Life and Limb by Elsebeth Egholm Page A

paranoid or if he was really under threat. She had looked him up on the internet. He was a loner with unconventional methods. He had made it his life’s mission to map the activities of extreme right-wing groups and his work had resulted in books and articles and, according to rumour, drawers stuffed to the brim with tapes and photos taken during the six months he had gone undercover and infiltrated a group, like the famous investigative reporter Günter Walraff. That was several years ago now and not particularly newsworthy, but she had heard that Frederik Winkler still kept his eyes peeled, although he was now using different methods.
    â€˜Oh, various people.’
    Winkler entered with a mug of coffee and placed it on the table in front of the only armchair. She sat down. It was only now that she noticed that the walls were covered with shelves from floor to ceiling. On the shelves were hundreds of ringbinders, spine after spine. She had seen photos of his office online and it was just like this: ringbinders and videotapes shelved as far as the eye could see.
    â€˜Not everyone values being held to account for posterity.’
    He sat down heavily on the sofa beneath a copy of the famous old poster with a drawing of a pig and the legend: Danish pigs are healthy – they’re bursting with penicillin. She could imagine him eating his dinner by the coffee table, with the TV on and the poster as his only witness.
    â€˜But to go so far as to kill you?’
    He shrugged.
    â€˜It wouldn’t be the first time. And what else would you call an incendiary bomb through the glass of my front door, if not attempted murder?’
    Winkler’s voice had acquired a sharp edge. If he had come across as a frightened fuddy-duddy before, that impression had vanished now.
    â€˜So, what do you want to know?’
    Dicte took a sip of her coffee, which turned out to be instant.
    â€˜Right, let me be frank with you: I know nothing about extreme right-wing groups in this town. I’m looking for background information. I could trawl the net, but what I need is up-to-date stuff which hasn’t yet reached the public.’
    â€˜You mean secrets,’ he stated. ‘Or stories nobody believes?’
    He was used to being met with scepticism. She leaned forward.
    â€˜Let’s call it your expertise. I need a source with insight into the subject. If you’re concerned about repercussions, you can be my anonymous source. Perhaps you could introduce me to other people?’
    â€˜And endanger my own life?’
    He shook his head. It didn’t seem like a no – more a reaction to her naivety. He took a deep breath, blew on his coffee and scrutinised her once again.
    â€˜This isn’t a game, you know. If you want to pry into what such groups get up to, you need to appreciate that it’s not without risk. I want you to understand that.’
    â€˜I understand.’
    He nodded
    â€˜You’re the one who covered the killing of that girl at the stadium. And now you want to know if football hooligans or other extremist groups could be responsible for it?’
    Dicte put her mug on the table, choosing not to reply. Winkler continued without prompting.
    â€˜One thing is for certain: Aarhus is fast becoming a bastion of the right. They’ve managed to build a network here in the wake of the left-wing collapse. Copenhagen still has autonomous radical groups, so there is fertile soil there for the left. Aarhus had some extreme left-wing political activists in the nineties, but today the right has free rein here and they more or less regard the battle with the old archenemy as won.’
    â€˜I thought immigrants were the archenemy?’
    He shook his head.
    â€˜The left is the greatest threat to the people we’re talking about. A united left can prevent Nazi ideology from taking root. Besides, they’re a visible enemy, and that creates a sense of solidarity.’
    Dicte took