* * *
“I hear you’re good with a baseball bat,” said the man who introduced himself as Roger Gjessing.
“That’s not widely known. I assume you heard about it from people you can trust,” replied Sving.
“Karlstad and I are old friends.”
“How do you know each other?”
Did this man know Ane too? Sving felt an irrational twinge of jealousy.
“That’s not important. The point is that when Karlstad tells me something about his colleagues, he knows I’ll keep my mouth shut. And when he sends me somebody to do a job, I know he’s the right man for that job.”
Sving studied him carefully. A short, slightly chubby man with a shuffling gait, around fifty or sixty, a dangerous age. He wore a corduroy jacket and glasses that kept sliding down his nose. Rather professorial and shabby looking, but with a nervous intensity about him that might be a substitute for his lack of authority. A man who knew what he wanted but could never trust that he’d get what he asked for. The house he lived in spoke of money. And Sving guessed it was old money.
After parking in the driveway outside the house and ringing the bell, he’d been shown into a room filled with bookcases and art that even Sving could tell had cost big bucks.
Now they were sitting on plain-looking designer chairs, slightly worn, with a coffee table between them. Sving had been offered something to drink, and he’d said yes to a bottle of water. Gjessing was sipping a whiskey that was called something Sving couldn’t even pronounce.
“A book has gone missing,” said Gjessing. His voice was sharp and urgent, like chalk on a blackboard.
“A book. Is that the job? To find a book?”
“It’s not just any book. It’s worth a lot of money.”
“One book? A lot of money?”
“Not many people think that books are valuable. But the truth is that books are among the most valuable of collectibles in the marketplace. A single book can sell for millions.”
“And it’s that kind of book?”
Gjessing sipped his whiskey almost anxiously, the way a hunted deer might graze in open countryside.
“Maybe not millions, but it’s definitely valuable. It’s a Burton. A first edition.”
“A what?”
“We’ll go over the details once you agree to take the job. The thing is that I inherited a number of valuable books from my uncle. But one of the books, apparently the most valuable of the lot, has disappeared from his estate.”
“I assume you had an accurate list of your uncle’s books?”
“I’ve known for a long time what I would inherit. The book we’re talking about has suddenly popped up in London. I have contacts in the book world, and I know that someone went there to inquire about the book’s value. Somebody wants to put it on the market.”
“And do you know who this person is?”
“I have a picture of him. It was taken by my contact in London.”
Gjessing showed Sving a picture on his cell phone. Sving didn’t recognize the man until he heard his name.
“The man in the photo is Odd Singsaker, a police officer from Trondheim. There was a break-in at my uncle’s place right before he died. The police investigated. I assume that’s when he must have made off with it.”
“This country is going to the dogs. We can’t even trust the police anymore,” said Sving, smiling.
“Personally, I don’t trust anybody. I want the book back, and at the same time I want to send a clear message to this policeman.”
“Excuse me for asking,” said Sving and then paused for effect. “But if I take this job, we need to have all the cards on the table. Why don’t you just go to the police and tell them that something was stolen from you?”
The man gave him a long look, took a sip of his whiskey, and said:
“What do you think?”
“I think there’s something in what you said at the very beginning. Not everyone realizes the value of old books. And since we’re talking about your uncle, that means there must be other heirs to his estate.”
“There are five cousins. He had no children of his own and no living siblings. We divided up the estate among us. The biggest rivalry was for the artwork and crystal glasses, plus some cash found inside a mattress from his boat. I was happy to settle for the old ‘worthless’ books. No one, not even the estate’s executor, had any idea what they might be worth.”
“I see,” said Sving. “You don’t like to share. Not to mention the inheritance taxes you won’t have to pay. It’s understandable that you wouldn’t want to get the police involved. Just get the book back and deliver a slap on the hand. What do I get in return?”
“It’s impossible to say what a book like this might go for. The copy was in first-class condition. But we’re talking about close to fifty or sixty thousand pounds. You get 50 percent as a finder’s fee. The money isn’t that important to me. It’s the book I want. It may be one of the best preserved copies in the whole world.”
* * *
Sving packed his bag. The plane to London left in three hours. He’d decided to take the airport bus and needed to get over to the bus stop. He needed to leave early because he wanted to check his baggage. Passengers were not allowed to carry on things like baseball bats.
He hadn’t tried to jack up the price of the job. He’d made up his mind to take it the minute he heard the name of the cop. Odd Singsaker. He was the shithead who’d shot Ane and later found the evidence that could put her in prison.
Sving had been looking for some way to repay her for not implicating him after she was arrested. Now he didn’t need to look any further.
He closed up the suitcase and lifted it off the bed where they had made love so roughly. Then he went through the kitchen to the living room.
And there he was, standing in the middle of the room. He was fully dressed, wearing pants and a sweater. His hair had grown long after so many months in the basement, but it looked clean and neat.
“Sondre?”
“Pappa!”
They just stood there, staring at each other.
“It’s time for me to get up,” said Sondre after a moment.
“You’re going to get out of bed now?”
“Yes. Aren’t you proud of me?”
Sving nodded pensively.
“What’s with the suitcase? Are you going somewhere?”
“I’ve phoned your grandmother. She’s going to come over and cook for you. I didn’t know you’d be up. If I’d known…”
“You can’t leave now. I’ve spent weeks getting ready. I think I can do it now.”
Sving looked down at the floor, not daring to meet his son’s eye.
“This trip is important for both of us.”
“Pappa, are you serious?”
“I’ll be on Facebook,” said Sving, walking past him. The only sound was the creaking of the wheels on his roller bag as it moved across the floor.
At the front door he turned around and called:
“I’ll be gone a week, tops. Then we’ll make a fresh start.”
He didn’t begin to shake until he was sitting in the airport bus.
ALSO BY JØRGEN BREKKE
Where Monsters Dwell
Dreamless
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
JORGEN BREKKE was born in the small town of Horten, Norway, and currently lives there with his family. Brekke has been a teacher and a freelance journalist, before becoming a full-time novelist. He’s the author of Where Monsters Dwell and Dreamless, the first two in the Odd Singsaker series. You can sign up for email updates here.
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<
br /> Contents
Title Page
Copyright Notice
Epigraphs
Prologue
Chapter 1
Part I: Phlegm
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Part II: Black Bile
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Part III: Blood
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Part IV: Yellow Bile
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Epilogue
Also by Jørgen Brekke
About the Author
Copyright
This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
THE FIFTH ELEMENT. Copyright © 2013 by Jørgen Brekke. Translation copyright © 2017 by Steven T. Murray. All rights reserved. For information, address St. Martin’s Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, N.Y. 10010.
www.minotaurbooks.com
Cover design by David Baldeosingh Rotstein
Cover art: Menneskets-natur by Peter Stoltze
Cover photographs: gilded book cover © stevemart / Shutterstock.com; night street © 2265524729 / Shutterstock.com
The Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is available upon request.
ISBN 978-1-250-07391-4 (hardcover)
ISBN 978-1-4668-8541-7 (e-book)
e-ISBN 9781466885417
Our books may be purchased in bulk for promotional, educational, or business use. Please contact your local bookseller or the Macmillan Corporate and Premium Sales Department at 1-800-221-7945, extension 5442, or by e-mail at [email protected].
First published in Norway as Menneskets natur by Gyldendal Norsk Forlag, 2013
First U.S. Edition: February 2017
The Fifth Element Page 29