Carl thought again that if only he had heeded his basic training from the police academy and had his revolver in his holster under his jacket, he would have been able to prevent what happened.
No, it wouldn’t happen again. After that incident he had been more particular about remembering to put on his shoulder holster. And now that ugly bugger was sitting there with his Neanderthal face, smirking at him as if he could get away without any punishment because the judge was a tardy slowpoke. True, the guy didn’t have “idiot” written on his forehead, but it wasn’t far off. At least four years was Carl’s bet for what the guy would get for his violence, because it was certainly not his first offense. One just had to hope that someone would give him a good beating in the slammer so he could learn what it felt like to be battered so brutally.
“You need to go up to Lars Bj?rn,” the people in security informed him when he was back at HQ.
Carl frowned. Was he some sort of rookie to be ordered where to go and when? He’d just wasted an hour and a half on nothing; wasn’t that enough for today?
“And Bj?rn asked us to give him a heads-up when you were on your way, so just straight up the stairs and to the left, Carl.” They laughed behind him.
What did he care what they had been asked to do?
—
Down in the basement corridor, Gordon was standing, waving his arms. “We’ve got a problem,” he managed to blurt out before noticing Carl’s moody expression.
“But, er, maybe it’s better if Assad explains it,” he was quick to add.
Carl stopped. “Explain what?”
Gordon stared at the ceiling. “It’s something to do with our department that Lars Bj?rn came up with. Something about us not solving enough cases.”
Carl looked surprised. It was only fourteen days ago that he had calculated the percentage of solved cases in Department Q as 65 over the past two years, which was in no way less than it had been in previous years. Viewed objectively, it was far more than what could be expected, considering that their cases were those that the rest of the force had been unable to solve. A 65 percent success rate and 65 percent of perpetrators no longer loose on the streets. What was Bj?rn talking about?
“Take this and put it on my desk.” He shoved the legal papers into Gordon’s arms, heading directly toward the endless stairs that led up from the basement.
He’d show Bj?rn how to read statistics; that was for sure.
—
“Yes, Carl, unfortunately it is completely accurate.” Lars Bj?rn looked almost sad about it, but Carl hadn’t fallen for that sort of emotional manipulation since his girlfriend in high school told him that she was pregnant by his best friend.
As expected, Bj?rn’s next sentence was uttered with much less empathy. “The parliamentary judicial committee has been analyzing the percentage of solved cases in different jurisdictions to facilitate a more satisfactory division of resources and strengthening of local workforces, and it has been scrutinizing special funding in particular. That is precisely where Department Q falls, so cuts have been made. One employee will be laid off and you’ll relocate up here, in the event that the department isn’t disbanded. That’s their final word, Carl; I’m sorry, but I can’t do anything about it.”
Carl looked tiredly at him. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. Our percentage of solved cases is sixty-five, and those cases we haven’t yet solved are just waiting for a breakthrough. These are cases that everyone else has given up on and which would otherwise be left rotting in the archives if it weren’t for us.”
“Hmm. Sixty-five percent, you say. Where is that noted? I can’t see that in my paperwork.”
He rummaged around a little on the neatly ordered desk.
“Here!” A piece of paper was raised in the air, and Bj?rn pointed at a number before passing it to Carl. “This is what Department Q has submitted. And this is what management has concluded from that. Percentage of solved cases, fifteen. Not quite sixty-five percent, now, is it, Carl? So the conclusion is that you are too ineffective and that your department is costing society a lot of money that would be put to better use up here.”
“Fifteen percent!” Carl looked shocked. “They’re totally bonkers. And what do these mediocre idiots from Christiansborg know about what we cost and what we do? We might well be a couple of reports behind schedule, but that’s all.”
“A couple of reports? A fifty percent difference is not a couple of reports, Carl. You exaggerate as usual, but it will do you no good in this situation.”
A sudden feeling of fire and brimstone harrowed Carl’s nervous system. Could he be the one to blame for the situation?
“Firstly, that analysis is utter nonsense, and secondly, you’re the ones with your sticky fingers on most of the special funding allocated for Department Q—don’t forget that, Lars Bj?rn. So if we are closed down, it’s to save less than a quarter of what the judicial committee think we cost. That paper isn’t even worth wiping my ass with.” He waved it angrily. “Where do you have these figures from, Lars?”
Bj?rn threw his arms out. “Are you asking me that, Carl? You’re the ones who have submitted the reports.”
“Then you damn well haven’t registered them properly.”
“Well, opinion is divided on that matter, as you might well imagine. To deal with this unfortunate situation, I recommend that you lay off Rose Knudsen and that I move Gordon to my team, while you and Assad also move up here. Then we can see if you two can cope with a regime like ours that works in accordance with the law.”
He smiled, probably aware that as far as this was concerned, Carl was certainly not going to follow orders. So what was his game?
“Once again, Carl, I am sorry. But the police commissioner has already reported to the judicial committee, so the decision is out of my hands.”
Carl looked at his superior suspiciously. Had the man taken a course with the state department in delegating responsibility? Goddamn it, didn’t Bj?rn know better than to dance with those incompetent losers who only knew how to scratch the surface rather than find out what lay beneath it?
“But listen, Carl, if you are so dissatisfied, then complain to the politicians,” he said in conclusion.
Carl was furious, slamming the door so hard that the whole floor shook, causing Mrs. S?rensen’s jaw to drop along with the papers she had just taken from the desk.
“You two!” he shouted toward her and Lis, who was shredding papers. “Are you the ones who have submitted the wrong stats from us and are now in the process of killing off our department?”
They shook their heads in confusion.
He slammed down Bj?rn’s memo in front of them. “Have you written this?”
Lis leaned her pretty chest in toward the counter. “Yes, I have,” she said without regret.
“But what you’ve written isn’t right, Lis,” he said, annoyed.