what he had done was morally problematical, but it was much less certain whether it was outright illegal. The case had already gone on for three years, and it was a widespread joke among the firm's employees that the amount of information and the complexity had reached critical mass, whereupon the case had taken on a consciousness and life of its own.

The case files had their very own archives, just as the ever-changing team of lawyers had been given a special Remer office where they could work undisturbed. It was a 'make or break' case, and so far the lawyers who had given it a shot had all broken. A successful resolution of the case would undoubtedly lead to an offer of a partnership in the firm. That was the rumour among the lawyers, at any rate.

The amount of documents and the complexity of the case were not the only challenges. The man himself, Otto Remer, was also a bit of a trial. Several colleagues had completely given up trying to work with him, since he had no fondness for lawyers nor for supplying documentation of his transactions. He behaved without regard for the gravity of the case and wasn't beyond going off on a ski holiday or a business trip during critical phases of the proceedings.

The air was still damp and chilly after the rain, and Jon shivered in his thin jacket. Two men in shirtsleeves came out of the building to have a smoke. They lit their cigarettes, which they greedily inhaled, while they shifted from one foot to the other to keep warm.

A mobile phone rang and Jon instinctively reached for his inner pocket. It wasn't his phone, but he did notice that he had received three calls from the same number during the course of the morning. Without looking at the display, he pressed the familiar combination of numbers that gave him access to his voicemail.

He listened with growing amazement to the message that had been left for him. It was from a Detective Sergeant Olsen, who in a businesslike tone explained that he was ringing with regard to Jon's father, Luca Campelli. Jon frowned. He was accustomed to receiving calls from the police, but he couldn't fathom what the connection could be with his father.

Before he managed to return the call, a bailiff came out to find him. The judges had finished deliberating.