Christian Jungersen - The Exception

‘Dear Anne-Lise. I need to know as much as possible about child killings in East Timor. Please collate a list of what is in the library and email it to me as soon as you can. Is tomorrow morning possible? Regards, Tatiana.’

Malene quietly deletes it.

The next mail is from Sweden.

‘Hi, Anne-Lise. Thanks a million for that list. Brilliant! Best, Lotta.’

They delete that one too.

Anne-Lise has read all the other emails, so they leave them untouched.

Then they both drink some more whisky before going back to Anne-Lise’s desk. They keep the lights off, this time, ambling about in the dark, happy that the Centre is theirs for the time being.

Iben misjudges the layout of the rooms only once. She walks straight into the door between the Winter Garden and the library, forgetting that Malene has closed it. She falls and knocks a few magazine folders off a shelf, but doesn’t hurt herself. She gets up quickly. Some magazines have landed on the floor, but putting the light on seems too much hassle, so she picks up the ones nearby and puts them back any old how. Time enough to sort them out tomorrow.

Malene is back in the library. Iben hears her rummaging over by the readers’ desks. There is a huge crash.

Malene doesn’t laugh out loud, but her voice shakes a little. ‘Oops!’

Iben gets the drift at once. Malene has knocked over one of the very tall stacks of books that Anne-Lise has put on the floor while she sorts them.

Iben goes in to check the damage.

‘Look, it doesn’t matter. It kind of fell over, all by itself.’ Malene seems unfazed.

Iben gives another stack a brisk tap. ‘You mean, like this? Oh, look! It fell over too.’

Malene gives a third stack a push. ‘It’s like the domino effect!’

Iben is on her way through the Winter Garden to put the bottle of whisky back in Paul’s cupboard when she hears the whining of the lift. The sound lasts only a moment then stops. Someone gets out on their floor.

Iben rushes quietly back to the library. She tells Malene in a loud whisper: ‘Zigic! It’s Zigic!’

She walks towards Malene’s voice whispering in the dark.

‘No. No …’

She reaches out and touches Malene’s blouse.

‘No, it can’t be.’

They stand side by side, holding hands, their backs against the shelving on the far side of the open door to the Winter Garden.

Someone is fiddling with the locks on the front door.

Malene’s voice is low. ‘Are all the lights off?’

‘Not in the server room. Where Rasmus is.’

‘I wonder can he hear …?’

There are many hiding places in the maze of shelving at the back of the library, but Iben lacks the courage to go there. Once more, she has a fleeting impression of the Centre’s network of passages transforming into the torpedoed submarine as it sinks inexorably into the deep ocean trenches with their intolerable pressure.

The main door opens. The lights are switched on. How can they tell if it’s Zigic just by listening?

There are two people outside the door. One walks in shoes with hard soles towards Paul’s office; the other walks more quietly. The quiet one stops at Malene’s desk and rustles through her papers, looking for something.

Iben stands absolutely still, her heart hammering in her chest. The man in the Winter Garden is only a few metres away. She feels the sweat soaking through her top; a drop runs down her leg until it’s stopped by the tape that holds the knife in place.

A woman speaks: ‘You must’ve had something in mind when you drove her to Århus.’

It’s Helen’s voice, Paul’s wife. Iben relaxes.

Helen is a secondary-school teacher. Despite her faded looks, her features and her shock of blonde curls still hint at how very good-looking she once was. Her manner has changed as well and with time she’s become rather odd. She always excuses herself from Centre get-togethers, such as the Christmas lunch, and always at the last minute.

Paul’s voice comes from his office. ‘Just shut up! Stop harping on about it!’

Helen is shouting now. ‘It’s your fault! You make me like this, the way you keep avoiding my questions. It reminds me.’

‘What utter crap!’

Iben has never heard Paul speak this way — despairing, superior and angry, like someone telling a disabled child off for pestering them.

Helen’s voice is still very loud. Maybe they’ve been out and she has drunk too much. ‘But it’s true! You always avoid things — that’s what you do.’

‘That’s rubbish! I’m telling you the truth. End of story.’ Paul is closer now, somewhere in the Winter Garden. He must have picked up some papers he needs for tomorrow, since he’s due to be away from the Centre all day.

He speaks again, sounding resigned more than anything else: ‘If I really thought Malene was so gorgeous, I’d have lunch with these people once in a while, wouldn’t I?’ A bunch of papers lands on a desk top. ‘Which is what I ought to do. I’m their boss. But I can’t face having to listen to all their chit-chat. I don’t think of Malene in that way, believe me.’

Helen doesn’t say anything, but seems to be rolling about in one of the office chairs.

Silence.

When Paul speaks again, he uses his more familiar, if slightly too controlled, office voice.

‘Hey, come and look at this.’

‘What?’

‘Come and see the library. Anne-Lise has started to clear the readers’ desks. It’s going to look really good.’

‘I’m not in the mood.’

‘Oh, come on. It’s right next door.’

Paul walks towards the library door. Now he is only a few metres away.

Iben jumps when Helen shouts angrily: ‘I don’t care about your fucking readers’ desks. Can’t you get that into your thick head!’

Nothing more can be heard for a moment, except the drumming of the rain. Then Paul sighs deeply. Something makes a slapping noise.

The front door opens, the light is turned off, the door slams shut.

They’re gone.

Iben’s heart is still pounding in her chest. She stays where she is, pressed against the shelf.

Besides, Paul and Helen may well come back. Malene takes Iben’s hand and places it over her heart. It beats wildly and she too has been sweating.

Despite the dark, Iben knows that they’re smiling tensely at each other. They listen as the lift descends and stops.

They can’t hear anybody walk across the downstairs hallway.

They can’t hear the street door open and close and a car start in the rain.

Even so, after several minutes, they have to assume that Paul will not come back.

They’re still standing in the same place. Iben feels strange — drunk and queasy. But she didn’t drink that much, so it must be the fear that’s making her feel sick.

A little later Rasmus comes in. ‘Holy shit!’ he whispers to them.

They laugh from sheer relief.

‘Look, girls, I wouldn’t mind going home now.’

‘We’re with you!’

‘I turned the light off and stayed under the server desk all the time they were here. Now I have to restore everything on the server to the way it was before.’

They stay close to him as they leave the library and use the bicycle lights until they get into the server room, where the light is on. It is good to be able to see properly.

Rasmus fixes the computer while Iben and Malene look on distractedly. At one point, the emails from Tatiana and Lotta to Anne-Lise pop up on the screen.

‘Why did you delete them?’

Malene shrugs.

Rasmus reads the emails. ‘Hmm …’

He keys in the right command. ‘You have to remove them from the system entirely then.’

He has deleted Anne-Lise’s unread mail. And no one says any more about it.