The Marco Effect by Jussi Adler-Olsen

Author:Jussi Adler-Olsen
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Tags: Mystery, Thriller, Humour
ISBN: 9780525954026
Publisher: Dutton Adult
Published: 2014-01-02T00:00:00+00:00

21

“What’s Rose going to say when we go to see Malene Kristoffersen without her?”

Carl cast a glance up at the imposing gates of Vestre prison as they drove past. How many fools had he gotten dispatched behind those dreadful walls in his time? Not so few. It was just a damned shame that they came out again.

“Rose? She’s otherwise occupied at the ministry. I reckon she’ll get over it,” Carl replied curtly. After yesterday’s shenanigans with Gordon, preferential treatment wasn’t the first thing that sprang to mind at the mention of her name. Besides, he didn’t give a toss what she’d say. He had other things to think about.

Ever since their visit to Danida’s office for evaluating development assistance he’d had a strong feeling in his bones that they had proceeded too quickly. That he should have waited to interview department head René E. Eriksen until the case had been considered from more angles.

“Tell me again why you think our visit cheered Eriksen up, Assad. I noticed a reaction when you asked him about Stark’s sexuality, but I wouldn’t exactly say it cheered him up.”

“Don’t you know what happens when you give a camel a slap on the backside, Carl? It begins to run and stretch its neck toward where it thinks its goal is. Almost as if having a long neck in itself could make it arrive faster.”

“Sounds reasonable. But what exactly are you trying to say?”

“It was like we gave Eriksen a slap on the backside when I mentioned Stark’s sexual preferences. All of a sudden he seemed to set his sights on a goal and stretched his neck out toward it faster than his legs could keep up.”

“You mean he’d been keeping a secret he wanted to get off his chest?”

“No, you do not understand, Carl. It seemed like he suddenly saw a goal that had not been there before.”

“What sort of goal?”

“That’s what I can’t work out.”

“You’re saying he was lying?”

“I don’t know. But all of a sudden there were stories that could easily have come out earlier. Stories about young boys and glances and what else the devil knows.”

“Other way around, Assad. It’s ‘and the devil knows what else.’”

“Anyway, I think Eriksen had that look in his eye like when a person is given the chance to tell a good story.”

“And?”

“It’s just that suspecting a man you work with of being a pedophile is not a good story.”

Carl turned down Sjælør Boulevard. They would soon be there. “I got the same feeling myself, now you mention it. There was a lack of . . . shame in his voice.”

The house on Strindbergsvej was typical of the era in which it was built. A sloping, French-style roof and a bit of ornamentation to make it look more imposing than building costs justified. Homes like this were often divided into two, with a dwelling on each floor so Copenhagen’s exorbitant property taxes could be spread between incomes. A small green oasis in the suburb of Valby that satisfied both the desire to live close to the city center and the dream of living farther away.

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