Christian Jungersen - The Exception

Malene sighs. She sweeps up the flattened staples and throws them into Camilla’s wastepaper basket. ‘Anne-Lise simply has no idea what it’s like when your colleagues are really out to get you. That much is obvious.’

Malene tells Camilla a little of what happened to her mother. ‘You see, that’s why I find Anne-Lise so especially hard to take. She has accidentally hit on something that really hurts me.’

Iben interrupts her. ‘But, Malene, it’s not because you’re more vulnerable than most. Anyone would be upset to have to listen to that kind of thing.’

‘Yes, you’re right.’

‘And it’s even more infuriating, when it comes from someone we’ve all struggled to keep happy.’

The door to the corridor opens. Anne-Lise announces that she is going home. She has a headache. Malene is so annoyed with her that she can’t even make herself look up. No one speaks.

Then Malene decides to say something. ‘Get better soon.’

From the landing they hear the faint whining noise as the lift goes down. Iben begins to pick her words slowly.

‘Now we know … why she always comes across as devious. And why all of us have found it difficult to get along with her. It’s because, in her warped view, we’re nothing but a band of bloody bullies who want to bring her down.’

‘It’s unbelievable. How long do you think she has hated us beneath all those smiles, always pretending everything’s fine?’

Camilla looks up at the others. ‘How did she keep it up? — lying to us every single day? I can’t imagine being that insincere, month in and month out.’

Suddenly Iben sounds more collected and serious. ‘But maybe that’s exactly what she didn’t do.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Maybe she couldn’t stand lying to us for ever. Maybe she has been burning up inside and felt she had to find an outlet.’

The other two are silent.

‘An outlet, for instance by sending us emails?’ Iben suggests.

The others see her point at once.

‘If Anne-Lise sent the emails last night, she might have felt guilty today. To deal with that, one obvious strategy would be to prove to herself that we’re all nasty — worse than her. Which could explain why she lost control just now at lunch.’

Camilla adds a thought. ‘She didn’t seem the slightest bit nervous this morning when she heard about the emails for the first time.’

The idea makes sense to Malene too. ‘It’s obvious that she hates Iben and me the most. It would also explain why Paul hasn’t had one.’

Of course, it’s only hypothetical. Still, it doesn’t have to be Mirko Zigic or some other mass murderer who sent the emails.

Malene realises that she isn’t furious with Anne-Lise, although she ought to be. The others feel the same way — she can see it in their faces. More than anything, they are relieved. Iben doesn’t have to crash in Grith’s flat again tonight. Malene won’t find it as difficult to fall asleep as she did the night before. A confrontation with a trained killer — now that would be a life-or-death matter. But an office conflict — that can be sorted out.

The front door opens. The doorway frames a man with a muscular neck, wearing a safari jacket. The women freeze. But then they realise he’s not threatening them.

Malene smiles. ‘Hello! How did you get past the police downstairs?’

‘Police? What police?’

‘Didn’t two guards stop you in the downstairs lobby?’

‘No one stopped me. I came here because your website shows that you’ve got Ben Kiernan’s book about Cambodia, The Pol Pot Regime . I’d like to borrow it, if possible. And I’d be grateful if you could recommend more reading about the Cambodian genocide.’

They look at each other.

He explains: ‘I need it for senior-year teaching.’

Another moment of silence.

‘So, if you have any introductory teaching material I’d like to have a look at that as well.’

The Centre’s users mustn’t be worried by internal problems. Malene walks towards the visitor.

‘Please come in. Let’s see what we can find. We have a great deal on your subject. You know about the book by Marcher and Frederiksen, don’t you?’

‘Yes. Do you have it?’

‘Of course. And we have quite a few files of unpublished teaching material. I’ve read it all and it’s very good. Let’s go to the library and have a look around.’

Malene is ready to lead the way.

Iben gets up. ‘I think I’d better go downstairs and find out what’s happened.’

The teacher is curious and well read. Malene speaks about Cambodia, trying to sound relaxed. She tells him about the lectures that DCGI staff offer free of charge. She could come to his school.

While they talk, her mind strays. She tries to understand Anne-Lise, but can’t recall ever having been hard on her. On the contrary, she has always been friendly and professional. Surely? They have always told Anne-Lise when they are taking a break, even though she can be such a wet blanket. Everyone has tried to be pleasant to her, but, after all, other people should have a good time too. And there’s work to be done.

She goes on to speak about a recent DCGI seminar on Cambodia with Chandra Lor as the lead speaker. Lor, a genocide survivor, was the first head of the Tuol Sleng genocide museum in Phnom Penh. His story is miraculous. In the 1970s, government troops and guerrilla forces killed almost 3.3 million of the country’s 7.1 million population. The Pol Pot regime exterminated practically everybody who either had a family relationship with the previous government or, simply, an education. Chandra Lor was the son of a deposed senator and a university student. The video of the seminar shows Lor speaking about his daily fight to escape death. The teacher could show it to his pupils.

Malene hears Iben return, and excuses herself for a moment.

Iben confirms that there are no policemen at the door. She intends to call the number the two officers gave them and ask what’s going on.

Malene goes back to the teacher. They start chatting about Western European communism. In the 1950s, Pol Pot and some of the top men in his government were students in Paris and their views were strongly influenced by the French Communist Party. Should the French communists accept a share of the guilt for the Cambodian tragedy? She pulls out a book of photographs from the Tuol Sleng Museum collection. The building was once a notorious prison. The photos show the primitive instruments of torture and the prison cells. Many of the cells were windowless and so small that the prisoners could neither lie down nor stand.

Iben interrupts them, apologising to the teacher. ‘I’ve spoken to the woman who’s in charge of the investigation and her attitude is totally different. She said that “the evidence pointing to Zigic is absurdly vague and, as it is, the police have spent far too much time over two emails”. She is in charge of the case now, but she won’t allocate any more time to it.’

‘What did you say?’

‘Well, of course I tried to argue that our safety should be paramount and because of our work we’re a special case, but I got nowhere. She wouldn’t even listen.’

Maybe Iben wasn’t all that persuasive. How can you convince someone that you are in mortal danger, if you actually feel enormously relieved because you’re pretty certain that a timid librarian sent the emails?

The idea that the emails might be harmless is not disputed by the phone calls they receive from helpful colleagues abroad during the afternoon. The war criminals they suggest only add to their already unmanageably long list.

After the tense, anxious morning, not even a call from Lotta in Sweden about Zigic seems important. There are rumours that Zigic has gone underground somewhere inside the Scandinavian Customs Union, possibly in Sweden.