He awoke with a start, stood in the middle of the floor in the bare room. For a few more seconds he continued to see that face, before it vanished.
In the bathroom, he washed his hands. Still that sticky substance on the back of one hand, impossible to get rid of it.
There was no towel. To get one he would have to talk to a nurse. No problem in thinking that through. The thoughts took hold, formed a chain, no longer piled up on top of each other and strained in all directions.
Two things he knew. He had to go back up there again, the place where he’d found Marita. Where the face in the water came into view.
And he needed to talk to Zoran, that was the other thing.
It wasn’t Marita they were after up there in the forest, Arash. You know that.
Yes, I know that.
It was you they wanted to kill.
I understand that now.
There could be no witnesses to what was going to happen. Marita was killed because she was with you.
He saw himself lying on the headland by the water.
Because they dealt with her first, I had time to get away. I am alive because she is dead.
That was what he had to talk to Zoran about. Someone had tracked him down, followed him.
Why?
If he thought back, minute by minute, he would sooner or later find the answer. Ferhat the Kurd, sitting in his flat day after day, waiting for something. Was it the Iranian security services who had contacted him? And everyone he had seen in Lillestrøm when he was with Marita. He recalled the man he had followed and threatened with a butter knife. He looked like Ibro Hakanovic, but it couldn’t have been him. A woman in red had passed, on her way to the station, and another woman, with a limp. The person in black in the forest had a limp too. He squeezed his eyes shut, tried to conjure up the figure again, see if it was the same leg.
He sat on the edge of the bed, rested his forehead in his hands. Could not work it out, where the connections were and what was just chance.
Ibro Hakanovic told me something that evening, he should have said to Zoran. Is that why all this happened?
What did he tell you?
He thought about it.
That is what I don’t understand, Zoran.
He pulled back the curtain, clouds lifting, a wide chasm of blue across the sky. He struggled not to disappear up into it.
Later he went out into the corridor. No one in sight, no sounds of people. Everyone’s gone, he thought, and headed towards the exit. The door glided open. Raino stood there.
– Hi, Arash. Sleep well?
– I have slept well. Have you?
Raino grinned. – I’ll sleep when I get old.
Arash grinned too. – Can I take a shower? he asked.
– Glad you noticed it yourself, Raino nodded. – You’re making progress. I’ll bring you some fresh towels and something to wear.
But when he entered the room, he wasn’t carrying clothing. Not towels, either. He held a telephone, which he handed to Arash.
– For you.
Arash took it. It was Knut Reinertsen.
– I won’t be able to see you today as arranged. Something’s come up. I’m very sorry about it.
– So am I, Knut Reinertsen.
Arash felt that he meant it.
– I want us to continue our conversation, Arash, as soon as possible. But unfortunately not today.
He could tell from Knut Reinertsen’s voice that he was very busy, so it was most likely true that something had come up. But still he’d taken the trouble to call himself.
– While I’ve got you on the line, can you answer one question for me?
Arash thought about it. – You’ll have to ask it first.
– I agree. It’s about what happened at the hospital the evening the patient was killed.
While he listened to what Knut Reinertsen was asking about, Arash glanced over at Raino, who was still standing there playing with his keys.
– And you are quite certain about this? Knut Reinertsen said after Arash had answered the same question for the second time.
Arash closed his eyes and went through the situation again. – I am quite certain.
– Have the police asked you about this?
He had had so many questions about that evening, but couldn’t remember if this was one of them, and he said so to Knut Reinertsen.
– Now for that shower, said Raino after he got his phone back.
Arash stood for a long time watching the shower without walking into the stream. Easier to think to the sound of splashing water. Keep the thoughts separate, arrange them in their proper place. Rumi’s poem written on the mirror in the cabin. It might have been a dream. Why was Knut Reinertsen so interested in that? And why did he call to ask him about the night Ibro Hakanovic died? Knut Reinertsen said he would be back. Suddenly Arash didn’t know whether he wanted to talk to him again.
Clean clothes laid out on the bed. Dark blue tracksuit, red stripes down the arms and legs. Trainers in a box on the floor. They looked new, too.
– Where does all this come from? he asked Raino.
– You’ve got some good helpers, Arash. People like you.
It was obvious he didn’t want to say it was Zoran who had arranged for the clothes.
Raino went into the bathroom, emerged with the towels.
– Have you used these? They’re practically dry.
– I have used them.
– Okay. Breakfast?
– Can I eat here in my room?
– Room service? I’m sure that can be arranged. Juice? Bread? Ham and cheese? Nobody said anything about you wanting halal.
After he’d gone, Arash remained seated on the bed. For a moment, he saw a connecting thread to Knut Reinertsen; it ran off into the shadows. Someone was standing there holding it. Who are you working for, Knut Reinertsen?
Knut Reinertsen hadn’t answered that question.
The food didn’t arrive. He was thirsty, but apart from that he would be fine. He put on the shoes, walked into the bathroom. They fitted him, light and comfortable.
On the rim of the basin, a glinting silver chain with three keys attached to one link.
In a flash he saw the connection. The new clothes. The shoes. The keys left out for him. He shoved them into his pocket, where his own keycard was, let the water run until it was cold, drank, positioned himself by the wardrobe.
A few minutes passed before Raino appeared. His eyes searched the room. Arash watched him, leaning against the wardrobe door, all his muscles tensed.
– You haven’t seen—
The nurse interrupted himself. As he entered the bathroom, Arash slipped out into the corridor. He’d made up his mind it was the biggest key, pushed it into the hole and locked, heard Raino shouting something or other inside. He walked quickly to the end of the corridor, rounded the corner, opened a door.
A woman was sitting in a chair by the window. She turned towards him. She was elegantly dressed, dark jacket with narrow stripes, skirt in the same pattern, gloved hands.
– Are you here to help me?
She stood up. Arash didn’t know how to answer.
– Do you understand what that means? the woman went on. – That someone is in a position to help me?
Her eyes seemed to go hazy. She stood there, studying him.
– You are a good person, she said finally, in a voice that seemed wrapped in that same haze.
The alarm began to sound. Running footsteps outside.
Arash held a finger to his lips to say that what was happening out there had to do with him. The woman crossed the floor, laid a gloved hand on his arm. – You need a shower, she informed him in a low voice. – But you are a good person.
As Arash let himself out, he heard shouting from the corner where his room was. As calmly as he could, he headed for the door that led out of the crisis unit, chose the same key and let himself into the dining room. Someone sat eating at one of the tables. A young girl
approached him.
– Don’t go, she said, grabbing him by the arm.
He didn’t know if she was a nurse or a patient, shook her off. She sat down on the floor and hid her face in her hands but said no more, and he carried on through the room, past an office door, someone inside talking very loudly on the phone. He knew where the main exit was; the same key, he didn’t need any of the others. There was a connection, he thought again, the clothes, the shoes, the key. But it was one of the others that fitted.
In the corridor outside the psychiatric wing a policeman sat reading a newspaper. Arash permitted himself a nod. The man gave him a searching look, as though he was trying to remember something, but didn’t shout until Arash was halfway down the stairs.
He speeded up, let himself into the basement with the keycard. Not the main entrance, he thought, and darted round the corner on the left. He knew every single corridor in this block, every staircase, and as he jogged off in the direction of the exit by the A&E, he burst out laughing at the thought of those in helpless pursuit of him.
40
Jennifer had been sleeping for half an hour. Not sleeping, but slipping in and out of a state in which images and thoughts mingled together beyond her control. Sigurd comes in and shouts something or other about a blue car, then goes out again. Something else crops up too, something to do with Arash; she hears him say her name and then something she can’t make out.
When she opened her eyes to sunlight streaming in through a tiny hole in the roller blind, his voice was gone.
She sat up, grabbed her phone from the bedside table, called Sigurd, got straight through to his voicemail.
In the kitchen, she opened the fridge, closed it again, made do with a cup of coffee, couldn’t face the thought of food.
In the course of the night her sinuses had become blocked and her face started to throb. She sprayed each nostril twice. Something is terribly wrong, she murmured. Why don’t I go to the police? – Zoran, she said aloud, and picked up her phone again. At that moment he rang. She noticed that she was angry. Not at him, but she had nowhere to get rid of her anger.
He got her to sit down. He told her what had happened, that he had been to the hotel, and yes, Katja was there too, and the moment that name came up, Jenny’s anger found a focus at last. That woman, who had broken into Sigurd’s life and was using him, was about to destroy everything for him. Everything that had happened was because of her.
It helped to say this to Zoran. He didn’t comment, just let her carry on until she calmed down.
– I’m going to the police, she said, not because she had made up her mind to, but because she had to know what he thought.
He didn’t comment on this either.
– Shall I call them now?
– I don’t know, Jenny. Sigurd says he’s going to do it himself, in a few hours’ time.
– And she’s stopping him?
Zoran didn’t answer at once. – He realises that he has to tell them what he knows, he said finally. – I think we should let him have the few hours he needs. I can go back again after lunch. I’ve got an operation now, but that shouldn’t take long.
His concern even extended to Sigurd, as well as everything else that really mattered to her. Don’t hang up, she thought, but he was gone already. Then she remembered what she should have asked him about. Arash had said that Ibro Hakanovic seemed to be sedated; his speech was slurred and his pupils constricted. But when she went through his admission papers, she couldn’t see that he had been given anything stronger than paracetamol.
She was about to call Zoran back, but changed her mind and decided to wait until she had checked again.
The air outside was close. The heat like a damp film across her skin. Her whole face was throbbing, but it helped to be in motion. Four-minute walk to the hospital. Three minutes through the lobby, the lift, the corridors, to her office. One minute to boot up the computer.
Admission tests carried out on Ibro Hakanovic showed no signs of narcotics or other medications. She picked up the phone, explained to the person on duty at the Department of Forensic Toxicology who she was, why she needed the post-mortem blood analysis and why it was urgent. Those two words ‘murder investigation’ always made an impression. The person on duty promised to check, even though it wasn’t his field.
Five minutes later, he called back.
– The samples from the deceased have been analysed, he said. – You’ll get a copy of the results in a day or two.
She explained again why she needed it immediately. He had long ago accepted her argument, and his protests were simply for the sake of form, to let her know she couldn’t ring at all hours of the day and night and expect answers to things she had on her mind.
– Shall I read out all the findings?
She drummed her fingers on the desktop. – I’m most interested in narcotics and medications. The tests from admission were clean, and I need to make a comparison.
She could hear him tapping on a keyboard.
– We did find something, he said finally.
– What?
– Morphine.
She shot to her feet, brushed her hair from her forehead, grabbed a pen.
– Amount?
The amount was read out at the other end. Even without checking the reference, she knew the levels were high.
She noted down the rest of the findings, the electrolytes, the haemoglobin and everything else she had asked them to analyse, registering as she went along that none of them were abnormal. Even remembered to thank the guy for taking the trouble to help her out in the middle of a busy watch, though she had no reason at all for thinking it was.
Seconds after she rang the bell, a figure appeared up in the window of the front room. She recognised the round face.
– Can I have a word with you? she said when he came out on to the balcony.
The junior doctor peered down at her in the bright light. He was wearing large spectacles and his hair was twisted up in a thin peak. – About what?
When he came down and let her in, he was holding a baby in a blanket to his shoulder.
– Didn’t see who it was at first, he said apologetically.
– I tried to call you.
He sighed. – Supposed to be off free. All the way until two o clock.
He went ahead up the stairs. – Free and free. Bit of an exaggeration to say free when you’ve got two sick kids. It’s my shift. At home, I mean. An afternoon in the operating theatre is a lot more relaxing.
– Sorry. But this is important.
Only now did he hold out his free hand. – Finn Olav, but I guess you remember. He pointed to the bundle. – Don’t let this fool you. The infant lay with its head resting against his shoulder and looked quite contented. – He starts screaming the moment I try to put him down.
Finn Olav indicated that she should go into the room first.
– He’s kept it up all night. Have a seat.
She sat on one of the straight-backed chairs by the dining table. – It’s about the patient who was murdered.
– The patient? For a moment there I was worried it might be something to do with Zoran.
She looked up at him. – Zoran, why him?
Finn Olav carried on pacing up and down with the bundled infant held to his shoulder. – Well, I know you and he have—
– You examined the patient when he was admitted, she interrupted.
– Correct.
– According to the papers, you didn’t give him any medication apart from paracetamol.
– Correct.
– And yet he had a high concentration of morphine in his blood when he died.
Finn Olav stopped so abruptly that the baby’s eyes opened.
– That’s nonsense. Guaranteed one hundred and ten per cent.
– The test results show that you’re wrong, she insisted. – No matter how many per cent certain you are.
He shook his head. The infant wriggled.
�
� He didn’t get so much as a single nano-gram of morphine from me.
– And not from anyone else either?
He rolled his eyes. – The man had been unconscious, probably a minor injury to the head. It was necessary that he be observed without being under the influence of strong painkillers. That’s kindergarten stuff.
She knew that too.
– If necessary, he could be given another paracetamol. Nothing stronger, and certainly not without contacting me first.
– Did you discuss it with anyone?
He shook his head. – Would I bother anyone on call with something like that? I rang Zoran to get the okay for the admission. Zoran had seen the patient in the corridor at the emergency unit. There was no need for him to come down from the operating theatre for something like that. After all, I’ve had almost four years’ experience in the unit. He held up four fingers, gave them a little wave.
– Could the nurses have given him something without your permission?
– If so, then they need stringing up. And I shall personally make sure that whoever did it is boiled alive first.
He appeared to be thinking about it. – These are experienced people, after all. I know some of the nurses can start to get ideas, boss people around and carry on as if they had ten years at university rather than three years at nursing college. But none of them are that stupid.
The little boy began whimpering. Finn Olav bounced him up and down, not that it seemed to do much good. – And he hadn’t taken anything before he was admitted?
– The admission tests show no trace of morphine.
– What does it say in his journal?
She took several deep breaths, suddenly dizzied by the bouncing of the baby, as though it were her who was being lifted up and down like that.
– Nothing about painkillers, she said.
Finn Olav tut-tutted and shook his had. – Bit of a cock-up. And then not entering it in the journal.
He whistled; it might have been the opening bars of Beethoven’s Fifth, though rather than being despondent, he seemed to be deriving a curious enjoyment from the situation.
– If it was a cock-up, Jennifer murmured.
Certain Signs that You are Dead Page 30