Dark Unions

Monday, evening

The door was ajar but he knocked nevertheless. Fernando Ruiz was standing with his back to him, studying the window. Rasmussen's office was larger than usual. He even had his own conference table with comfy-looking chairs around it. A black, woollen coat hung on a rack next to a tall, wooden cupboard where the shelves were almost collapsing under the weight of books and binders. A sudden wave of sadness came over him when he saw the panoramic photograph of Copenhagen by night on the wall, and a small Dannebrog hanging from its top right-hand corner.

The piles of paper, dossiers, books and stapled files on Rasmussen's table weren't exactly a good example of tidy desk policy, but as Hansen looked over, he realised that what seemed a mess at first glance spoke instead of a genius who had seen order in chaos. The laptop in the middle of the sea of documents was still switched on. Next to it, just opposite the chair, was a photograph of a blonde woman in her fifties with a kind smile, and two boys in their late teenage years. The faces of the boys resembled the features of the portrait on the blood-smeared access badge.

The only thing he found surprising was the smell of stale tobacco that lingered in the office. It grew stronger as Hansen approached the victim's coat. He touched it. It felt cold and damp. Smoking was strictly prohibited on the Commission's premises. Still, unlike Hansen, the victim had apparently been unable to rid himself of this nasty habit. He checked the pockets and found a set of keys alongside another, unopened packet of the same cheap cigarettes as in the victim's suit.

'Since the first call came, I've been wondering how it could be possible to jump from these windows,' said Ruiz suddenly.

Hansen moved towards his boss. He had no idea either. Windows like this one on the façade of the Berlaymont could not open fully. What was more, the building got its prison-like appearance from the glass shades that covered the whole length of the façade. Their position was adjusted by a central computer to ensure that they let the most natural light possible into the offices, from which the computer was inaccessible. Between the windows and the shades, a narrow ramp ran from one end of the long building to the other.

'He didn't fall from his office window, that's for sure,' said a pensive Ruiz. 'Must have been from the ramp. But you need a special card to access it. Even if you can get out to the ramp, it's impossible for an adult to squeeze through the shades. There's also a set of tall security bars at the end of the ramps to prevent exactly this type of accident.'

'That's just about one metre high.'

'Yes. You could still jump over it, if you were desperate enough.'

'But still – you would have to be really desperate to walk down the corridor, then to the ramp and climb over it and jump.'

'If anyone's going to jump, they tend to do it on impulse.'

'Could it be that he got some very - I mean really bad news that made him go through all this and jump?'

Ruiz shrugged his shoulders, as if he was not entirely convinced. 'Not very typical, but yes, it's possible.'

'Maybe I'll find a clue in his emails,' Hansen said. 'Although the stagiaire said that he made his last call on his mobile phone. Do we have an ETA on it?'

'Luckily, it's an old Android phone. IT forensics at OLAF are already on it. They promised to have it cracked by tomorrow morning.'

'Now that's fast,' Hansen said approvingly. It was three months since he'd asked forensics in the anti-corruption office to restore a broken SD card, and he was still waiting. Of course, a private SD card with holiday photographs was a much lower priority, to say the least. But still, no matter how much he respected Fernando Ruiz, he doubted that a word from his boss would have been enough to speed up the work of the Forensic Department. He would have loved to have asked whose voice had made the persistent Belgian detective almost stand to attention when Ruiz had passed his phone to him. Something inside told him not to ask.