Scarred

by Thomas Enger

  Emilie picks up Sebastian, puts his head close to her own, and strokes his back while she tries to console him. She walks down the hallway, past the door to the bathroom, and into Sebastian’s room.

  “You need to be quiet now,” she says, trying to control herself, but even she can hear that her pleading voice is close to breaking. Be strong, she tells herself, for Sebastian’s sake. It’s up to you to stop him from experiencing even more trauma than he already has.

  Fortunately Sebastian seems to calm down at the sight of his things and his bed, the pale blue wallpaper, the action figures, the stuffed toys, and Lightning McQueen—they all help to make him breathe more easily and he finally stops wailing and sobbing.

  This in turn makes Emilie weep even harder. Her little boy. So small and vulnerable.

  “And you,” Remi says to her when she comes back out. “Stop your bloody crying.”

  Emilie nods, even though the tears keep flowing.

  “Close the door.”

  Emilie does as she is told. Remi nods in the direction of the living room, where Mattis is frantically trying to free himself. Emilie rushes over to him, she tries wiping away some of the blood on him, and doesn’t care that her hands and clothes get wet and sticky.

  She turns to Remi, who has followed and stopped right in front of her.

  “What are you doing, Remi, why—”

  He wags an angry finger at her.

  “I think you know if you just think about it.”

  Emilie stops.

  “No,” she says. “I don’t.”

  “Then you’re a stupid cow.”

  Again Emilie tries to understand, but she can feel the effects of not having eaten for two days. Her brain quite simply refuses to work and the frantic thoughts make her dizzy.

  “You may be right, so why don’t you tell me? Explain it to me.”

  Remi inhales and clutches his head. He massages his temples. Then he looks up at the wall, at the two footprints.

  Emilie’s mobile rings. Her eyes automatically seek out the sound.

  “Is that yours?” Remi asks.

  Emilie doesn’t reply.

  “Is that yours?” he demands.

  Emilie nods.

  Remi walks toward the sound and finds her mobile on the large, black coffee table. He takes it, checks the display, and lets it ring. However, she can see that the noise troubles him. With a brusque, panicky movement he blocks the call and tosses the mobile aside.

  Then he sits down on a chair. Rubs his fingertips against his temples again. Something glides across his face. An expression or an emotion, Emilie isn’t sure. But she’s quite sure that she doesn’t like what she sees.

  * * *

  Remi tries to think clearly.

  It proves to be difficult.

  He has been inside the house only once before and he hadn’t planned on doing this. He doesn’t know what he had hoped to get from Emilie. Just something. That she would say she was sorry and mean it, rather than merely say it. That she would understand.

  He should have taken some more of the pills he swallowed before he went to Johanne’s flat, then he wouldn’t have been able to feel anything. But now he feels everything. The pain in his hand and in his head. It’s as if the walls are closing in on him and threatening to crush him.

  So what’s he going to do now?

  What next?

  He lifts his head and looks around. His gaze stops on the stuffed reindeer head mounted on the wall. The eyes are dark and shiny. As if the light is still on in them.

  “Do you hunt?” he asks, looking at Mattis.

  Mattis nods reluctantly.

  “Then I guess you keep guns in the house, don’t you?”

  Chapter 73

  Bjarne mutters curses under his breath. Emilie Blomvik still isn’t answering her phone. And worse, she has just blocked his call.

  He swears loudly and drives as fast as he can in the direction of the Trafikkmaskinen interchange roundabout to get out of Oslo. While he weaves frantically in and out of the traffic, he finds a white cable, which he plugs into his mobile. He sticks the earplugs into his ears and calls Fredrik Stang again.

  “Did you get hold of Romerike police?”

  “Yes, they’re dispatching a patrol car to the address now.”

  “Just the one car?”

  “Yes, they said that was all they had available.”

  Bjarne rolls his eyes. “Okay, I’m on my way there now. Have you found out more information about Remi Gulliksen?”

  “Yes, a bit. He was born and grew up in Jessheim, but now lives in a small flat in Tøyen.”

  “Have we sent people over to his address?”

  “We have. Gjerstad has got everyone working on it.”

  “Great.”

  “By the way, Remi was due to be evicted from his flat today.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes, that could have been what set him off.”

  “Hm. Keep me posted.”

  “Will do.”

  Some high-risk driving enables Bjarne to get out of Oslo in the rush hour while he calls Directory Assistance and asks to be put through to Nordby Nursery. There he learns that Sebastian Blomvik failed to show up today.

  Bjarne calls Emilie again, but this time his call is cut off immediately.

  “Damn,” he says and hits the accelerator.

  * * *

  Emilie Blomvik.

  She was his first, his only one. Now, when he thinks about it, he doesn’t know why he loved her, only that he did. He couldn’t explain it. Perhaps it was just that she made him feel loved and valued. He believed that she admired him. That’s what she told him, she praised him, called him nice and good. No one had ever said that to him before.

  But he should have known that it couldn’t last. Emilie wasn’t that kind of girl. She got bored easily and hated staying in. She liked going to parties and having fun, while he just wanted her all to himself. At first when the rumors about Markus and her started to circulate, he refused to believe them. He was in denial.

  Right until that became impossible.

  Emilie was his first, his only one. He could never erase her; no one would ever surpass her. It had started with Emilie and it would finish with Emilie.

  The doorbell rings.

  He is startled, as are Emilie and Mattis. Both of them are about to cry out, but Remi points the gun at them.

  “Hush,” he says. “Not a sound.”

  Chapter 74

  Bjarne has barely left Oslo when his mobile rings again.

  “Yes?”

  It is Ella Sandland.

  “I’ve just spoken to Remi Gulliksen’s mother,” she says. “Remi visited them Tuesday evening. She says he went ­berserk.”

  “In what way?”

  “He beat up his father.”

  A semitrailer pulls out in front of Bjarne. He sounds the horn and flashes his headlights while he says, “Why?”

  “His mother wasn’t sure. It came out of the blue. Remi had knocked over a glass of water and refused to clean it up. And when his father told Remi to apologize, he went crazy.”

  “Just because he knocked over a glass of water?”

  The semitrailer refuses to get out of his way.

  “So it would seem. They don’t sound like the world’s happiest family.”

  Bjarne opens the window and places a blue flashing light on the roof, though technically he should have requested permission first. It takes only a few seconds before the truck pulls over. Bjarne accelerates and sends the driver a long hard stare before he overtakes him. The speedometer is close to 150.

  “We need to send officers over to Remi’s parents’ address,” he says.

  “I think that’s already happening.”

  “I’m seven or
eight minutes away from Jessheim.”

  “Thanks for letting me know.”

  * * *

  Bjarne exits the highway at Jessheim, turns right at the first roundabout, drives past a bank and across the new roundabout left of the bridge. He continues toward the industrial park and speeds through more roundabouts and speed bumps until he reaches a residential area. He follows the GPS instructions, and it doesn’t take long before he spots the patrol car from the Romerike Police Department parked outside a red house. Bjarne parks his car alongside the local officers and looks across to Henning.

  “Stay here. And don’t even think about leaving the car—” He pushes his index finger very close to Henning’s face.

  “Okay.”

  Bjarne gets out and introduces himself.

  “It doesn’t look as if anyone is in,” says one of the officers.

  “Have you rung the doorbell?”

  “Yes. No one came to the door.”

  Bjarne checks the windows for signs of movement and listens for sounds. The house glistens in the sunlight that has broken through the layer of clouds. The garage door is open. A stroller is parked outside. A green garden hose is stretched across the gravel.

  “There!” Bjarne exclaims.

  “Where?” the officer asks.

  “The curtain in the small window. It twitched. There’s someone inside.”

  “Then why doesn’t she open the door?”

  Bjarne doesn’t reply.

  “I’ll try calling her again,” he says and takes out his mobile. He lets it ring for a long time.

  Finally the call is answered, but he hears only static.

  “Hello?” Bjarne says.

  There is no voice at the other end.

  “This is Detective Inspector Bjarne Brogeland from Oslo Police. Who am I speaking to?”

  The silence continues.

  At last a dark voice says, “Go away.”

  Bjarne freezes.

  “Remi?” he stutters. “Is that you?”

  “I want you to leave.”

  Bjarne hears a chill in Remi’s voice that he doesn’t like the sound of. Bjarne says Remi’s full name, but gets no response.

  “Is Emilie there?” Bjarne then asks.

  Silence.

  “Emilie isn’t here,” the voice replies eventually.

  “I know she’s in there, Remi. I want to talk to her.”

  “No.”

  Pause.

  Bjarne starts to feel hot.

  “Please could you just tell me if she’s okay?”

  No reply.

  Bjarne places his hand over the telephone and looks at the others for assistance, but all he gets in return are blank stares.

  “Remi,” Bjarne begins.

  “Just drop it,” Remi interrupts him. “And don’t try to come inside or I’ll shoot.”

  It takes Bjarne a moment before he is able to respond.

  “What did you just say, Remi?”

  “I’ve got a gun and I’m not afraid to use it. Don’t—come—in.”

  Then he hangs up.

  Chapter 75

  Trine Juul-Osmundsen looks at her watch and sighs. In just a few hours she will be facing the pack of wolves. She has tried writing a statement, but her fingers just hovered over the keyboard. She has heard about writer’s block and believed that it was restricted only to writers, but now she understands its true meaning. Not being able to put down a single coherent thought. Staring at the screen and getting nothing but emptiness back. It’s like living in a vacuum.

  She has gone through her emails and fortunately not found any more messages from biglie0910. It confirms the conclusion she reached earlier this morning. The sender knows that there is no point in sending her emails she can’t read or reply to.

  There is a knock on the door and Katarina Hatlem peeks in.

  “You wanted a word with me?” she says and enters Trine’s office. Her long red curls are coiled around her neck.

  “Yes. Close the door behind you,” Trine says.

  Katarina does as she is asked and approaches the desk. Her steps are normally brisk. Her face is usually alert. Now it looks haggard. As if she has been crying or not slept for several days.

  “How are you?” Hatlem asks her cautiously.

  “Sit down.”

  Katarina hesitates a second before she does as she is told.

  “I’ve been doing a bit of thinking recently,” Trine begins. “Or, more accurately, I wasn’t able to think very much until I came home last night. It has been a little—how can I put it—difficult to focus on anything other than negative thoughts.”

  “I understand,” Katarina says, nodding vigorously.

  “But this morning I remembered something.” Trine drums her fingers on the desk.

  “Whoever started this smear campaign against me must have known that I wouldn’t defend myself. He or she must have known why I couldn’t tell the public what I really did on the night of October 9 last year, or rather what I did the following day. It means that this person must have known that I was in Denmark and what it would do to me if the truth came out.”

  Katarina Hatlem lowers her gaze.

  “I confided in one person,” Trine says, locking her eyes on to Katarina. “One person who helped me with the arrangements. And that person, Katarina dear, was you.”

  Katarina makes no reply. She just stares at the floor.

  “Either you’re behind all of this or you told someone what I did.”

  Trine preempts Katarina’s potential protest. “I’m going to give you one chance—just one—to explain yourself. And spare me the outrage; don’t tell me it wasn’t you, because you must have had something to do with it. Because I certainly didn’t tell anyone else.”

  Katarina can’t even look her in the eye, but Trine sees the color flare up in her cheeks. It doesn’t take long before the corners of her mouth start twitching.

  “Please believe me,” she whimpers. “I never thought that it would go this far.”

  “Didn’t you?” Trine replies tartly. “Few people know the media better than you, Katarina. You knew exactly how to play it.”

  Katarina shakes her head frantically. “It wasn’t like that,” she says. “It was my fault, but I promise you, Trine, I had nothing to do with this.”

  “Then I suggest that you start talking. The press conference begins in less than two hours.”

  Katarina breaks down and sobs. She cries for a long time, until Trine orders her to pull herself together.

  “I’m sorry,” Katarina stutters while she closes her eyes and lets the tears run free. “I’m so, so sorry.”

  Trine doesn’t reply, she just looks at someone who has been her closest colleague for several years. A colleague she regarded as her friend. And the tender feeling she gets inside surprises her. But she can’t make herself say that it’s okay. It’s very much not okay. The damage can never be undone.

  “I’m waiting,” she says and juts out her chin.

  Katarina Hatlem sniffs, puts a finger under each eye, and lets the skin absorb some of the moisture, but to no avail. When she finally starts talking, her voice no longer trembles.

  And Trine thought she knew how bad getting hurt could be. Dull pain punctured by tiny pulsating pricks, words driving splinters of pain into her heart and forcing all the air out of her lungs. She thought she knew how bad getting hurt could get.

  She was wrong.

  Chapter 76

  As soon as Bjarne has finished the call, he tries a new number. It takes only a moment before the call is answered. He quickly explains where he is and what has happened.

  “This is a hostage situation,” he repeats to emphasize the gravity of the situation. As he ends the call, he looks up at the house.

  “Do you h
ave any experience with hostage situations?” he asks.

  The local police officers exchange glances.

  “I mean, apart from what they taught you at the police academy?”

  “No,” one of them says.

  “Would it be okay with you if I take charge until the armed response unit arrives?”

  “Yes,” they reply in unison.

  “Okay,” Bjarne begins. “We need to set up an inner cordon so that the hostage taker can’t escape if he decides to leave the house. Next we set up an outer cordon that will prevent outsiders from entering the area. We’re lucky, only one road leads in here and it starts around the bend over there.” Bjarne points to a gray house with tall walls. “There’s a footpath over there. One of you, you for example,” he says, pointing to the man on his left, “go over there and stop everyone from getting through. And I mean everyone.”

  The police officer nods.

  “I noticed another footpath on my way here, over by the mailboxes. You go over there,” Bjarne says, pointing to the other officer. “You should still be able to see inside the house, but act discreetly. We mustn’t do anything to provoke the hostage taker. Take off your jacket, there’s always a chance he won’t realize you’re a police officer. See if you can get an idea of how many people are inside. We also have to assess whether we need to evacuate any of the neighbors, certainly anyone we see outdoors. We have to get them out of here.”

  The officers nod.

  “I’ll stay here in front of the house. We’ll do what we can, and wait for backup.”

  The officers nod again.

  “Okay,” Bjarne says and waves them off. The officers quickly take up their positions. Bjarne watches the house closely, sees the curtain twitch again. A head pops up and then disappears.

  Bjarne has been present at two previous hostage situations. The first took place in a mental hospital. A staff member at reception called the police himself to say that he was being held against his will by a resident threatening him with a knife and a can of gasoline. An ambulance and armed police officers attended immediately, and initially there were fears that the resident might burn down the whole hospital. But everything was over in thirty minutes. The resident was arrested without drama.