Mikkel Birkegaard - The Library of Shadows

'Oh no,' she said when she realized what it was.

Kortmann's lifeless body hung from the ceiling like a piece of meat wrapped in an expensive suit.

'Oh my God,' exclaimed Henning, as he too stepped over to the edge.

The body was coming inescapably closer even though Henning desperately pressed all the buttons he could find. Kortmann's thin legs slowly slid past, followed by his torso, which seemed to be twisted at a strange angle. His face was turned towards Katherina, and she had to look away as they reached eye level. Kortmann's eyes were open wide and his mouth was contorted into a rigid expression of terror.

When Kortmann's feet struck the floor, his body began tipping towards Katherina. She frantically pushed it away. The corpse weighed virtually nothing but it was completely rigid and it fell towards Henning standing on the opposite side. He leaped out of the way, as if the body carried some sort of disease. The corpse calmly came to rest on the floor of the lift, frozen in an awkward position, like a victim of Vesuvius. As they continued upwards, the rope from which Kortmann had been hanging coiled onto the body like a long piece of spaghetti.

With a lurch the lift came to a halt.

Almost simultaneously the rain stopped, just as suddenly as it had begun, and there was utter silence inside the tower. Katherina and Henning looked at each other. Henning's face no longer radiated anger; instead, his eyes were filled with terror. And Katherina knew her expression was similar. Her heart was pounding and she felt nauseated, which made her gasp for air.

'I think we can rule out suicide this time,' said Henning, trying to sound calm. He nodded towards the ceiling. 'It would have been impossible for him to tie that rope himself.'

Katherina followed his gaze to the iron bars overhead where the rope had been tied. It was still more than two and a half metres to the ceiling. She let her eyes run along the rope down to the body on the floor, forcing herself to look at it even though what she most wanted to do was close her eyes or run away. A noose was wrapped round the neck of the frail body and she saw that his hands had been tied behind his back. Henning knelt beside the body and studied the hands as he nodded to himself. Hesitantly he stretched out two fingers to Kortmann's throat and touched him just under the jaw. He yanked his hand away as if he'd received an electric shock.

'He's ice cold,' said Henning, wiping his fingers on his trousers as if he'd touched something contagious.

He stood up, stepped over the corpse and pushed open the door to the house. There lay Kortmann's wheelchair on its side with a checked blanket several metres away. The door at the end of the catwalk stood open, and a light was on inside the house.

They looked at each other.

'Don't you think we should get out of here?' said Katherina.

'Let's just take a quick look,' said Henning, stepping onto the catwalk. Katherina followed. She thought their footsteps echoed much too loudly on the metal flooring and she tried to tiptoe her way forward. Henning didn't seem bothered by the sound and strode towards the door leading into the house.

They entered a hallway with paintings on the walls and a thick carpet on the floor, which to Katherina's great relief muted the sound of their footsteps. Henning continued on to yet another open door at the end of the hall. It led to the library, which Jon had described to Katherina, but she was still surprised by its stylish furnishings and the peaceful atmosphere. She had only experienced Kortmann as a suspicious, power-hungry man and had completely forgotten that they shared a passion for books.

The walls were lined with bookcases filled with volumes bound in beautifully preserved leather. The chandelier hanging from the ceiling sent a soft glow over the reading areas in the centre of the room, while the indirect lighting above the shelves seemed to raise the ceiling, giving the room the air of a museum.

They were no more than twenty metres away from Kortmann's body, but as soon as they stepped inside the room, it felt as if they'd entered an entirely different world of order and refinement. The uneasiness Katherina had felt even before they found Kortmann's body had disappeared, and she now wished they could stay in this room. She went over to the nearest bookshelf and placed the palm of her hand on the spines of several books. They felt warm under her touch.

'Impressive, isn't it?' said Henning, uttering a sigh. 'What's going to happen to all the books now?' There was great sadness in his voice, as if he were talking about small children who had been abandoned. He sank onto one of the leather armchairs and looked around at the surrounding bookshelves. His eyelids blinked rapidly, as if he were greedily taking pictures of a phenomenon that would soon disappear.

With her fingertips lightly touching the books on the shelves, Katherina walked along one wall. There was no doubt they were valuable volumes, and many of them were so charged that her fingers tingled when she ran them over the spines. Henning was right – it would be a great loss if these books were scattered to the winds, but what could they do to prevent it?

'I wish we could take them with us,' said Henning, as if he had read her thoughts.

Katherina nodded. 'We've got to go,' she said, tearing herself away.

Henning reluctantly got up from the chair and took one last look around before they went back to the tower.

In the lift they were once again confronted by Kortmann's body, frozen in the middle of the platform.

'So he was to be trusted, after all,' said Henning with regret in his voice.

'It looks that way,' replied Katherina. She was embarrassed that she'd let herself get drawn into condemning Kortmann without any real proof. But she consoled herself by remembering that he hadn't been especially cooperative either.

'We can't just leave him like this,' said Henning firmly.

'If we move him, we'll become suspects,' Katherina pointed out.

'It's already a homicide case,' said Henning. 'If the police connect us to the case, we'll have a problem explaining things no matter what. I'm taking him to his library. It's where he belongs.' He stood on his toes and stretched his arms up to the ceiling, where he could just manage to reach the knots tied in the rope.

After untying Kortmann, he lifted him up and carried his body inside the house. Katherina stayed where she was. She had a feeling that they were committing a grave mistake, but at the same time she could understand why Henning refused to accept that his mentor for all these years should be left lying in the cold shaft of the lift. When Henning returned, he didn't say a word, just used his sleeve to carefully wipe off the door handle and the buttons in the lift.

It seemed to Katherina that their descent to ground level took forever. All she wanted was to get out of that place as quickly as possible. Ever since their arrival, she'd had a feeling they were being watched. As if the whole thing had been stage-managed and was waiting for them so that they could carry out their roles. Had it been planned that they and not the police should find Kortmann first? Could that be a warning from the Shadow Organization?

The sky outside was still grey; sporadic raindrops were hitting the ground with audible slaps. Even though it was only late afternoon, it was almost as dark as night, and they could hardly see the path in front of them. They hurried through the garden and back to the front of the house, where the car was parked.

Just as they were about to get into the vehicle, they heard the sound of a car engine heading up the driveway. Both of them froze and turned their faces towards the sound.

The next second they were blinded by the headlamps.