by Thomas Enger
‘I’m on it.’
‘Good.’
Yngve fetched his jacket.
‘Where are you going?’ Therese asked.
‘To see Frode Lindgren.’
32
NOW
‘So Imo said he knew nothing about your mother’s disagreement with Ole Hoff?’
‘No.’
‘And you believed him?’
‘Of course. Why wouldn’t I?’
‘I guess you wouldn’t.’ Ms Håkonsen smiles at me briefly.
I can feel that I’m starting to lose my patience – both with her and with the whole trial. I didn’t expect her to focus on every single piece of information, every single little detail. I’m hot, I’m sad, I’m thirsty, I’m … I’m fucking exhausted.
‘So you went back home to see your mother.’
‘Yes,’ I say, breathing out as I speak.
‘Alright. Tell us how that went.’
33
THEN
It was a cold morning, but thankfully it was dry. Thick clouds moved across the sky, but there were patches of blue here and there, and some much-needed sunshine was breaking through, bathing the wet grass and leaves in a bright, golden light. A slight wind set the branches in motion, made them hiss as if they were trying to shake off the last few days of rain. To Susanne Tollefsen, it sounded like music.
She pulled her coat a little tighter around her, wondering when King Winter would arrive this year. Last year they’d had almost no snow at all. Not that it bothered her – she never went cross-country skiing or particularly liked the white stuff. The only good thing about winter, in her opinion, was that it was dark. She could stay inside all day long and not feel the slightest bit guilty about it. There would be no inner voice telling her to go outdoors, do some work in the yard or repair anything. She wouldn’t have to clean the shed or throw away some of her mum’s old stuff. Sometimes, though, like now, she did need to get out.
GP was shoving his nose into all kinds of rubbish at the side of the road. And every four metres or so he lifted his right leg and got rid of a squirt or two. This was their morning routine, consisting of a walk around the neighbourhood that took about fifteen to twenty minutes, depending on her mood or his nose. Today it felt good to get some fresh air. She’d gone to bed late the night before, and the morning had started a little too early. Knut had entered the bedroom, having just finished his late-night shift, and he had shaken her out of a morning sleep that, for once, hadn’t been filled with noises and horrible images. Then he had told her what had happened under Fredheim Bridge.
Susanne had got up immediately and taken a shower. She’d had Knut drive her home, and she had called Imo and told him to get Even over as quickly as possible. She felt so guilty about not taking care of him the previous night. If she couldn’t make up for it completely, she was certainly going to try.
Even and Imo still hadn’t arrived when Susanne and GP got home from their walk. She decided to wait for them on the front steps. She fetched a cushion and sat down on the cold surface. GP placed himself at her feet. Soon he was asleep.
Susanne took a look around at everything that belonged to her now. The big house, the oak tree at the front, which stood in the middle of the circular drive. The garage, the outbuilding, which had once been used as a stable.
What the hell was she going to do with all this?
The urge for a glass to hold on to became strong, almost irresistible, but no, she wasn’t going to go there now. Not yet anyway.
The sound of an engine made GP wake up and lift his head. Soon Imo’s old green Mercedes stopped in front of the house. He parked behind the oak tree and turned off the engine. As always Imo got out of the car with an eager step. GP ran over to greet him, his tail waving back and forth like a metronome. Even needed a bit more time to get out of the car. It looked as if he was hurting somewhere.
Her eyes filled with tears. She hurried over to him and pulled him close. She could smell shampoo from his hair and peppermint from his mouth.
‘How are you feeling?’ she asked, once she had stopped kissing and hugging him. He looked so handsome. His chin was exactly the same as Jimmy’s. He had his eyes, too.
‘I’m good,’ Even said. ‘Well. As good as can be expected, I guess.’
‘It’s just…’ She shook her and wiped away a tear. ‘Awful.’
He looked so strong, she thought. Always had. Even when Jimmy died, Even had had a certain steelness to him. Like he wasn’t going to let anyone see how much he actually hurt.
‘Thanks for taking care of him last night,’ she said to Imo.
‘No problem. We had a pretty good night, didn’t we, champ?’
Susanne looked at them both. There seemed to be a smile in Imo’s face.
‘I’d better be off,’ he said. ‘Call me if you need anything. Both of you.’
Susanne nodded and offered her thanks once more. She watched Imo take off. His car turned the corner, and there was silence.
‘Shall we go in and make some hot chocolate or something?’ She gave Even her best possible smile.
‘I can’t,’ he said. ‘There’s a memorial service for Mari and Johannes at school. I … have to be there. I mean, I want to.’
Susanne nodded and thought of Mari again. Mari Lindgren. Cecilie’s daughter. Even had never told her directly that he’d found himself a girlfriend, but Susanne had sort of figured it out when she’d seen his sudden, blatant happiness, how he’d volunteered to take GP for a walk or help out at home more often. Still, it was Tobias who’d told her it was Mari, one evening when Even was at football practice.
First, she was happy for him. Really, she was. Then she started to worry about Cecilie – if they might have to start dealing with each other again.
‘What is it with you and Ole Hoff, anyway?’ asked Even.
The question caught her off-guard. She’d been in good spirits, with her firstborn finally home with her, but a black curtain descended over her eyes. She felt a fresh knot in her chest, too.
‘Just leave it, Even,’ she said. ‘It’s not important anymore.’
‘Didn’t seem like it yesterday,’ he said. ‘Is that why you’re always so short with Oskar whenever he’s here, too?’
Susanne looked at him. ‘I’m not!’
‘Yes, you are. You barely say hello to him, and you never smile or talk to him when he’s around or ask how he is. Have you got something against the whole Hoff family? Is that it?’
Susanne didn’t know what to say to that. Had she really behaved that way?
‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘And I hope Oskar doesn’t feel the same. That was never my intention. It’s not his fault that…’ She stopped herself. Looked down at the ground as she struggled to find a good way to finish the sentence.
‘What’s not his fault?’
She shook her head and closed her eyes, angry at herself for allowing herself to speak too freely. Then she opened them again and tilted her chin upwards.
‘Oskar is welcome whenever he wants,’ she said, and attempted a smile.
But this seemed to have no effect on Even. He had more questions, she could tell. Susanne braced herself.
‘There’s something else as well,’ he said.
Susanne sighed.
‘You know Cecilie. Mari’s mum.’
She swallowed hard.
‘Have you been in touch with her since…’
‘No,’ she replied.
Even frowned. ‘You don’t even know what I was going to ask you.’
‘Of course I haven’t been in touch with her since Mari died. For goodness’ sake, Even, it’s no more than a day since … I’m sure that Cecilie has more than enough on her plate without me…’ Susanne stopped herself again.
‘I wasn’t thinking about now, Mum, I meant after we moved back.’
She took a breath, paused, then said: ‘No.’
‘Why not?’
‘Well,’ she said and hesitated, ‘I just
didn’t feel like it.’
‘But weren’t you best friends once upon a time?’
She sighed again. ‘Why are you asking about all this now, Even? Why is it suddenly so important to you?’
‘I just think that it’s a bit strange that the two of you don’t have anything to do with each other anymore,’ Even said. ‘Mari and I talked about it. She found it weird too.’
‘You know what?’ Susanne said. ‘So do I. But it’s not my fault, I can tell you that much. Cecilie stopped talking to me at one point, and there’s a limit to how many times you can be bothered to try, isn’t there? To call, to suggest a coffee or a walk or … something.’ Susanne pulled GP towards her. ‘You might as well get used to it,’ she said and gave the dog an angry look. ‘Friends come and go. There doesn’t need to be any particular reason, it just happens. You drift apart. Then you get new friends, and you forget the old ones. You only ever keep a handful, if that, throughout your life. And that’s if you’re lucky.’
Even seemed to fade away into his own thoughts for a while.
‘Wouldn’t it be good to send her some flowers or something?’ he asked. ‘I mean now? She might need it.’
Susanne sighed. ‘Yeah,’ she said eventually, in a quiet voice. ‘I guess I should do that.’
34
Because I’d left my bike at school the day before, I had to walk all the way back there, but I really didn’t mind. It was good to stretch my legs a little, to use my body again. It was as if the fresh air cleansed me somehow, from the inside out.
I dreaded getting there, though. I knew a lot of people would be coming, and I was nervous about the kind of reception I would get. On my way to school my phone kept pinging. I’d been silly enough to turn the sound back on. There were notifications from threads I was tagged in, threads I became tagged in as I was walking, but even after I had untagged myself, someone added my name in a later response. It was as if people, boys and girls I had once considered friends, wanted me to know they were talking about me.
Roger Midtbø, a guy in one of my parallel classes, even said that he was going to pin me to the ground and force the truth out of me with his fists. So far his comment had got forty-eight likes and quite a few responses from others wanting revenge. I didn’t think anyone would be foolish enough to actually jump me, but you could never really know.
The first thing I noticed as I got to the school was that the police cordons had been lifted. Only one police car was parked by the entrance. I knew it was probably still too soon for the school itself to open for classes, but at first glance everything looked normal. Almost as if nothing had happened.
When Mari and I were still together, the first thing I always did in the morning was look for her. Usually she was standing by the fountain, half listening to her friends’ chatter, but I knew she was waiting for me to arrive. When I did, and she saw me, her smile reached into her eyes, and it made me warm deep inside my heart. Now, as I passed the fountain, which was turned off for the winter, it was as if she was still standing there, smiling at me. I had to force myself not to cry.
Even though it was well before 11 a.m., quite a few people had already assembled outside the handball court building. I spotted Elise, one of Mari’s friends, standing next to two girls I knew by appearance, but not by name. Elise was one of the girls who’d tried to comfort Ida Hammer the day before.
I went over to her and said hello. She turned and stared at me, looking a bit shocked. I tried to ignore that.
‘Do you know if Ida is coming later?’ I asked.
‘No,’ she said, squaring her shoulders.
‘No, you don’t know if she’s coming, or no, she’s not coming?’
‘I don’t know if she’s coming.’
‘OK. If you see her, could you tell her I need to talk to her?’
‘Why?’ There was an edge to her voice that made me want to say something sarcastic.
‘Just … tell her what I said, OK?’
Elise didn’t answer. I said thanks and walked away, feeling the ice from her cold stare on my neck. Others shot glances at me as well, before quickly looking away. You haven’t done anything, I kept on repeating to myself. Be proud. Stand tall.
To keep myself occupied while we waited for the doors to open, I took out my phone. I saw that there had been a press conference about Børre’s murder. Apparently the police had found a piece of a dark-brown leather glove at the crime scene. Yngve Mork didn’t want to speculate about how that piece could have been torn off, but it wasn’t hard to picture Børre trying to fight off his attacker, maybe biting him in the process.
I had just finished reading the article when someone called my name. I turned. Ole Hoff was coming my way.
‘Oh, hello,’ I said.
‘How are you?’ Ole asked. He seemed to be studying my face. I knew I looked like shit after last night’s rendezvous with Imo’s tequila bottle.
‘I’ve been better.’
I told him about the drinking session – I wanted as many people as possible to know that I had an alibi for Børre’s murder. ‘I normally don’t drink that much.’
Ole shook his head and told me he hadn’t published the article about me yet. ‘I wanted to go through it again with you when you were sober,’ he said. ‘There might still be room for it in tomorrow’s paper.’
I thanked him for looking out for me. I glanced around; more and more people were arriving. Quite a few of them were staring our way, no doubt wondering what the hell we were talking about, and why I was even there.
‘When I met you at your house yesterday,’ Ole said, ‘you told me that Mari had first approached you because she wanted to write an article about you. About your dad.’
I looked at him, frowning.
‘She didn’t just talk to you about your father,’ Ole continued. ‘She spoke to her own father about it as well.’
I shifted my weight from one foot to the other.
‘She asked him about the accident, and he told her to come and see me,’ Ole said. ‘That’s why she had my business card. He gave it to her. I’ve bought three cars from Frode over the last twenty years.’
I nodded slowly, trying to think what all this meant.
‘Maybe she just wanted to know what I remembered about the accident,’ Ole said. ‘I covered it quite extensively.’
‘Yes,’ I said. ‘Maybe.’
Mari’s parents had always been a bit cold towards me, no doubt because I was seeing their daughter. But at least Mari’s dad was interested in my football and what I wanted to do with my life. Mari always tried to stop him from asking me too many questions.
‘Shush,’ he always said, as a joke. ‘I’m talking to the man who might be my son-in-law here.’
That always made her hot and bothered.
‘Are you working on any special angle?’ I asked Ole.
‘Well’, he said. ‘I guess I’m just trying to make sense of it all, like everyone else.’
I wondered what he thought of the ‘Chance Victim’ article in which Oskar had been interviewed. I didn’t ask, though, as I spotted my former best friend coming towards the handball court building with Kaiss and Fredrik. I turned away from them.
‘How’s your mother?’ Ole asked me.
‘Same as usual’, I said. ‘Hard to say what goes on in her mind sometimes.’ I smiled briefly.
Ole nodded. ‘I’ll see you inside,’ he said. ‘And maybe I’ll call you later, if that’s alright.’
‘Sure.’
At 10.45 the door to the handball court opened. I waited until I was sure my friends had gone in before joining the queue myself. I felt a push in my back. At first I thought it was just because of how squashed it was. Then it happened again. And again. Then someone threw something at the back of my head, possibly a small stone. It didn’t hurt, but I felt it. I turned around to face the people behind me. No one looked at me directly.
I turned back again. Soon someone else threw something at me. Someone coughed
behind me, too, and I was sure I heard the word ‘murderer’ muttered at the same time. I decided to ignore it. Didn’t want to make a scene. But I could hear whispering, and I felt like running away. Hiding. Again I tried to steel myself and shut everything out. I kept looking straight ahead until I was finally inside.
In the middle of the handball court two A4-sized photographs of Mari and Johannes had been pinned on each side of a lectern. That was when it finally dawned upon me. It was true. Mari was dead. I just stood there staring at her picture. It was a school photo. She wore her hair in a ponytail, had her glasses on and her smile was a bit stiff. I felt something hard in my throat. It became difficult to breathe.
I decided to look at Johannes instead. He was posing, as he always did – like the rock star he was. I’d actually envied Johannes a bit, because he was so bloody good at everything. He was the natural centre of attention wherever he went.
Tic-Tac was walking back and forth with wires and extension leads for the loudspeakers. I found myself a seat in the back row, in the middle of a group of people I didn’t know. Still, it was awkward and uncomfortable. It felt as if everyone was staring at me. Again I passed the time by looking at my phone. Every single news site was full of stories about Fredheim. I really couldn’t hide from it anywhere.
Soon the principal came in. Mr Brakstad’s dark-grey beard seemed to suit his mood. He was very tall, but now he seemed stooped, as though a heavy weight was pressing him downwards.
I really liked Mr Brakstad. He always made eye contact with me when we met in the corridor. He nodded and smiled and offered me a warm hello and a gentle ‘how are you?’ I always had the feeling that he really cared about us. Now he exchanged a few words with Tic-Tac, before standing behind the microphone, tapping it gently with a finger. A screeching noise ripped through the hall.