by Anne Holt
Still she sat there, quiet as a mouse. I couldn’t see her, but I suddenly saw a hare in my mind’s eye, a little brown terrified hare pressing itself to the ground, thinking it can make itself invisible.
A sense of unease spread around her.
‘Answer the question, then.’
‘She asked you a question.’
‘I didn’t know that the storm had eased at around three o’clock,’ said Kari Thue, without getting up. ‘How can you say that I —’
‘When the rumour started,’ I interrupted her. ‘When people started saying that Cato Hammer had run away, you added weight to the theory of a stolen snowmobile by informing everyone that the storm had eased just then.’
‘I suppose I must have been awake at about three,’ said Kari Thue, still invisible to me. ‘There’s nothing odd about it, I just happened to be awake! I noticed things were calmer outside.’
‘Yes,’ I agreed. ‘You were awake. And yes, the storm had in fact eased for a while just then. The weather log confirms that.’
Now she got to her feet. She smiled triumphantly at her entourage and they smiled back, with a slight hint of anxiety.
‘Exactly. In which case I don’t really understand why—’
‘However, you did state that you were asleep,’ I broke in. ‘In the morning when you came down into the lobby, you complained about how heavily you had slept. You believed it was irresponsible of Berit to let the guests sleep all night. We could all have had concussion, you insisted, and should have been woken up.’
‘But I —’
‘Judging by the evidence, Cato Hammer was murdered at about three o’clock. Were you asleep or were you awake? At three o’clock, I mean. I think you have to choose one or the other, since it isn’t possible to combine the two alternatives. When were you lying; then or just now?’
It occurred to me that I liked this. I was enjoying it.
‘I was ... I was awake. But only for a few minutes because I ... I had to go to the loo. Then I slept heavily.’
‘OK.’
I adopted an indifferent expression before turning my attention to Mikkel.
‘So I expect you went to the loo as well. At about three o’clock in the morning on Thursday.’
He blushed. He actually blushed.
‘We’ll leave it there,’ I said. Tor the time being, anyway. But let’s ask everybody else: who was awake at three o’clock on Thursday morning?’
An arm was raised. It was one of the staff, a lad of no more than twenty who had spent more or less the whole time since the accident in the smallest of the offices behind reception.
‘I was on night duty,’ he said tentatively. ‘I was in the office all the time.’
One of the doctors gave a sign.
‘I was awake for most of the night,’ he said, without any attempt to disguise the sarcasm in his voice as he went on. ‘As some people might remember, there was a terrible storm. It kept me awake. But I didn’t get out of bed.’
Another hand went up. And another. Several more followed. In the end I was able to establish that no fewer than thirty-two people admitted to having been awake for the whole night or parts of it. All of them, except for the lad on night duty, swore that they had remained in their rooms. Most of them had been sharing a room with others, but this didn’t really constitute an alibi. Kari Thue was right about one thing, anyway: most people had enjoyed a deep, dreamless sleep after the violent experience and the depredations of Wednesday 14 February.
‘And what about you,’ I said, looking at Adrian. ‘Were you asleep?’
‘Me? Why the fuck are you asking me? I wasn’t fucking sleeping. I mean, I was sleeping in the same ...’ He stopped and started again. ‘I was sleeping in the lobby. Just a few metres from you, for fuck’s sake.’
‘And what about you,’ I said to Veronica. ‘As I understand it, you were the only person who begged for a single room right away on Wednesday?’
‘I didn’t beg,’ she replied calmly. ‘Nobody wanted to share a room with me. I got the distinct impression early on that I’m not exactly what you’d call popular.’
She looked me straight in the eye.
She didn’t mention Adrian. She didn’t reveal that the boy would have been more than happy to share far more than a room with her.
That was considerate. Almost kind. Adrian had been holding his breath. Now he let it seep out slowly as he picked at a spot near the top of his nose.
‘In that case I am really only interested in you two,’ I said.
The Kurdish man looked at me in surprise.
‘Us?’ he said enquiringly, running his thumb over his beard. ‘We were asleep, of course. I’m afraid we’re in the same situation as her. Nobody exactly complained when my wife and I were given a room to ourselves.’
The alleged wife gazed at her folded hands without expressing anything at all. A few seconds passed, and she gave no sign of either confirming or contradicting the man’s statement.
Another loud snort came from the direction of the window.
‘Kari Thue,’ I said, and had to swallow in order to control my voice. ‘Is there something you’d like to say? Something you’d like to share with the rest of us?’
Per Langerud cleared his throat. I had almost forgotten him, in spite of the fact that his brooding figure was just a metre away, off to the side behind my chair. I turned my head and noticed him glance almost imperceptibly at his left wrist.
‘Two minutes,’ I whispered with my hand covering my mouth. ‘Give me two more minutes.’
I didn’t know if he had agreed to my request before I raised my voice dramatically and said:
‘Kari Thue. What have you got in your handbag?’
‘That’s got nothing to do with you.’
‘No. But I expect the police will want to know what’s in there.’
Langerud took a step closer and gently touched my shoulder. I understood the warning, but I couldn’t give up yet. Nor did I want to.
‘If you have nothing to hide, then I don’t see why it’s a problem to tell us what’s in your bag. I mean, you never let it out of your sight. Is it something valuable? Or is it something more ... compromising?’
‘I don’t have to put up with this!’
She was on her feet again, pressing herself against the window with her arms wrapped around that ridiculous bag that looked like a rucksack.
‘Nobody ... nobody can insist on looking in my bag!’
So far she was quite right. Nobody could insist on looking through her things. What’s more, I had a pretty clear idea of what was in there.
Presumably she was carrying around some kind of electronic device. A USB drive, perhaps. A memory stick. It wasn’t many weeks since I read that she was just finishing a book based on her work on the documentary film Deliver Us From Evil. The title of the book was to be For Ours Is The Kingdom, and was expected to do well in the bestseller lists in the autumn.
Whenever Nefis is nearing the end of a scientific work, she becomes paranoid about losing any of it. The small diskettes are therefore stashed everywhere, at home and in the car, in her study and in the office down in the cellar, in case of fire, burglary, a computer crash or indeed nuclear war. Nefis and Kari Thue have very little in common. However, I presumed that most writers share the fear that a piece of work to which they have devoted a great deal of time could be lost.
Kari Thue also had something else in her bag. Something she didn’t want us to see. It could be something quite innocent, like a packet of cigarettes. Apart from her anti-Muslim crusade, she wielded her sword against all forms of tobacco products, and had played a not insignificant role in shaping opinion when the new smoking ban was introduced. A packet of cigarettes in her handbag would of course be embarrassing. Or she could be hiding something a little more spicy, such as a clever little aid from one of those shops you might prefer to access via the computer in your own bedroom. The bag wasn’t large, but it was big enough.
I
assumed.
No doubt she had make-up. A packet of chewing gum or throat sweets. A notebook, pens and a little pack of tissues. I presumed that the contents of Kari Thue’s bag were more or less typical of her sex, apart from the fact that there was something in it that she wanted to keep to herself at all costs. I intended to let her do so.
All she had done was sleep with Mikkel. She was probably in love with him. He had spent part of the night after the accident with Kari Thue, and had shown a certain amount of interest in the endless, monotonous message she spread. But that was all. The quarrel I had observed between them was presumably a good old-fashioned break-up. Unpleasantly done, of course, dumping someone at a table where lots of other people could hear, but neither of them had done anything criminal.
Kari Thue was still standing up.
The people around her were looking curiously at her bag, which she was clutching to her chest as if it were a beloved child someone was threatening to snatch away from her. Her eyes were big and wet; she was on the point of bursting into tears.
Kari Thue would be allowed to keep her secrets.
Before I met her, when I knew only the hard, impersonal debater from the television, radio and press, I despised her. Now I despised only what she stood for. I felt nothing but sympathy for Kari Thue herself. She was so afraid all the time, without really being aware of it. I have also lived a life where I was constantly afraid without realizing that was what I was. Fear made me withdraw and retreat inside myself. In Kari Thue, the fear created anger, an implacable, stubborn rage that was directed at far too many people.
Ever since Cato Hammer was murdered, I had hoped she would be behind his death. The need to hurt this person, to see her fall, be humiliated and destroyed, the desire to unmask Kari Thue had been so pressing that I had almost thought I could pull it off.
I feel sorry for people like Kari Thue.
But she hadn’t murdered anyone.
‘Sit down,’ I said calmly.
She looked at me suspiciously. The tears spilled over. Someone sitting nearby started sniggering. She was still clutching the bag. Her chin trembled and she was biting her lower lip, not daring to sit down.
‘You can sit down,’ I said. ‘Nobody is going to look in your bag.’
People looked from me to her, back and forth, as if we were playing tennis.
‘Adrian,’ I said, and all eyes turned to the new player.
The boy didn’t respond.
‘Yesterday morning,’ I said. ‘Yesterday morning I was sitting talking to Roar Hanson. You remember that.’
Adrian leaned back on the sofa with an expression indicating that he had no interest whatsoever in anything that was being said.
‘You interrupted us,’ I went on. ‘And Roar Hanson said something to you. You responded by telling him to mind his own business, in rather less polite terms. You remember that. Don’t you? Adrian? Adrian?’
I put all my strength into my voice. The lady with the knitting let out a terrified squeal, but Adrian still didn’t react. He pulled out a long strand of chewing gum then stuffed it back in his mouth, showing no interest whatsoever. I carried on:
‘I thought Roar Hanson said: “Wash your hands every day”. Which was of course a peculiar thing to say. But then Roar Hanson was a strange man. After Cato Hammer’s death, at any rate. I couldn’t really understand why he should be concerned about your hygiene, even if you definitely did need a shower.’
Like many others, I thought; the air was heavy with body odour and bitter coffee in spite of the high ceiling.
‘Then I asked you earlier today what he had actually said. I still suspected strongly that I had misheard. It was difficult to understand why you would react so violently to a quiet admonition to wash your hands.’
‘I can’t deal with this any more,’ said Adrian, suddenly getting to his feet. ‘I’m off. I’m not sitting here and —’
‘You’re going nowhere!’
Per Langerud took a step towards the young lad. Adrian sat down hesitantly. For a moment it looked as if he were weighing up the odds of getting away if he ran for it. They were dire. As indifferently as possible, he leaned back against the cushions.
‘Today you said he had told you to “watch yourself”,’ I said. ‘That was probably when I realized what he had actually said.’ I let my gaze roam across the room. ‘Because, you see, I am slightly hard of hearing. It isn’t really a major problem, but I don’t like not being able to see the person I’m talking to. If I get distracted for a moment, as I was during the conversation to which I am now referring, I don’t always pick up the whole sentence. With experience and association skills, it’s usually fine. But not always.’
An impatient whispering began to spread around the room. The smaller children were getting restless. Their parents were doing their best to keep them quiet, but I thought most people seemed genuinely interested in what I had to say.
‘This is almost like a word game,’ I said, looking at Adrian. ‘You told me the first word he said to you was “watch”. “Watch yourself”. Not “wash”. You insisted that was all he said, but I know there was more since the sentence “wash your hands daily” doesn’t make any sense.’
Someone giggled, the knitter laughed out loud.
‘So I started working on associations. It was easy. What Roar Hanson said when you came over to us was —’
‘You can’t know what he said,’ shouted Adrian. ‘You’re practically deaf, for fuck’s sake. You said so yourself! You can’t.’
Veronica had sat there motionless and silent the whole time, like the wax doll she resembled. Now she placed her slender hand on his thigh, and he stopped speaking at once.
‘“Watch yourself with her, she’s dangerous”.’
I said it loudly and very slowly.
‘That’s what Roar Hanson said to you when you replied “fuck you”, and it was Veronica he was looking at when he said it.’
Nobody said anything. Nobody moved. It was as if everyone wanted to go through my reasoning for themselves, they wanted to double check and work out whether it really was possible to mishear like that. They sat there lost in their own thoughts, their mouths moving soundlessly, tasting the words, the rhythm of the sentence, the uneven rhymes, and eventually they concluded that there was a logic in it.
There was still total silence. Even the children understood that something significant was happening; they clung anxiously and silently to their parents.
‘Your socks were wet,’ I said, looking at Veronica. ‘That’s why you had to borrow Adrian’s the following morning. It was Cato Hammer who insisted on going outside. He was so afraid when you made contact that he wanted to get as far away as possible from anyone who might hear you. You sought him out before the information meeting. Told him that your mother had recently died, and said that you wanted to have a serious talk with him. When you met during the night as agreed, and to be honest I don’t know where, he wanted to go outside for safety’s sake.’
I paused, and got the feeling that everyone was holding their breath.
After Cato Hammer’s death I couldn’t understand how someone had managed to lure him outside. It was only when I realized he must have been the one who wanted it that way that the pieces began to fit together.
‘You didn’t go far,’ I went on. ‘You were probably standing beneath the roof. He was just outside. You weren’t wearing any shoes. Most people had been in their stocking feet all evening, once the floor had dried and nobody was bringing snow in from outside. Looking for your boots in the middle of the night would have been much too great a risk. You went out in your stocking feet. When you came back in, your socks were covered in snow, which melted and left them soaking wet.’
Everyone looked at Veronica’s red socks.
‘That’s bullshit!’ Adrian yelled. ‘They weren’t wet. That’s not why Veronica wanted to borrow my socks. Her feet were cold, for fuck’s sake! That’s all – her feet were cold!’
; She placed her hand on his thigh once again.
‘This isn’t true,’ she said calmly.
‘Yes,’ I said. ‘More or less.’
Her face was no longer so pale. I thought I could see a faint hint of pink across her cheekbones and her mouth, which was turning upwards in a slight, almost imperceptible smile.
‘But of course a pair of socks is not enough,’ I said. ‘Your name is Veronica Larsen, isn’t it?’
She just looked at me. That Mona Lisa smile was still there.
‘Your name is actually Veronica K. Larsen,’ I said, emphasising the K, ‘or at least that’s how you’re registered on Berit Tverre’s list of the passengers from the train. And I would guess that K stands for Koht. Your mother’s surname.’
She shook her head slightly.
I rolled my chair a little closer, while making an effort to look as weary as possible. Presumably I overdid it, because some of the handball players started giggling. There were now three metres between me and Veronica Koht Larsen. I stopped and put the brakes on.
‘Finding out your name is the easiest thing in the world,’ I said calmly, looking her in the eye. ‘It would just be foolish to —’
‘It’s true,’ she interrupted. ‘Koht is my middle name.’
‘You mother is Margrete Koht,’ I said.
Now I was speaking only to her. I lowered my voice. Out of the corner of my eye I could see many of the others leaning towards us, some with a hand behind their ear. I didn’t help them; in fact I spoke even more quietly.
‘She was employed by the Public Information Service Foundation. An embezzlement took place within that organization. During 1998. A comprehensive deception that damaged the institution, and not only in terms of the financial loss. Your mother was picked out as the guilty party, and was later convicted. I have a strong feeling that she didn’t do it. She was either badly taken in, or perhaps ... persuaded. To accept the blame for something she hadn’t done at all.’
I think she blinked. I can’t be sure, my eyes were dry and smarting, and I was blinking myself the whole time. But I think her eyelids moved a fraction.
‘You brought a gun with you on this trip,’ I said. ‘Something that is obviously going to make the police wonder if the murder of Cato Hammer was planned. I’ll leave that for now.’