She booked seats on the evening’s InterCity connection arriving in Odense at 7:29 P.M., then onward with the express to Copenhagen. And then she waited for her husband. She was expecting him some time between twelve and one o’clock, but he came back at half past ten.
“The money, Joshua. Did you get the money?” she asked, though she knew, just by looking at him, that he had failed.
“It wasn’t that straightforward, Rachel. I knew it wouldn’t be,” he replied, his voice feeble. “The people at the local authority were helpful, but the account belongs to the tax authorities, so it would take some time. This is so terrible.”
“You insisted, Joshua, didn’t you? Tell me you insisted? We haven’t got all day. The banks close at four.” Now she was desperate. “What did you say to them? Tell me!”
“I said I had to get the money back. That the payment was a mistake. We were having problems with our IT system, I said, and had lost control of our payments. Money had been going into the wrong accounts and invoices were getting lost in the system. I told them we’d had suppliers on the phone this morning and that if we didn’t pay what was outstanding we’d be losing them. I explained to them that the financial crisis has got suppliers feeling the squeeze and that they’d soon be reclaiming their harvesters and selling them off to others at a discount. I told them we’d be losing our leasing advantage, that it was going to end up costing us a packet, and that it was a critical time for us, too.”
“Oh, Lord. Did you have to make it so complicated, Joshua? Why?”
“It was just all I could come up with.” He sat down heavily on a chair and slapped the empty briefcase down on the table. “I’m under pressure too, Rachel. I can’t think straight. I didn’t sleep at all last night.”
“Dear God, what are we to do?”
“We must go to the congregation. What else can we do?”
She tightened her lips and thought again of Magdalena and Samuel. Poor, innocent children. What on earth had they done to deserve such punishment?
They had made sure their pastor would be at home and were putting on their coats to go and see him when the doorbell rang.
Rachel wasn’t going to answer, but her husband opened the door without thinking.
They didn’t know the woman standing on the step with a folder in her hand, and neither did they wish to speak to her.
“Isabel Jønsson. I’m from the local authority,” she announced, stepping into the hallway.
Rachel felt hope stirring. The woman had brought the necessary papers for them to sign. She had sorted everything out. Perhaps her husband hadn’t been so stupid, after all.
“Come in. We can sit here in the kitchen,” she said, relieved.
“I see you’re on your way out. It needn’t be now. I can come back tomorrow if that would be more convenient?”
Rachel sensed the clouds begin to gather as they sat down at the kitchen table. So the woman couldn’t be here to help them get their money back at all. If she was, she would know how imperative it was. Why not just get to the point? She had said it needn’t be now. What kind of a thing was that to say?
“I work in IT, as part of the business consultancy team. My colleagues informed me you were having some rather serious problems with your systems, so I’ve come to help.” She smiled and handed them her card: Isabel Jønsson, IT Consultant, Viborg Municipality. This was the last thing they needed right now.
“I’m sorry,” Rachel said after a moment, realizing that her husband was reluctant to take charge. “It’s awfully nice of you, but I’m afraid it’s a bad time for us. We’re very busy.”
She thought that would be enough and that the woman would make her apologies and leave, but instead she remained seated, staring at the table as though she were fastened to the chair. As though she would use whatever means necessary to enforce the right of the public authorities to poke their noses in.
Rachel stood up and flashed her husband a harsh look. “We need to be getting on, Joshua. We’re in a hurry, remember?” She turned to the woman. “So, if you’ll excuse us…”
But the woman didn’t move. And that was when Rachel saw that what she was staring at was the photo Sarah had found in the album. The photo that had been lying on the table to remind them that in any flock there could be a Judas.
“Do you know this man?” the woman asked.
They looked at her in bewilderment. “What man?” Rachel asked in turn.
“This one here,” the woman replied, placing her finger underneath the man’s head.
Rachel sensed danger. The same way she had on that dreadful afternoon in the village near Baobli when the soldiers had asked her the way.
The tone of voice. The situation.
It was all wrong.
“You must go now,” Rachel told her. “We’re busy.”
But the woman wasn’t going anywhere. “Do you know him?” she repeated.
So now another devil had been sent to them. Another devil in an angel’s guise.
Rachel stood in front of her, clenching her fists at her sides. “I know who you are and I want you to leave, now. Do you think I don’t realize he sent you, that monster? Get out. You know how little time we’ve got.”
And then she felt everything keeping her together inside fall to pieces. Suddenly she was unable to hold back the tears as rage and impotence took over and dragged her down. “GET OUT!” she screamed, her eyes closed and her hands clutching at her breast.
The woman rose, putting her hands on Rachel’s shoulders and shaking her gently until she looked up. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, but believe me, if anyone has reason to hate this man, it’s me.”
Rachel opened her eyes wide and saw that it was true. Behind the woman’s calm gaze, hostility smoldered, its embers glowing deep inside her.
“What has he done?” the woman asked. “Tell me what he did to you, and I’ll tell you all I know about him.”
The woman knew him, and her encounter with him had been anything but happy. That much was plain. The question was whether she could help them. Rachel doubted it. Only money could help, and soon it would be too late.
“Tell us. But hurry, or we’ll go.”
“His name’s Mads Fog. Mads Christian Fog.”
Rachel shook her head. “He told us his name was Lars. Lars Sørensen.”
The woman nodded deliberately. “OK, it’s possible both names are assumed. When I met him, he was calling himself Mikkel Laust. But I’ve seen documents, and I found an address, a house in the name of Mads Christian Fog. I think that’s his real name.”
Rachel gasped for air. Had the Mother of God heard her prayers? She looked again into the woman’s eyes. Could they trust her?
“What address? Where?” Joshua’s face had taken on a bluish-white tinge. This was obviously too much for him.
“A place in Nordsjælland, near Skibby. Ferslev, it’s called. I’ve got the exact address at home.”
“How do you know this?” Rachel’s voice trembled. She wanted to believe it, but could she?
“He was staying with me until Saturday. I kicked him out on Saturday morning.”
Rachel covered her mouth with her hand in order not to hyperventilate. This was all so terrible. He had come to them directly from this woman’s home.
She looked up at the clock with a dreadful sense of fear, forcing herself to listen to the woman’s account of how the man had exploited her, enthralled her with his charm, only to change in an instant.
Rachel recognized the man Isabel described, and when she had finished, Rachel looked across at her husband. For a moment, he seemed far away, as though trying to put everything into some perspective. Then finally he nodded. They should tell her, his eyes said. This woman was on their side.