Jon nodded.
'Kortmann is the head of the Bibliophile Society,' she went on. 'He has all the answers, and he'll decide what should be done.'
Katherina had a hard time hiding the sarcasm in her last remark, but Pau didn't seem to notice and clapped his hands in satisfaction.
'When are we going to see him?'
'Now,' replied Katherina.
10
Jon had driven past Kortmann's house in Hellerup many times without knowing whose it was. The house stood out from the rest because it was enormous and had a big rusty tower reaching up along one wall to the very top of the building. The tower looked like a factory smokestack that had fallen into disrepair. Its presence on a well-maintained four-storey redbrick house in the suburb of Hellerup was so extraordinary that Jon immediately recognized the place.
A wall three metres high surrounded the property, and solid wrought-iron gates prevented unauthorized visitors from entering.
Katherina sat in the passenger seat of Jon's car; Pau sat in the back. Neither of them had said a word except when it was necessary to give directions. Jon stopped the car a few metres from the gate. There was an intercom on the driver's side. Jon rolled down his window, stretched out his arm and pressed the button marked with a bell.
'What should I say?' he asked as they waited for a response.
'Just say who we are,' replied Katherina. 'He'll know it's important.'
Jon glanced at his watch. It was one a.m., but there were still lights on in some of the windows on the fourth floor.
'Yes?' said a dry-sounding voice from the intercom.
Jon leaned towards the speaker.
'It's Jon, Jon Campelli.' He paused for a moment, but there was no reaction. 'I'm sorry for coming here so late, but it's important, and we're here to speak to Kortmann.'
There was still no reaction from the intercom except for a faint rushing sound, and Jon gave Katherina a questioning look. She shrugged. Jon turned back to the speaker. 'Iversen is in hospital,' he ventured. 'Libri di Luca was-'
'Come in,' said the voice. 'You need to go up through the tower.'
The gate in front of them began to open, slowly and soundlessly, as if access to the house were being deliberately delayed. Jon drove the car in as soon as there was enough space to pass through and continued along a short asphalt drive up to the house. There was room for four or five cars in front of the building, but at the moment the space was deserted.
A row of columns dominated the facade of the house, and a wide, illuminated stone stairway led up to a dark wooden door with black hinges and a grille over a little window near the top.
All three of them got out.
'It must be over there,' said Pau, pointing along a flagstone path leading to the side of the house. He started walking that way, with Jon and Katherina following him.
'Have you been here before?' Jon asked.
'No,' replied Katherina.
'Me neither,' said Pau, hastening to add, 'But I don't think many of the others have either.'
The path ended at the huge rusty tower which turned out to contain a wide door lit by a single lamp above the frame. The tower and building were connected at the ground floor and the top storey by enclosed catwalks with the same rusty appearance.
'The receiver has to stay there,' they suddenly heard.
Pau pointed to where the sound was coming from, a speaker in the door frame. They looked at each other. Jon frowned, uncomprehending, and was about to object, but Katherina put her hand on his shoulder and nodded.
'It's okay,' she said. 'I was expecting that. I'll just stay in the car.'
'Are you sure?' asked Jon.
'Positive,' she replied. 'The two of you should go on up.'
Pau had already opened the door. 'Are you coming?'
Katherina turned round and headed back to the car as Jon joined Pau in the tower. Inside they found themselves in a lift with just enough space for the two of them. On their left a door led to the house, and Jon was just about to grab the handle when the lift started to move. They rose upwards, slowly and almost imperceptibly, as if they were being carried on a rising tide. The lift was not hoisted up on wires but by means of giant gears that raised the platform up at an even tempo. The whirring mechanism made Jon feel as if he were locked inside a huge grandfather clock.
Pau impatiently tapped his foot against the metal floor and peered up at the ceiling eight metres above them.
After what seemed to Jon an eternity, they reached the top, and Pau pushed open the door to the catwalk leading into the house. At the end of the passage a door opened to reveal Kortmann in his wheelchair. It almost seemed as if he'd been expecting them because he was fully dressed in a dark suit, a pair of shiny black shoes visible below the hems of his perfectly pressed trousers. The wheelchair was specially built out of brass and significantly higher than normal, which made it easier to have eye contact with the occupant. Yet at the same time it made him look like a boy in a high chair.
With a restrained nod, Kortmann bid them welcome.
'Come closer,' he added in a neutral tone that could be taken as both invitation and command. He moved his chair back a bit so they could get past and then directed them down a corridor with subdued lighting and paintings in gold frames on the walls. At the end of the hall they entered a large room with bookshelves from floor to ceiling. In the middle of the room stood a low, round table surrounded by six armchairs, and above it hung a large prism chandelier.
'Have a seat,' he said, gesturing towards the armchairs.
They did as he asked while they both looked around, impressed. Pau gave a low whistle.
'Quite a place you've got here,' he said. 'It must have cost a fortune.'
Kortmann ignored him. Grabbing a handle on the side of his wheelchair, he lowered the height of his seat.
'What happened?' he asked, looking straight at Jon.
Jon told him about the attack on the bookshop and about Iversen's condition. During the entire account Kortmann kept his eyes fixed on Jon and not once, even when Pau interrupted with a snide remark, did his gaze waver. It was not a suspicious gaze, but a look filled with gravity, concern and attentiveness. When Jon was finished, Kortmann sat in his wheelchair without saying a word, his hands clasped in front of him.
'Did you see who did it?' he asked at last.
Jon shook his head. 'No.'
'But the receiver was there too?'
'Katherina? Yes, she was there the whole time. In fact, she put out most of the fire.'
Kortmann turned towards Pau. 'And what about you?'
'I didn't get there until later,' replied Pau. 'I do have a life besides books, after all.'
Kortmann looked down at his hands. 'It was only yesterday that I talked to Iversen,' he began. 'We talked about you, Jon. You can be an extremely crucial person for the Society, and considering the latest events, it's more important than ever that we make use of you.' He raised his head to look at Jon. His dark eyes gazed at him sorrowfully.
'Recently quite a few disturbing things have happened in our circles. Libri di Luca isn't the only antiquarian bookshop that has been subjected to an attack. Last month a bookshop in Valby burned down, and several of our contacts in the city's libraries have been harassed or fired without warning. And then, of course, there's the regrettable matter of your father's death.'
Jon gave a start and stared enquiringly at the man in the wheelchair.
'What does Luca's death have to do with the fire?'
'Your father's death was only the beginning.'
'Stop just a minute,' said Jon, holding up both hands. 'Luca died of heart failure.'
'Correct,' Kortmann agreed. 'But there was nothing wrong with his heart.'
Jon studied the man sitting across from him. The eyes behind the glasses didn't waver, and his face emanated both seriousness and patience.
'What exactly are you trying to tell me, Kortmann?'
'That your father, in all likelihood, was murdered.'