I assured her I would have nothing more to do with him, and yet, when he called some months later, I found myself agreeing to have dinner. It was with some disgust, a feeling I have always had in his company. There was something about the way he casually asked me how Line was that made my stomach turn. I tolerated him because, in my own clever way, I was exploiting him. However, Line would never be able to understand that, so I didn’t tell her. She knew nothing about our dinners until some years later.
I had been sitting in the restaurant with my whisky for ten minutes when Verner appeared. He was flushed and I could see beads of sweat on his scalp through his thinning hair. He was wearing a crumpled grey suit and a white shirt stretched tight over his huge belly. His bulk seemed to swell with every meeting.
With a groan, he let himself flop into the chair opposite me.
‘Hello, Frank,’ he panted, wiping the sweat off his brow with a napkin from the table.
‘Hello, Verner,’ I replied and held out my hand.
He gave me a warm and moist handshake.
‘Christ – that job will be the death of me.’ He wriggled out of his jacket, which he tossed on a vacant chair at the next table.
We ordered our food. I had fish of the day and white wine, Verner a steak, rare, and beer.
‘What a bloody mess, this murder, eh?’ Verner said after some small talk about family and the weather.
I decided I might as well get it over with and told him about my relationship with Mona Weis two years ago. He listened with a lewd smile on his face.
‘You’re a dark horse,’ he said. ‘Was she good in bed?’
I ignored his question. For want of anything else, I introduced him to my theory about Mona’s rejected boyfriend and his revenge on her and me using my script as his model. My lack of conviction must have been obvious, but I had nothing else to offer.
Verner shook his head. ‘Everything is a mystery to you, eh, Frank? You’re always looking for a complicated solution.’
He fell silent while the waiter served our food.
‘It’s far too elaborate to be a crime of passion,’ Verner continued. ‘Jealous men act on impulse. They don’t go around planning something like that. Possibly the disposal of the body, but not the murder itself.’
‘But … do the police know if she had a boyfriend?’
‘They’re working on it,’ he replied. ‘She would appear to have been single for some months, but there are rumours that she had affairs with older and married men so she might have had a secret lover.’ He smiled. ‘Your name came up.’
‘I told you, it was several years ago.’
‘I know, I know, but that kind of gossip has quite a life span. Affairs in a small town like Gilleleje, especially one that involves a famous writer, aren’t easily forgotten.’
‘Am I a suspect?’
Verner shook his head. ‘No, not yet.’
‘Not yet!’
‘We’re going to have to tell them about the book.’
‘Are you sure? It was you who said we shouldn’t.’
Verner heaved a sigh. ‘It’s no use,’ he said. ‘Once the book is published … when is it again?’
‘In two days,’ I replied.
‘In two days,’ he repeated and looked tired. ‘Then we could be faced with an even bigger problem.’
I raised my wine glass and studied him as I drank. His smile had vanished and his small dark eyes were focused on the plate in front of him, but he didn’t eat. He just sat there, staring at his steak.
In the Red Zone would be published on Friday, the first day of the book fair. It was all arranged. Interviews and talks had been scheduled, posters printed and stacks of books would be on display. If the police decided to stop the book, it would have serious economic consequences for my publishers and for me.
‘It doesn’t look good,’ Verner said, looking up. ‘If you had been upfront about your relationship, I could have told the Murder Squad straightaway. Now it’ll seem as if we’re hiding something.’
‘What have we got to hide?’ I protested. ‘How could we possibly know how much Mona’s murder resembles the one in the book? Very few details have been made public. For example, I haven’t read anything about the diving gear or the marble bust.’
‘Of course not,’ Verner snapped. ‘It’s standard procedure to withhold that kind of information while the investigation is under way. The problem is I think I’ve drawn attention to myself by my considerable interest in the case.’
‘That doesn’t make us murderers,’ I declared.
Verner scrutinized me. ‘Well, at least I’ve got an alibi. I was in a bar with some colleagues. Police officers.’ He spoke the last word in syllables.
‘What are you saying?’ I asked, a little too loud, unable to control my temper. Several guests stared. As we didn’t say anything, but merely glared at each other, they turned their attention back to their food. Verner didn’t reply.
‘There is something else,’ I whispered.
‘Now what?’ Verner asked. ‘More secrets?’
I handed him the envelope.
‘This was waiting for me at reception when I checked in.’
Verner pulled the book out of the envelope and studied it. I watched his reaction. If he had something to do with it, I was sure I would be able to tell by his face, but he didn’t move a muscle. He flicked through the book and found the photo. When he recognized the woman, he dropped the book as if he had burned his fingers.
He stared at me. ‘What the hell is this?’
‘I don’t know,’ I replied.
‘Are you taking the piss, Frank?’
‘This isn’t a joke,’ I replied. ‘Someone left this at reception yesterday afternoon. I hadn’t even checked in by then.’ I paused, but when Verner didn’t say anything, I continued. ‘I think you’re right, this is more than just an angry boyfriend.’
‘Of course I’m right … but … how the hell did the killer get hold of the book when it hasn’t even been published?’
Though I had been staring at the book for several hours, this question had never occurred to me. If it wasn’t a rejected lover and the book wasn’t Mona’s, that made it almost impossible to answer. Unless … my heart started pounding and I had to drink some wine before I could tell Verner about my mental reckoning of the free copies and the fact that I was one short. I stressed that I could be wrong. Perhaps my publishers had made an error, but the possibility existed, the possibility that the murderer had broken into my home, and that scared me.
Verner was unimpressed. ‘What about the picture?’ he asked. ‘Is that one of yours, too?’
I shook my head.
‘Are you absolutely sure, Frank?’
A tinge of mistrust had crept into his voice, possibly out of habit, a role he slipped into when he sat in front of the pushers he questioned every day. I gritted my teeth and made an effort to keep my voice down.
‘I’m telling you I’ve got nothing to do with this. Do you really think I would commit a murder copied straight from my own book? And if I had, wouldn’t I have made sure to have an alibi? I wasn’t emotionally involved with Mona Weis any longer. She was history. Besides, I don’t know how to sail and my knowledge of diving is purely theoretical.’
Verner looked as if he was briefly enjoying himself, which irritated me even more.
‘Take it easy, Frank,’ he said and held up his hands. ‘I know you couldn’t have done it. Yes, you’ve a sick and twisted mind when it comes to inventing these things, but you haven’t got the guts to carry them out.’ He laughed. ‘You’re far too weak.’
Something inside me was angered by his verdict. Who did he think he was? Why was I letting myself be talked down to by a meathead with paedophile tendencies? I wanted to hit him. That would teach him how weak I was. I should have done so a long time ago, the moment I first learned about his assault on Line. Beaten the crap out of him. Wiped that pathetic smile off his face. It might have made a difference. Perhaps I could have avoided the wounded look Line gave me when she finally found out I was meeting him in secret.