Then again, he mused, the films might prove damning for Abelsen, if they could show conclusively that he was the man in front of the camera. Abelsen’s habit of keeping trophies might very well have made him keep the container.
Matthew couldn’t see if Tupaarnaq was inside the blue apartment, but she probably was. It was even riskier for her to venture around Nuuk than it was for him.
There were several different types of documents in the parcel. Notes, printed spreadsheets, accounts, photocopies of receipts and expense claims. It looked like something prepared by an accountant. They had been organised into twenty-three different bundles, with a strong clip on each. Matthew looked around, then stubbed out his cigarette on the buff envelope. There was a yellow Post-it note stuck on each file with a name on it. Lyberth’s name was on one of them. On another was the name of the current Greenlandic prime minister, Aleqa Hammond, the country’s first female leader. Abelsen’s name featured too, as did several others whom Matthew recognised as senior government politicians.
Matthew fetched himself a beer from the fridge and sat down on the sofa with the files. He intended to review them one after the other, but was on only the second file when he twigged to what he had been sent. This wasn’t a simple record of expenses, but a list of government expenditure for which there was either no receipt or a receipt that had been faked in order to disguise private expenditure as public. It was money spent on travel, artwork, expensive flat-screens and designer furniture. It was an economic and political scandal at a time when the Greenlandic economy was on its knees. Misuse of public funds. If this information was ever made public, it would destroy not only Lyberth but also many other politicians and civil servants, depending on how extensive the subsequent investigation turned out to be.
Matthew shook his head. It might even bring down Abelsen, but he wouldn’t bet on it. Nothing beat a corpse, but this information was a start. It would undoubtedly have ended Lyberth’s career; now it would merely be just another nail in his coffin. However, it would most definitely cost Lyberth’s fellow party member Prime Minister Aleqa Hammond her job. Probably her entire government would fall. There was irrefutable evidence in the documentation of her personal use of public funds. She appeared to have spent public money on private plane tickets and hotel rooms for her family.
He smoothed his hair and stroked his stubble, then lit another cigarette and opened his laptop. There was more to this than he had first thought. It was a political scandal that would rock the whole of this small nation, which, with its first female leader, had otherwise been heading for unity and reconciliation. The outrage following in its wake would ruin everything and create division on several levels—the exact opposite of Hammond’s stated vision.
If it really was Lyberth who had sent him the parcel, then Matthew had no doubt that he had chosen to expose the financial scandal in the hope that the ensuing chaos might act as a distraction from the other scandal involving him, which was about to come to light after more than forty years in the dark. It was a smokescreen, in which Lyberth would be sacrificing everyone else to save what he could for himself and his family. All in vain, sadly, but Lyberth probably hadn’t expected to be killed soon after sending the parcel.
The smoke from Matthew’s cigarette settled around the laptop when he exhaled heavily and began writing a new story. This time about the abuse of public office and of public funds.
This story would be uploaded onto the Sermitsiaq website, but in the official way this time, with Leiff credited as the reporter. It would undoubtedly be taken down as well in time, but someone would read it before that happened, and Leiff would hand over the contents of the parcel to the police and file a complaint based on the three most serious cases of abuse of public office and misuse of public funds.
Matthew closed the Sermitsiaq tab and checked his inbox one last time before going out to find Tupaarnaq. There was only one new emaiclass="underline"
Don’t forget our meeting tomorrow night, Matthew. Or the notebook. I came back early and I stopped by to see Paneeraq today. She remembered me well. She agrees that you should give me the notebook, and she’s absolutely right. A middle-aged woman all alone with an old man in Block 2. Those rickety galleries are so dangerous. She could so easily have a bad fall. Ten o’clock tomorrow night. Come alone. You may have heard that I’m dead, but don’t let that worry you. You just turn up. And I’ll make sure that your new friend lives to see another week.
60
The aroma of freshly brewed coffee wafted soft and warm through Paneeraq’s living room. The two candles had been lit again, and like the last time her grandfather was sitting in his anorak with the hood over his head. His armchair was turned so that it faced the yard between Blocks 1 and 2. It was nearly three o’clock in the afternoon, but the heavy clouds above Nuuk made it seem dark outside.
Paneeraq had let them in immediately, and Tupaarnaq had gone with Paneeraq to the kitchen to make coffee. Matthew heard them talking in Greenlandic.
‘Impressive paintings,’ Matthew said, trying to break the ice when the two women returned, each with a cup of steaming coffee.
‘We brought them with us from Qeqertarsuatsiaat,’ Paneeraq said, sitting down in an armchair. Tupaarnaq took a seat on the sofa.
Matthew frowned. ‘Qeqertarsuatsiaat?’
‘Yes—its Danish name is Fiskenæsset. It’s a small village south of Nuuk. I’ve lived there ever since… well, you know.’
Matthew nodded slowly and absent-mindedly, while turning his attention to Tupaarnaq. ‘Have you ever mentioned that village to me?’
‘No, and I’ve never been there either.’
Then it dawned on Matthew where he had heard the name. Without thinking, he produced Jakob’s notebook from his bag and flicked through to the days when Jakob’s life imploded.
‘Lisbeth—you travelled to Qeqertarsuatsiaat with Lisbeth.’
Paneeraq smiled briefly and looked down at the table, before turning her gaze to the man in the armchair.
The old man turned his upper body and pulled his hood down, so that his face and hair were exposed to the blueish light. ‘You have my notebook, I see.’
Matthew nearly jumped out of his skin. He closed his eyes and clung to the notebook as if its contents were the last remains of his sanity. ‘But you’re—’
‘Dead?’
‘Yes.’
‘It was a close call. Perhaps only a matter of minutes, but in such circumstances a minute is all it takes.’ His fingers traced the drum skin. ‘And now we find ourselves in the same boat. Forty years on.’
Matthew was silent. He looked furtively at the old man.
‘Paneeraq has just had a visitor,’ Jakob continued. ‘Abelsen. He wanted the notebook.’
‘I’m sorry,’ Matthew croaked, rubbing his eyes and face with the heels of his hands. His stubble scratched his skin. ‘I’m in shock.’
‘There’s no need.’
‘But… I was so sure that you were dead.’ He stared at the old man. His face was wrinkled and pale, his hair sparse and white.
‘So were most people.’
‘The man from the Faroe Islands,’ Matthew then exclaimed. ‘The one you wrote about. He’s the one they found on the ice cap, isn’t he?’
‘I would think so,’ Jakob said. ‘But I haven’t seen the mummy, so I can’t say for sure. But it certainly scared Lyberth out of his wits—and now he’s dead.’