4
‘Yeees,’ Frølich intoned. ‘I’ll be on my guard if I see a car.’ He rang off and looked around. Cars everywhere.
He sat playing on his phone. Out of sheer boredom he played one of the older games. He had been sitting on a wooden chair in this multi-storey car park for several hours. The air was bad and the only sound to break the noise of the ventilation pipe was the crunch of tyres on concrete when a car rolled down the ramp at the other end of the building. A false alarm every time.
Playing a game was meant to pass the minutes. A strange figure ran to and fro across the screen while bombs dropped. Frank Frølich held the phone with both hands, using his thumbs on the arrow keys. He was obviously out of practice. He could barely get going before a sneaky bomb wiped out the poor guy, so he had to start again. It wasn’t particularly cold, but his fingers were still freezing and his bottom had begun to feel like wood. If you sat motionless for a long time the cold sneaked up on you anyway. Frølich adjusted his position on the kitchen chair as he surveyed the spacious, empty car park. There were hardly any cars parked.
He started the game and managed to keep going for a whole minute. He was getting the knack now. Amazing how quickly you were hooked, he thought, then lifted his head and listened. Was that a sound?
No. It was a bomb killing the poor guy on the display.
He was shivering and about to restart the game when a car accelerating on the floor above broke the silence. A customer leaving. Probably the fiftieth in the last half-hour.
Frølich put his phone in his pocket. Soon yellow headlights came down the ramp and the crunch of studded tyres drowned the sound of the engine. He waited for the driver to switch off. Frølich looked up. He was dazzled.
And wary.
The car passed him and parked right at the back.
Frølich listened to the engine idling. He was waiting for the driver to switch off his engine.
Why didn’t he? Didn’t he realise the exhaust fumes polluted the air?
As soon as the thought arose, he reacted on autopilot. Now he was on his guard. Instinctively he jumped up. Took two steps backwards and sensed rather than saw the shadow that launched itself at him. He twisted away ninety degrees and in so doing saved his own life. The knife that was pointed at his back cut through his jacket and tore into his side.
Frølich grabbed the man’s arm, swung him round and forced him down. Received another stab in the process. In the thigh this time. He screamed as the blade cut into his flesh. The man rolled away as Frølich fell.
Frølich stayed down, holding his thigh. Blood pumped out between his fingers.
He saw Lena running over. Raised his head. Behind her was Emil Yttergjerde.
‘I need someone who can patch up stab wounds,’ Frølich groaned. ‘Tell them it’s urgent.’
Yttergjerde knelt down, took off his scarf and wrapped it tight round Frølich’s thigh, near his groin. The whole of his trouser leg was wet and red, and it was impossible to see if the bleeding was stopping.
At that moment there was the clang of a metal gate slamming shut. The man was getting away!
Frølich and Emil exchanged glances. ‘We’ll sort this,’ Emil said, without much conviction.
Frølich turned his head and saw Lena sprinting for the gate.
5
The concourse was packed with people slowly surging back and forth. There were parents holding hands, or their children’s, young women side by side pushing prams, boys in a group with their phones and cameras out, girlfriends walking in fours, giggling. It was a dense mass of jackets of all colours and the gaps there were between people were filled with bulging carrier bags of Christmas presents. Lena pushed her way forwards, trying to focus on Steffen’s navy-blue jacket further ahead. One minute it was visible, the next lost in the crowd. He wasn’t wearing a hat and with every step his hair bounced off his neck. Trying to reduce the distance between them was like swimming against a strong current. People walked at a leisurely pace, pushing shopping trolleys, stopping suddenly or standing still and chatting. Bodies were everywhere and had to be nudged to force a way through. In return she was shoved and sworn at. Her thought-processes were blocked. She thought of Frølich and blamed herself.
Why hadn’t she run into the car park straightaway?
Why hadn’t she taken the car number when she first saw it? And where was Steffen now?
There. He was making for the escalator and looked over his shoulder. For an instant she caught his eye.
Now he was headed for the Metro. Lena broke into a run. Reached the long escalator going down. Took two steps at a time. Ahead of her she saw Steffen push people aside. Lena ran after him and received a shove in the back from an irritable man trying to manoeuvre a suitcase. She caught a glimpse of Steffen ahead, rounding two small children and colliding with a woman, who dropped two bags. He ran down to the platforms. Lena jumped over the bags and followed after him. She could already hear a train pulling in. She heard the doors open and reached the platform in three strides. The train stopped and waited. Had he got onto the train or not? She walked slowly alongside the carriages. Staring in through the windows and every open door she passed, scanning the platform. She couldn’t see him. She couldn’t bloody see him!
The signal sounded for the doors to close. She sensed a movement at the end of the platform. At that moment she hurled herself on board. The doors closed.
The train picked up speed. It was too late to jump off now. Was he on board or not? She looked out of the window at the platform. No reefer jacket. But the train was travelling faster and faster. Soon the people on the platform were one long blur. Then the train was in the tunnel.
She made her way forwards. Ploughed a passage between the passengers. Some looked at her, some looked at the ceiling, some clung to their bags of shopping. She pushed on.
It was impossible to see into the carriage ahead. She began to have her doubts. Had she lost him?
The train accelerated now. The carrriages lurched on the bends. Lena had to hold on tight.
The train roared into Stortinget Station.
The train came to a halt.
The doors opened. Lena got out and walked along the platform.
He was nowhere to be seen among the disgorged passengers. She stood by a door in the front carriage. One foot on the platform and one in the carriage.
Someone moved by the door ahead.
Again they had eye contact. Ten metres separated them. He was standing in one doorway. She stood in the other.
They held each other’s eyes. He raised a hand, a wave.
She stood still, staring back.
The expression in his eyes was vacant and cool. Not a single feeling, she noticed. Presumably there had never been any.
Last-minute passengers raced down the steps and threw themselves in.
Would he step out or hop back in?
She didn’t move.
The passengers had found seats.
Lena and Steffen were still watching each other.
The shrill signal indicated that the doors were closing.
She waited, waited and waited.
When he jumped out, she took a step to the right.
The doors slammed shut. He tried to prise them open and force his way back in. Without success. The train set off. He let go of the door.
The train disappeared into the tunnel.
The two of them were left on the platform, eyeing each other. Now she could read an unfamiliar expression on his face, a kind of half-embarrassed grimace. She understood. She had just observed a shred of dejection. The failed fugitive.
As he moved towards her she stood her ground.
Soon no more than a single metre separated them.
‘Bodil sends her regards,’ Lena said.
‘Who?’
‘Bodil Rømer, the mother of your best friend.’
He didn’t answer this time. But his eyes flitted around.
‘That was a digression,’ she
said. ‘What I meant to say was you’re under arrest.’
Her phone rang. She took it from her pocket and glanced at the display.
‘Just answer it,’ said Steffen, who seemed to have regained his composure.
It was Rindal. He wanted to know where she was. ‘Stortinget Station,’ she said. ‘Metro.’
Rindal wanted to know if she had everything under control.
‘Yes,’ she said, and hung up.
‘And what now?’ asked Steffen after she had put the phone back in her pocket.
Lena didn’t answer. He had heard what she said. If he wanted to pretend he hadn’t, that was his business. She motioned to the stairs with a nod of the head. ‘Shall we go?’
He didn’t move for a few seconds and looked at her in surprise, as though wondering if she was serious. In the end he shrugged his shoulders and made a move.
They walked slowly, side by side, up the staircase to the large concourse. There weren’t many people around. Steffen headed for the escalator.
Lena stood beside him, on the same step.
‘Jesus,’ he sighed. ‘Now you’re taking this a bit far, aren’t you?’
Lena didn’t answer.
A dark-haired teenage girl slowly glided down on the adjacent escalator. The girl looked at her first, then at Steffen. He thrust out an arm and pointed threateningly. ‘You, look away!’ he shouted.
The girl was shocked and continued with her eyes downcast.
Lena wondered how she should interpret the outburst. She had never seen him do anything like that. But now he seemed as calm as before, as though the incident had never taken place.
They were approaching the top of the escalator. They both stepped off. Both stopped. People who had been behind them on the escalator walked past and away.
They were alone. ‘Give me the knife,’ Lena said.
It took him time to answer. ‘What if I scarper?’ he said at length.
She clocked him from the side. His choice of words was childish. The idea was childish. She didn’t answer.
‘What will you do if I scarper now?’
‘As I said, this is an arrest. If you resist arrest, that’ll be added to the list of charges.’
‘Charges? What charges?’
A man glided up on the escalator. One of the Metro’s own employees, wearing a uniform with a rucksack on his back.
Lena waited until they were alone again. ‘You attacked and injured a person in the multi-storey car park,’ she said. ‘You’ve made it clear you’re dangerous. It would be better for everyone if you handed over the knife voluntarily.’
He smiled weakly. ‘Odd situation this, don’t you agree?’
‘Give me the knife,’ she repeated calmly.
‘My God, just listen to you.’
‘Steffen!’
‘I haven’t got it. I threw it away.’
She fixed him with her stare. His smile was a rigid grimace, but his eyes were cold. This arrest was not developing as it should. And now Lena was unsure what to do. It was difficult to think. The escalator chuntered. On the brick wall behind Steffen was a ladies’ lingerie poster. The model was looking at her with her chin raised provocatively.
Impatient, he moved. ‘Shall we go?’
‘You’ll have to give me the knife first.’
He shook his head authoritatively. ‘It was your suggestion,’ he said. ‘You suggested going.’
What he said didn’t make sense. But Lena was quiet. If he still had the knife on him it had to be in a sheath. He’s either got it on his belt or in a pocket, she thought. As both his hands are free now he will have to give himself away when he makes a move.
At that moment the escalator stopped working. The chunter came to an end with a click.
The sudden silence was as shrill as an alarm in her ears, and she averted her eyes so as not to give the game away.
But had Steffen heard the change? Impossible to say.
Every second that dragged by made the silence resound more loudly in Lena’s ears. No footsteps, no noise from the train, no telltale rush of air.
Her mouth was dry. She ought to say something to distract him. But she didn’t have the words. Then she saw that Steffen had noticed. He raised his head, listened and tried to work out what was different. She stepped back a pace to centre her bodyweight. But her movement was a signal. She caught his eye for a fraction of a second, read what he was thinking and saw the lunge before he crouched down.
His knife was in his boot.
But now her balance was just right.
There was a flash of steel as he got up.
She kicked out. Striking him in the kneecap. He screamed in pain and fell like a log. She launched herself. Landed on top of him. Got both his arms in a half-nelson. He twisted like a snake.
‘I practise this twice a week,’ she hissed. ‘Lie still!’
He tried to turn again. She got a knee in the small of his back with her weight behind it and jerked both arms upwards. He screamed again. She let him. Counted slowly to three and loosened her grip by a couple of centimetres. He fell quiet.
Then came the sound of running feet. ‘I told you I had everything under control,’ Lena shouted, annoyed.
There were three of them. Police dressed as robots: visors, vests and helmets. All three with guns at the ready.
Steffen was now supine and still.
She found the knife. It was on the ground. The blade was long and wide. There was a clattering sound as a foot kicked it away.
The foot was clad in a worn overshoe.
‘Now perhaps you know why I don’t like police provocation,’ Gunnarstranda said, taking a hand from his pocket. He closed handcuffs around Steffen’s wrists.
Lena went up the stairs first. Her legs ached and she was trembling. Lactic acid, she thought. She had been petrified, but had had no time to notice it.
A large group of curious bystanders had gathered by the police cordon.
Lena and Gunnarstranda squeezed their way through and got into the operation commander’s car. From the back seat they watched an armed police officer help a limping Steffen Gjerstad into a van, which drove him off.
Lena felt sick. Her hands were shaking. She put them into her lap so they couldn’t be seen.
‘And Frankie?’ she asked.
‘He’s fine, considering the circumstances. The duty doctor patched him up. I think he’s on his way home.’ Gunnarstranda looked at his watch. ‘If he’s lucky, he’ll just catch Dinner for One with Freddy Frinton. But he’s probably not interested.’
6
Lena went into the observation room and sat down. The screen showed profiles of Gunnarstranda and Steffen Gjerstad. The digital clock flashed in the right-hand corner. It would soon be eleven o’clock at night.
‘Axel Rise and Frikk Råholt are using you as a scapegoat,’ Gunnarstranda said. ‘That’s the situation.’
Steffen didn’t answer.
‘Axel Rise has said in a statement that you confessed to him that on Thursday, the tenth of December you faked a threatening letter and put it into the Storting postbox for Aud Helen Vestgård. Frikk Råholt, for his part, has said in a statement that he bought services from you. He ordered reportage for which you took photos of Vestgård, Adeler and a Polisario at a dinner and you wrote about the meeting in a later article.’
Gunnarstranda pushed some papers across the table. ‘You can read their statements yourself.’
Steffen folded his hands behind his neck. ‘And what are you accusing me of?’ he asked with a grin. ‘Illegal student prank and inappropriate paparazzi activity?’
‘There’s more,’ Gunnarstranda said matter-of-factly. ‘Axel Rise says you gave him money for the name of a witness who could point out Adeler’s killer. You said to Rise you were running a spread in the newspaper and needed the name to do an interview. Axel Rise told you the witness’s name was Dag Enoksen. But you didn’t do an interview. Instead you attacked Enoksen with a knife. Why?’
‘Do you believe I threw Adeler off the quay?’ Steffen asked.
‘We can talk about Adeler first, that’s fine,’ Gunnarstranda said. We can come back to Enoksen. You could tell me who threw Adeler off the quay, as you’ve just stabbed an eye witness.’
‘I can give you more than one name,’ Steffen said. ‘I can tell you what happened. The man who killed Adeler is called Stian Rømer. He’s vanished off the face of this earth and the last person to see him alive is a colleague of yours – Lena Stigersand.’
Lena got up. She stood for a few seconds thinking before she opened the door and went into the corridor. She marched over to the interview room, opened the door and went in.
‘Lena Stigersand has joined Steffen Gjerstad in the interview room,’ Lena said to the tape recorder. ‘It is now 23:00 hours,’ she added and sat down.
Steffen smiled at her.
‘I have a suggestion,’ Steffen said.
‘Oh, yes?’ Gunnarstranda said.
‘I confess.’
‘Nothing would please me more,’ Gunnnarstranda said.
‘I confess to buying services from Axel Rise, but I’ll do it on one condition.’
‘Which is?’
‘You listen to what I have to say. I’ll tell you what happened to Adeler if Lena tells me what happened to Stian Rømer.’
Steffen stared straight at her.
The silence hung in the air until Gunnarstranda coughed.
‘The more clarity we can establish around this Rømer, the better. Don’t you agree, Lena?’
Lena looked at him. Then turned away. ‘Agreed.’
Steffen focused on Gunnarstranda. ‘But I talk to you, and only you,’ he said.
Gunnarstranda turned to Lena. ‘Will you leave us alone for a bit?’
Lena swallowed the humiliation and got up. She left without a word.
7
After closing the door behind her she almost collided with Ingrid Kobro.
They both came to a halt.
The Ice Swimmer Page 31