When she emerged from the lift on the fifth floor, Lydia was standing there.
– I was just looking for you, she exclaimed. – You look pale.
Jennifer leaned against the wall for support.
– Didn’t get much sleep. My sinuses are blocked. Nothing serious.
Lydia linked arms with her, walked her down the corridor, opened the door to Jennifer’s office.
– Sit down on the sofa, she said after she closed the door.
She filled a mug with water, put it in front of Jennifer.
– You wanted to talk to me?
Lydia nodded. – I need to check some of our results again. There’s something that doesn’t add up. Rather odd.
Jennifer nodded at her computer. Right at this moment, there were few things that meant less to her than the research project.
She tried to pull herself together. – It’s on. I’ll find the images for you.
Lydia raised a hand. – It can wait. You’re driving yourself too hard. She gave her a professional look. – You’d better go home and rest, she said firmly. – We’re going to the cabin tonight. By the time you arrive tomorrow, everything will be ready.
Jennifer couldn’t face telling her the truth, that this was about the last thing she wanted to do.
– Table laid and spiders’ webs removed.
Lydia said it with a smile, probably recalling the arachnophobia Jennifer had once offered as the reason why she had left her homeland.
Just then the phone rang. Roar Horvath.
– I have to take this.
Jennifer got to her feet, still unsteady. She should have contacted him long ago. Told him her own son was involved in some way or other and that she needed to give a statement. She should have offered her profound apologies for not having told him at once. Withdrawn from any further active involvement in the investigation.
– I was actually just about to call you, she said after Lydia had let herself out, and at least it wasn’t a very big lie.
– What did you want to talk to me about? His voice sounded sharp, and it occurred to her that he might have already found out about Sigurd.
– Something I discovered as I was going through the test results, she said quickly. – Ibro Hakanovic was given a large dose of morphine at the hospital, but there’s no record of it in his journal.
Brief pause.
– And that means?
– Hard to say. Someone might have given it to him as the result of a misunderstanding and said nothing in the hope that the mistake wouldn’t be found out.
– Or?
She thought about it, even though she’d already considered the possibility several times over the last few minutes.
– Or someone gave it to him for reasons other than medical.
– Trying to kill him?
– Hardly, the dose wasn’t big enough. But the aim might have been to slow him down.
She thought of something.
– Arash said he knew the patient had been given morphine. I think he said it was injected. I’m pretty sure that’s what he meant.
– Injected by whom?
– He didn’t say. Maybe it’s in his interrogation report.
– That could be checked.
– Or you could ask him now.
– No, we can’t.
– Why not?
He didn’t answer. Instead he said: – I hear you’re very friendly with one of the surgeons over there.
She felt her face burning up. And then anger.
– And if I am, what relevance does that have?
– Relevance to what?
– For the case.
– You’ve had access to a lot of privileged information. I’ve shared this with you on the understanding that you have no personal involvement with any of those connected to the case.
She hurried out into the corridor. The research student was standing there, trying to say something or other to her, something about the computer. Jennifer waved her away with her free hand.
– And now you’ve heard that I do in fact have such an involvement? she said to Roar Horvath.
He made a guttural sound, of uncertain meaning, but it wasn’t pretty.
– This surgeon is apparently friendly with Arash Rahimi. And you knew that.
She didn’t respond.
– The point is, Roar Horvath went on, – that information was given to you in strictest confidence, and what we’re finding now is that there is one hell of a mess of interconnected stuff here. Had I known about this, my approach to you would have been different.
She stopped at the lift, her anger suddenly gone, dreading like a child what she was about to say, what still remained unsaid.
– Sorry, she said weakly. – I didn’t mean to cause trouble for you.
Again that guttural noise from the other end.
She opened her mouth to tell him that her association with those involved in the case went much, much deeper than he thought.
– I did the job I was asked to do, she began.
– You have done a great deal more, Roar Horvath growled. – You’ve really fucked things up and made a right hash of things, and now I have to get out there and sort it out.
She tried to imagine where out there might be.
– I can explain—
– I just hope you can, he interrupted. – Because it won’t be to me.
He hung up. It was past nine o clock; the departmental meeting had started long ago. She was never absent without leaving a message. The phone was still in her hand. She ought to call Roar Horvath again. He had to be told about Sigurd. And about Katja and the connection with Ibro Hakanovic, about the woman with a limp, who might well be in Oslo, hunting down her son.
Instead she called Sigurd. When she got no answer, she tried the hotel. They claimed to have no record of anyone with that name there.
– He arrived yesterday, she explained. – Blond, well-built young man, good looking. With a dark woman. She speaks Swedish.
Short pause.
– Who is this?
– This is his mother.
A sound that might have been a snigger.
– They aren’t here now.
– Yes they are.
– They checked out fifteen minutes ago.
41
Back seat of a taxi. Katja with her head pressed against his chest, clammy hands under his T-shirt. Sigurd felt as though she wanted to crawl inside him. He sat up straight, released himself from the pressure of her body.
– I’m glad, she said suddenly.
He didn’t know what she was referring to and didn’t respond.
– You aren’t, though. Think I can’t tell?
He glanced up at the rear-view mirror, the driver’s eyes following the traffic in the road ahead.
– Maybe you’ll be happy about it. One day.
He wouldn’t be. She would never have a place in his life. That was what he ought to say to her, use those very words. But first help her out of this mess she’d got herself into.
– When I’m with you, she said, her voice so low he could pretend he hadn’t heard. – I don’t know. I know almost nothing. But when I’m with you, I know who I am.
He looked out at Ullevål stadium, fixed his gaze on one of the floodlights.
– Since I met you, everything’s changed, Sigurd. I can get away from all the crap. Once and for all.
Her phone rang.
– Shouldn’t you take that? he asked when she made no move to do so.
– Why should I?
He grabbed it out of her bag.
– It’s Sting, he said. – We need to hear what this is, okay?
He swiped the answer icon, held the phone to her ear.
There was a mumbled conversation, monosyllabic words, reluctant, or frightened, or indifferent. He grew even more irritated.
– Any news from Gangland? he said as soon as she put the phone back into her bag. He hadn’t intended to adopt that tone, but
couldn’t stop himself. – Has your friend found out what happened down there? he asked in a more neutral voice.
She leaned her head against his chest again. – Everyone he’s talked to denies all knowledge of it. Mujo and the boy.
– You’ve got to tell me everything this Sting guy said.
She wriggled a little. – He’s had a meeting with some of the guys in the same gang as Ibro. If they get this gun, they’ll leave me alone. Or if I get rid of it myself once and for all.
– And if it should ever somehow re-emerge?
– Well what do you think would happen?
Again he tried to imagine it.
– Helping them get rid of crucial evidence in a murder case doesn’t bother you?
She scraped a nail across her cheek; a tiny drop of blood appeared in one of the cuts. – I can’t think like that. Not if I’m going to get out of this.
He thought of something. – Give me the other phone. The one with the message from Ibro.
She did as he said. He navigated to it.
You’re the only one who knows where the proof is … I can prove … Katja, you must fetch them.
He played it again a couple of time. Should have asked Zoran what was being said in Bosnian. Wondered whether to call him.
– He says pick them up. Them. Is there more than one gun?
– No.
– Do you know someone called Ludmilla Golobova or something like that?
She shook her head.
– He mentions the name several times. Or something that sounds like that. Think.
– Don’t you understand? I’m thinking all the time.
– You said something about Ibro’s mother. When we were at the hotel.
She peered up at him, her eyes glazed.
– What about her?
– You said she was dead.
Katja changed position slightly. – She was killed when she refused to leave her daughter. In the camp where they were held prisoner. They were carrying out experiments there.
– Experiments? On the prisoners?
She didn’t answer.
– They weren’t in a fucking Nazi concentration camp, Sigurd protested. He saw the flash of anger in her eyes.
– Okay. He clenched his fists, relaxed them again. – It just sounds a bit … extreme.
– It is extreme.
They turned off the ring road. Sigurd explained where the hotel was; the driver looked at him in the mirror.
– I know, he said.
Sigurd looked away. Just then a phone rang, his own this time.
– Haven’t you spoken to them yet? Jenny said, her voice full of reproach.
– To who?
– You were going to go to the police. We made an agreement—
– Listen, he interrupted her, and she fell silent, but he didn’t know what to say.
– You have really got to wake up now, she said suddenly.
– What’s the matter with you? he replied angrily.
He heard her take several deep breaths before she responded.
– We are talking about four murders, Sigurd. You possess information that is important to the investigation. And this gang could be after you too.
– It’s not like you think, he protested.
– And how do I think?
– You think Katja has done something that—
– That’s what you said.
He felt as if he was about to take a huge gamble. – It’s possible Ibro was killed because of something that happened years ago.
– Don’t be ridiculous.
– His mother and sister were killed in Bosnia.
– What are you talking about?
– They were held in a camp. Apparently experiments were being done on the prisoners. Ibro spoke to Katja about it a lot. He was gathering evidence. Someone might have found out. Followed him to the hospital.
He heard a sound at the other end, as though she had dropped the phone on the floor. A few seconds later, she was back on the line.
– And why do you believe these stories? There was still anger in her voice. He could never handle it, always ended up doing something to get her sounding normal again.
– The people Katja knows in Malmö say they don’t understand any of what’s happened.
– And what does that prove?
– There’s something else. Ibro left a voice message on Katja’s phone. I think maybe he refers to it there. This thing that happened in Bosnia.
– And you have access to this message?
Sigurd explained. She cut him off.
– If he’s speaking Bosnian, how do you know what he’s saying?
– Only some of it is in Bosnian.
He had another thought.
– In the café, you asked me about a woman with a limp. Could her name be Ludmilla Golobova or something like that? I think he mentions that name several times.
– I don’t know, Sigurd. If you bring the phone here, I’ll get Zoran to listen to the message.
– Zoran has already heard it.
– He has?
– Last night, when he was with us.
– And?
– And what?
– What did he think?
– Nothing special. He asked if he could take the phone with him.
– I’ll call you back, she groaned. – And I want you to answer at once.
They pulled up in front of the hotel. He got Katja to sit up.
– Wait here. He nodded to the driver, opened the boot, took out the bags, walked in with Katja.
– I think you’re wrong about what Ibro was trying to say, she told him as they stood in the hotel reception.
– Maybe, he answered, relieved that she seemed to have woken up a bit.
– I need to get up there and find that gun.
He shook his head. – I’ll do that. You wait here.
She stared at him. – That’s not going to happen. You’re not to go there. Ever.
The look she gave him reminded him of when they first met. As though it might after all be possible to live with her. The thought was there for a second, maybe two. And then gone, and again that feeling of being stifled. Something’s wrong with me, he thought. I’ll never be able share my life with anyone.
– I don’t have any choice, he said, and that was what it felt like. If I’m to be able to leave you, he added to himself, then I must do this for you. And then we’re even.
As though it was all about an unpaid bill.
42
A few months previously, Arash had seen an advert on TV for trainers. Running turned into a state that required no energy from the runner, all the energy coming from the soles of the shoes. That was how it felt now. As though his new shoes sucked up power through the farm track and ran it through his body. A tractor stood out in the yard with its engine running, but he didn’t see anyone there. He jogged on between the fields and up to the forest track, into the smell of the corn, of cow muck and yellow flowers he didn’t know the name of.
Suddenly he stopped. Not because he was tired, though he was breathing deep in his chest. He stood there and listened. A slight wind in the spruce trees, almost in rhythm with his own breath. The sound of a tractor, far away now. In the sky above, a plane dragged its tail of white foam through the blue.
The birds.
They sounded different. He was able to distinguish the various notes. Some as thin as needle points, others long, dark threads. But they wanted nothing of him. It was nothing more than birdsong, and it hurt to know that. No one saw him, no one knew he was here; from now on, he was on his own.
On the headland where they had bathed, he stopped and looked out. A breeze had risen, small ruffles on the black surface of the water. A length of security tape still dangling there. He ducked under it, found the path between the trees, followed it up beside the stream. Came to the fallen pine, started across to the other side, slipped on a rotten branch, one foot dangling in the water, his shoe soaked
so that it squished with every step he took as he walked on through the trees. He had to look for a while before he found the bog and the little slope he had climbed up. Again he stopped to listen out. Nothing but the wind and the birds. The sun was high, but the clouds were rushing in from all sides, and as the light greyed, a few drops of rain fell in his hair. He scuttled down the other side, landing right next to the boulders, crept in below them. He stayed in that little shelter for a long time, looking out at the rain, at the drops that placed themselves one by one on the fern leaves.
He closed his eyes. Imagined it had been here he hid during his flight. Imagined the person in black suddenly appearing at the edge of the clearing, heard the approaching steps. A branch snapping. He started, lay motionless until he had regained his composure.
When he looked up, there was no one. He got up, stood where his pursuer had stood, stepped slowly over to the place where he had lain hidden, stood there until at last he could see Arash stand up. The head visible first, then the chest, the hips, the dangling genitals in the bracken. Arms outstretched, as though begging for his life.
I see you, Arash. You can go now.
The naked body turns and disappears between the trees.
By the time he arrived back at the fallen pine trunk, the rain was heavier. He raised his face and stuck out his tongue. At that moment he felt an overpowering thirst. He fell to his knees and, bending his face, lapped at the surface of the water. It tasted of earth and metal.
Looking into the liquid mirror, he could see the face from his dream, the bony, chalk-white outline around the empty eyes. His own appeared behind it, as though it rose towards him from the bottom of the stream, the eyes still indistinct. But it is you, he murmured.
– You shouldn’t drink that water.
He whirled round, got to his feet, for a moment shot through with what had made him flee. Then he realised that the man standing on the other side of the stream was wearing uniform, and a cap with a police badge on it.
– Dead animals, the policeman explained. – And all the dogs that run around up here and shit.
Arash dried around his mouth. – I guess I’ll live.
The policeman shook his head slowly. – Where you come from, you’re probably not used to clean water.
Arash had to laugh, and it felt good. – We mostly drink sewage, he said.
Certain Signs that You are Dead Page 31