—
“He’s busy just now,” said Lis, to no avail, as Carl stormed past the desk and burst into Bj?rn’s office like a madman. While the door was still swinging on its hinges, he slammed down Assad’s printouts of Rose’s reports on the table between Bj?rn and his visitor, whoever that was.
“Now you can damn well read some reports you haven’t tampered with, Bj?rn. You can’t run rings around me.”
The head of homicide remained surprisingly calm, looking at his visitor. “Allow me to introduce you to one of our most creative investigators,” he said calmly, pointing from one to the other. “Carl M?rck, head of Department Q, our team in the basement who investigates all the cold cases.”
Bj?rn’s visitor nodded to Carl. An annoying type. Red beard, saggy belly, and glasses, all of which seemed to have been with him for years.
“And Carl, this is Olaf Borg-Pedersen, the producer of Station 3. I’m sure you’re familiar with the brilliant show.”
The man offered his sweaty hand. “Pleased to meet you,” he said. “Yes, we know exactly who you are.”
Carl didn’t give a damn what he knew and turned to face his boss. “Have a good look through this lot, Bj?rn, and I’ll look forward to a brilliant explanation about how you could have got it so wrong.”
Bj?rn nodded approvingly. “A really stubborn, snappy dog we have in our pack here,” he said to his visitor. He turned toward Carl. “But if you’ve got something to complain about, I suggest you talk directly with the police commissioner. I’m sure he’ll be glad of the update.”
Carl frowned. What the hell was Bj?rn up to?
Then he took the pile of papers from the table and left without shutting the door behind him.
Now what? he thought as he leaned up against the wall in the archway. Several of his colleagues from homicide walked past without Carl returning their perfunctory greetings.
Why on earth hadn’t Bj?rn reacted more severely to Carl’s aggressive attack? Of course, he had probably held himself in check because of his visitor, but it still felt different from usual. Was this about the relationship between Bj?rn and the police commissioner? Had Carl become Bj?rn’s puppet—a useful idiot chosen to lead a revolt against their boss so that Bj?rn didn’t have to do it himself?
His eyes moved toward the police commissioner’s office.
He would have to put it to the test.
“No, you can’t talk to him now, M?rck. The police commissioner is in a meeting with the judicial committee,” said one of the commissioner’s two well-kept secretaries. “But I can schedule a meeting for you. What about May 26th at quarter past one?”
Did she just say the 26th? I’ll show her where she can stick her quarter past one meeting in nine days, he thought, grabbing the door handle and entering the office.
A group of faces turned inquisitively toward him from across the eight-meter-long oak table. The police commander was sitting at the end of the table, erect and expressionless in his leather chair; the police commissioner was standing over by the bookcases frowning, while the group of politicians were sitting with their usual arrogant expressions, annoyed at not being taken seriously.
“I’m sorry, he slipped past me,” apologized the secretary from behind him, but Carl couldn’t care less.
“Okay,” he said with a menacing voice as he looked around. “Now that the whole gang is present, I want to make it clear that the percentage of solved cases from Department Q over the past year has been no less than sixty-five.”
He slammed Rose’s reports down on the table.
“I don’t know who it is up here in the tower that came up with the idea of sabotaging our figures, but if there’s anyone present who dares to voice the opinion that Department Q should be disbanded or subjected to cutbacks, you should know that it won’t happen without a fight.”
Carl noticed the confused expression of the police commissioner, but then the police commander—an authoritative man with a stoic face and large eyebrows—stood up and addressed the group.
“Excuse me a moment while I discuss this matter with Inspector Carl M?rck.”
—
Carl laughed all the way down to the basement. What a drama.
Clearly he had brought something to the table that the high and mighty on the committee did not know about. They had been close to disbanding a department that carried out effective investigations and had solved many cases, and someone had to take the fall for this mistake. Carl pictured the police commissioner’s face and laughed again. The police commissioner alone would be held responsible for this. In polite circles, one would call it a loss of prestige, but Carl called it being in deep shit.
“We’ve got visitors, Carl,” said Assad as soon as he met him in the hallway.
“Aren’t you going to ask me how it went?”
“Yes, I . . . So how did it go?”
“Well! Now that you ask, I think Lars Bj?rn pulled a number on our commissioner, because I’m dead certain that Bj?rn was fully aware of the real percentages but still allowed the wrong information to make its way to the commissioner’s office. And the commissioner took the bait, giving instructions to Bj?rn to cut back Department Q, and subsequently informed the politicians about the changes.”
“Okay, sorry if this is a stupid question, but why would Bj?rn do that?” asked Assad.
“I’m fairly certain that Lars Bj?rn has always defended Department Q to the commissioner and has now stressed that he was right that Department Q is justified despite the large running costs. Because I don’t think Bj?rn has told him that his department snatches more than half our budget. But now the police commissioner knows that he needs to be careful about giving explicit orders to Bj?rn. It’s a mutiny against the police commissioner, Assad, and Bj?rn knows me. I react when I’m provoked enough, and then it hits the fan.”
Assad frowned. “It wasn’t very nice of Bj?rn to use us.”
“No, but I’m planning to take revenge.”
“How? Are you going to stroke him the wrong way?”
“You mean rub him the wrong way, Assad.” Carl smiled. “Yes, something like that. In a way, Bj?rn stole our figures for his own ends, wouldn’t you say? So then it’s also okay if I steal some cases from homicide for my ends, when and if it suits me.”
Assad raised his hand to give Carl a high five. He was in.
“Who did you say was waiting for me?” Carl asked.
“I definitely didn’t say anything about who it was, Carl.”
Carl shook his head. While Assad was finally picking up on the finer nuances of Danish, no one was perfect.
He had only managed to reach the doorway to his office before the full horror of the situation was revealed.
Sitting in Carl’s office chair was none other than the renowned red-bearded TV man Olaf Borg-Pedersen, looking as if he ought to have something to say for himself.