tried here!"
Emotion expanded her being. Kasper could hear her. She had some lovely aspects. Very Danish. Christian. Social Democrat. Hated economic turmoil. Excesses. Overconsumption. She had probably completed her master's degree in political science without going into debt. She already was saving for retirement. Bicycled to work. Knighted before the age of forty. It was very moving. He sympathized with her 100 percent; she had impeccable character. He wished he could live up to such standards himself.
Moerk ignored her. He was concentrating on Kasper.
"Jansson here has an order for your arrest in his pocket," he said. "They can take you to the airport right away. Just a quick trip home and a look around the hayloft. Get your toothbrush and your passport. Then off you go."
The tones of everyone else in the room faded. The young men and the functionaries had been purely ornamental. The woman had played the cadences. But the whole time Moerk had held the score.
"We may have another possibility," he said. "They say you're a person people keep coming back to. You once had a young student named KlaraMaria. We wondered if maybe she had come back again."
The room whirled around before Rasper's eyes. Like when you straighten up after a triple forward somersault. No chance to orient yourself in the forward bends.
"Children and adults," he said, "return to me in hordes. But the individual names . . ."
He leaned back in his chair, back into a feeling of no escape. The pressure in the room was enormous. Soon something would burst. He hoped it would not be him. He noticed the prayer begin by itself.
It was the woman who stumbled.
"Seventeen thousand kroner!" she burst out. "For a suit! When you owe all this?"
His prayer had been heard. It was a minimal blunder. But it would suffice.
His fingers closed around the arms of his jacket. Tailor-made jackets button at the wrist. Ready-to-wear suits have decorative buttons.
"Thirty-five thousand," he said mildly. "The seventeen thousand was for the material. It's a Casero. It cost seventeen thousand just to have it sewn."
Her earlier confusion reappeared in her system. Still under control.
For the first time, Kasper caught her eye. He nodded toward Moerk, toward the functionaries, toward the two young men.
"Can they leave the room for a minute?"
"They're here, among other reasons, to guarantee the legal rights of the accused."
Her voice was flat.
"It's about you and me, Asta."
She did not move.
"You shouldn't have said that about my clothes. It's only banks, businesses, and certain accounts that are required to report debt and interest. Now these people know."
Everyone in the room was quiet.
"It's hypocritical," said Kasper. "All these humiliating meetings.
Without our being able to touch each other. I can't stand it. I'm not as strong anymore."
"This is utterly absurd," she said.
"You must ask to be taken off the case, Asta."
She looked at Moerk.
"I had him followed," she said. "You'll get a report. I couldn't understand why you didn't arrest him. I couldn't understand why information was being withheld from us. Someone is protecting him."
Her voice was no longer controlled.
"That's how we knew about the clothes. But I've never met him privately. Never."
Kasper imagined her fragrance. The aroma of life on the steppes. Blended with wild Tajik herbs.
"I've come to a decision," he announced. "You resign your position. We work up an act. You lose thirty pounds. And appear in tulle."
He placed his hand on hers.
"We'll get married," he continued. "In the circus ring. Like Diana and Marek."
She sat paralyzed for a moment. Then she jerked her hand away. As if from an enormous spider.
She rose from her chair, walked around the desk, and headed toward him. With the physical sureness of an athlete, but with no clear motive. Perhaps she wanted to throw him out. Perhaps she wanted to silence him. Perhaps she only wanted to vent her anger.
She should have stayed seated.
Emotion expanded her being. Kasper could hear her. She had some lovely aspects. Very Danish. Christian. Social Democrat. Hated economic turmoil. Excesses. Overconsumption. She had probably completed her master's degree in political science without going into debt. She already was saving for retirement. Bicycled to work. Knighted before the age of forty. It was very moving. He sympathized with her 100 percent; she had impeccable character. He wished he could live up to such standards himself.
Moerk ignored her. He was concentrating on Kasper.
"Jansson here has an order for your arrest in his pocket," he said. "They can take you to the airport right away. Just a quick trip home and a look around the hayloft. Get your toothbrush and your passport. Then off you go."
The tones of everyone else in the room faded. The young men and the functionaries had been purely ornamental. The woman had played the cadences. But the whole time Moerk had held the score.
"We may have another possibility," he said. "They say you're a person people keep coming back to. You once had a young student named KlaraMaria. We wondered if maybe she had come back again."
The room whirled around before Rasper's eyes. Like when you straighten up after a triple forward somersault. No chance to orient yourself in the forward bends.
"Children and adults," he said, "return to me in hordes. But the individual names . . ."
He leaned back in his chair, back into a feeling of no escape. The pressure in the room was enormous. Soon something would burst. He hoped it would not be him. He noticed the prayer begin by itself.
It was the woman who stumbled.
"Seventeen thousand kroner!" she burst out. "For a suit! When you owe all this?"
His prayer had been heard. It was a minimal blunder. But it would suffice.
His fingers closed around the arms of his jacket. Tailor-made jackets button at the wrist. Ready-to-wear suits have decorative buttons.
"Thirty-five thousand," he said mildly. "The seventeen thousand was for the material. It's a Casero. It cost seventeen thousand just to have it sewn."
Her earlier confusion reappeared in her system. Still under control.
For the first time, Kasper caught her eye. He nodded toward Moerk, toward the functionaries, toward the two young men.
"Can they leave the room for a minute?"
"They're here, among other reasons, to guarantee the legal rights of the accused."
Her voice was flat.
"It's about you and me, Asta."
She did not move.
"You shouldn't have said that about my clothes. It's only banks, businesses, and certain accounts that are required to report debt and interest. Now these people know."
Everyone in the room was quiet.
"It's hypocritical," said Kasper. "All these humiliating meetings.
Without our being able to touch each other. I can't stand it. I'm not as strong anymore."
"This is utterly absurd," she said.
"You must ask to be taken off the case, Asta."
She looked at Moerk.
"I had him followed," she said. "You'll get a report. I couldn't understand why you didn't arrest him. I couldn't understand why information was being withheld from us. Someone is protecting him."
Her voice was no longer controlled.
"That's how we knew about the clothes. But I've never met him privately. Never."
Kasper imagined her fragrance. The aroma of life on the steppes. Blended with wild Tajik herbs.
"I've come to a decision," he announced. "You resign your position. We work up an act. You lose thirty pounds. And appear in tulle."
He placed his hand on hers.
"We'll get married," he continued. "In the circus ring. Like Diana and Marek."
She sat paralyzed for a moment. Then she jerked her hand away. As if from an enormous spider.
She rose from her chair, walked around the desk, and headed toward him. With the physical sureness of an athlete, but with no clear motive. Perhaps she wanted to throw him out. Perhaps she wanted to silence him. Perhaps she only wanted to vent her anger.
She should have stayed seated.
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