by Thomas Enger
‘You went straight home?’
‘I did.’
Then she laughed.
‘What’s so funny?’
‘It’s just that Even asked me the same question earlier today.’
‘He did?’
‘Yeah,’ she said and rolled her eyes. ‘Little mister police.’
Mork seemed to give that some thought. ‘Mari was doing a feature for the school newspaper about your son and his father before she died,’ he continued.
Susanne felt a sharp pang in her chest. ‘Did she ever talk to you about that?’
‘No.’
‘You’re sure?
‘Of course I’m sure.’
‘She didn’t ask you about your car accident, either?’
She looked at him. ‘And why would she do that?’ She could hear the steel in her own voice.
‘I’m just asking.’
‘No,’ she said quickly, and a tad too loud. ‘She didn’t. And I know you,’ she continued. ‘You’re not just asking. What the hell has Jimmy’s death got to do with any of this?’
‘I don’t know,’ he said. ‘That’s what we’re trying to find out.’
‘Why don’t you tell me what you really want to know, officer? Do you want to know if I killed her? Is that it? Let me save you the time and the trouble. I didn’t. You think I’m crazy? You think I’m evil? I may be a lot of things, detective, but I’m no fucking murderer.’
A voice inside her head wanted to say something, but she managed to push it away. She could tell that she’d given him some food for thought, though.
‘Was there anything else?’ She pushed her shoulders back a little and lifted her chin.
‘Did you leave school with anyone?’
She sighed heavily. ‘No.’
‘What did you do last night?’
She snorted. ‘Depends on what you mean by “last night”.’
‘How about around midnight.’
‘I was at Knut’s.’
‘Any chance he can verify that?’
She laughed. ‘Probably not. He was working, as always. But I sure as hell wasn’t under the railway bridge, beating a kid my own son’s age to death.’
He nodded slowly. Then waited a while, before getting up.
‘Thank you for your time, Susanne,’ he said. ’And it really wasn’t more than two minutes.’
‘It felt like a whole lot more.’
47
‘So let me get this straight,’ Imo said. We were sitting in his living room. I had a glass of Coke in my hand, Imo a cup of tea. It was half past eleven, but I was anything but tired.
‘A super-hot girl more or less offers you full service and you … you said no?’
I gave a feeble smile as I replayed the whole incident again in my head. I needed to process it, which was exactly why I had ridden my bike straight here after I’d left the party. I could always talk to him about anything.
He shook his head in disbelief. ‘When I was your age, Even, it was hard enough to even get some titty-action. We’re talking Fort Knox. Locked and sealed from head to toe.’
I laughed. ‘Things are a bit different nowadays, Imo.’
‘God, what I wouldn’t give to be seventeen again.’
He drank some tea and crossed his legs. ‘Two things,’ he said, raising his index finger. ‘First, life doesn’t often offer you many gifts that will provide you with wanking material for as long as there’s steam in your rocket. Take them. With both hands. Whenever you can.’
I grinned, then started laughing.
‘Two.’ Imo held up another finger. ‘A gentleman never tells.’
He was being serious now. ‘Keep this between you and Ida. Even though this sort of thing will never be bad for your reputation, it’s not the same for her.’
I knew what he meant. Rumours spread fast, especially in a place like Fredheim. Her outburst did make me wonder how genuine Mari and Ida’s friendship had been, though. It was almost as if she was jealous of Mari, not necessarily because of me. And if Ida really was jealous…
No, I said to myself, stopping the thought right away. Ida could never have killed her best friend. She could never have been a match for Johannes on her own. Or Børre, for that matter.
Or could she?
People were capable of a lot of things when they were angry enough.
‘There are three things you must never do to a girl, Even,’ Imo said. Clearly this was the night for my uncle’s gems of wisdom. ‘One, you don’t spread false rumours about a girl. That’s mean. Two, you stick to one girl at a time. And three…’ he held his third finger in the air and paused for effect: ‘You don’t hit them. Not under any circumstance. A guy picks a fight with you, sure, you stand your ground. Not with a girl. Not ever.’
I nodded slowly.
‘You’ve lived by these rules all your life, Imo?’
‘I have, yes.’
He took another sip of his tea. ‘You’ve still got a lot to learn, champ.’ His hand was shaking again.
‘How did you get on with the police?’ I asked. I hadn’t thought about Imo’s leather glove all evening.
‘Well … I think it went well,’ he said. ‘They’re still looking for my gloves.’
‘So you don’t think they suspect you of…?’
‘No, no,’ Imo said, without hesitation. ‘Not at all.’ He smiled. Then he got up and said: ‘It’s late, and you’ve got school tomorrow, right?’
I nodded.
‘Your mother will kill me if she finds out you’ve been sitting here nattering until midnight.’
I looked up at him. ‘You always say that, don’t you?’
‘What?’
‘That Mum will kill you if this or that.’
‘You don’t think she would?’ Imo said, and winked at me. ‘Go on, now. Off you go.’
It was pitch-dark outside when I left for home. Thankfully the main road back to Fredheim was lit. As I cycled along, I thought about Ida and her ferocious scream, but then the humming of a car behind me caught my attention. Traffic wasn’t uncommon, even at this hour, but I noticed that the sound of the engine didn’t change – it didn’t come any closer.
I looked over my shoulder. The car was about a hundred yards behind me. Only the parking lights were on. And I was right, it was keeping pace with me. The distance made it hard to see what kind of car it was, especially as new cars all looked the same to me. But it was definitely a car, not a van or a truck.
I slowed down. So did the car.
I stopped completely. Put my feet on the ground.
The car stopped, too.
I tried to get a good look at the driver, but the windscreen was too dark. I considered turning and cycling back towards it, just to see what would happen, but decided not to. Too risky. Instead, I got back on my bike and cycled as fast as I could towards Fredheim. Every now and then a car would come in the opposite direction. I wondered if I should call Imo, have him come to my rescue. For days now people had been saying more or less to my face, albeit online, that they were going to get justice for the dead, one way or the other. I hadn’t thought anyone would actually do anything. Now I wasn’t so sure.
The effort was starting to make my thighs burn, but I was making good speed and progress towards Fredheim. Behind me the car was still keeping its distance. But then I was sure it was coming closer – I could hear it picking up speed. There was nowhere for me to go. No track at the side of the road to turn down. The roar of the engine got closer and closer, and finally, a car sailed past me.
It wasn’t the same one.
It was a BMW. The air pressure almost sent me into the ditch alongside the road, but I managed to hold on tight to the handlebars and stop before I fell. As the car passed, I felt something wet hitting me in the face. It was cold and it smelled of alcohol. It took me a few seconds to realise I’d been sprayed with a generous helping of screen wash.
‘Fuck me,’ I said as I dried myself with the sleeves of my jacke
t. It must have been on purpose, but the question was whether the idiot driver knew it was me, or if he would do something like that to any cyclist. I’d heard it happen before.
I looked back. The same car that had been following me earlier had closed the gap. I wondered if I should wait for it, but decided instead to keep going.
When I got to the petrol station on the outskirts of town, I felt relief. There would be people there – it was open twenty-four hours.
I turned off the road and into the station. A man was filling his car. Another was coming out of the store, eating a hot dog. I stopped behind one of the pumps and waited as the car behind me passed and then picked up some speed. I got a good look at the licence plate: CJ45025. I got my phone out and did a search for the number. It was registered to a car dealer here in Fredheim.
I only knew one person who worked at a car dealer’s in this town.
Frode Lindgren. Mari’s father.
Had he been following me?
When I was sure the car was far enough ahead of me, I got back on my bike. I was just about to cross the bridge, when my phone rang. I stopped and pulled it out of my pocket.
It was Oskar.
‘Bro,’ he said, when I answered. ‘Take a look at the thing you posted on Facebook yesterday.’
‘OK…’ I said, immediately feeling my heart starting to race.
Oskar was not the bearer of good news, I could hear it in his voice.
‘Check out Nina’s comment,’ he said.
‘OK,’ I said again. ‘I’ll call you back.’
I scrolled down. It didn’t take me long to find the comment Oskar was referring to. When I read it, my jaw dropped.
And Even says he wasn’t there that evening? Check this, 1:23 into the clip.
Nina was a girl in my class. She had even tagged me; she wanted me to see the comment. Some people had responded to it: Shit; FFS; Knew it. I fucking knew it!
I swallowed and pressed play. The video was from the show. It started in the middle of Johannes’ solo number, his declaration of love for Fredheim. The sound was rubbish because the video was taken from the back of the auditorium, behind the rows of seats, but it was easy enough to see and hear that everyone was listening. No one was messing about, whispering to each other or answering a text. Johannes was really in his element up there on stage.
I watched the time. One minute. I waited impatiently for it to get to 1:23.
1:10 became 1:20.
Then 1:23.
And that was when I saw him.
There wasn’t much light at the back of the auditorium, so it was hard to see his face, but the camera itself gave off enough light for me to see the back of someone’s head, a boy wearing a baseball cap and a denim jacket.
Thoughts bombarded me from all directions.
‘Jesus,’ I whispered.
It was … me.
At least, it certainly looked like that way. It was my jacket, or one that was almost the same. The person was the same height as me. Had the same kind of baseball cap as the one I sometimes used. I rewound the recording a few seconds to see if I could get a better look at the face. No. His head was turned towards the stage.
I stopped the clip again and scrolled down through all the comments. My eyes stopped sharp at a reply from a girl called Ylva. I had no idea who Ylva was, but what she’d written made my heart jump.
Idiots. That’s not Even. It’s his brother.
48
NOW
‘Let me stop you right there.’
Ms Håkonsen waves her hand in the air, like she’s a cheerleader or something. It almost makes me laugh, but the seriousness of what we’re talking about quickly pulls me back.
‘Did you know that your brother was going to be there that evening?’
‘I really thought he wasn’t. A while before the show my mother asked him if he wanted to come along, but he just laughed unkindly and said no. Shows like that weren’t his thing.’
‘And yet, there he was.’
‘Yes. He was.’
‘What did you think about that, when you saw the video?’
I think about my answer for a second. ‘Well, it made me realise how people could have thought they saw me there. I mean, from a distance my brother and I aren’t too different. We’re about the same height. And we did have almost the same kind of denim jacket. The same baseball cap. A lot of pieces fell into place for me when I saw it.’
‘Did you, at that point, think that your brother could have been the one behind all this?’
‘Well, the questions did hit me pretty quick. What was he doing there? Did he kill them? I guess it was only natural.’
Ms Håkonsen nods slightly. ‘Then what did you do?’
‘I went home. To confront him.’
49
THEN
I was standing on the outskirts of Fredheim, not far away from where Børre Halvorsen had been murdered. My thoughts were running riot. I pressed play again and watched the video to the end, but I couldn’t see where my brother went. I did see Mari, though, to the far right of the screen. And I almost sank to my knees.
It shouldn’t have taken me by surprise. I knew she’d been there. But still, it was weird to see her again. It was like she was still alive. She had a camera around her neck. Seemed focused on the work she was there to do. As she disappeared out of view, I let out a loud sob.
There she was, only an hour and a half before someone killed her. I wondered if she’d had any idea she was in danger as she went around, trying to behave like a professional journalist. Had she been afraid of anyone? Had she known that something might happen? Probably not. She was going to conduct an interview. Then go home and continue to hide from me.
My thoughts went back to my brother. Yes, he’d turned up at the school looking a bit like me; but wasn’t it a huge leap to then think he’d killed my ex-girlfriend and the star of the school show? As I cycled home, I tried to work out how I was going to confront him. I thought about phoning Imo, just to get his advice, but I decided against it.
When I pulled up in front of our house, I looked up at Tobias’s window. A bluish light flickered across the walls of his room. I went inside, poured myself a large glass of water, drank it all down, then went to knock on his door.
‘Go away!’ Tobias yelled.
‘It’s me,’ I said.
Behind the door cars were crashing and smashing into something. Grand Theft Auto, probably. Tobias didn’t answer. I knocked again and tried the door. It was locked. The noises stopped: he’d paused the game. I heard him coming to open the door.
‘Hi,’ I said.
I looked him straight in the eye. Had Tobias killed my girlfriend? Could he really have done such a horrible thing?
‘What is it?’ he asked. His look told me he didn’t appreciate being interrupted.
‘Why do you lock your door?’ I couldn’t think of anything else to say.
‘Don’t want Mum just barging in,’ he said. ‘You want something?’
I looked over his shoulder. His room was, if possible, even messier than mine.
‘Just wanted a word with you,’ I said, holding his gaze.
He let out an exaggerated sigh. ‘What about?’
I waited a moment, before I said: ‘The school show.’
Tobias tilted his head slightly as though trying to work out what I meant, how he should respond.
‘I thought you didn’t like school shows,’ I said.
Tobias just stared back at me. I half expected him to launch himself at me, but he stayed where he was, not saying a word. The expression in his eyes was back to weary and bored – as if it made no difference whatsoever if I was there or not. He looked like he might fall asleep at any moment.
‘Can I come in?’ I asked.
He thought about it for a few seconds, then opened the door wide with another sigh, as though being with his brother was the worst thing in the world. He slouched in behind me and sat down in his favourite chair. Ther
e were plates on the floor beside it. Glasses, bottles, a scrunched-up crisp bag. I counted four pairs of trousers on the floor. It looked like he’d just stepped out of them all.
‘You really should get some air in here,’ I said.
Tobias didn’t reply.
I didn’t know when it started – or why – or if we’d ever really been close, me and Tobias, but I couldn’t remember the last time we’d actually talked about something real and serious. Something other than kill streaks on Call of Duty or what kind of pizza we wanted to order. We’d never talked about Mum, for instance. Or Dad. Or Knut, the knucklehead who sometimes slept in our house.
I was still standing in the middle of the room. ‘Why did you go to the show, Tobias?’
He looked up at me. ‘Do I need a reason?’
‘Normally, no. This time, though, you do.’
‘I don’t need to explain myself to you.’
‘Yes, you do, because most people around this town think that I killed my ex-girlfriend, and one of the reasons for that might be the fact that they saw you there. They thought you were me. Børre Halvorsen had even seen you in one of the windows – the window the police think the murderer escaped through. I need to know what the fuck you were doing there, Tobias.’
My brother grabbed the controller and started to play GTA again. I snatched it out of his hands and threw it against the wall. The controller smashed into God knows how many pieces.
‘What the fuck?!’
Tobias stood up. I knew this could get messy. We’d had our fights over the years, Tobias and me, and I’d probably knocked his ass to the ground forty-nine times out of fifty. Things were different now, though. Tobias was bigger. Stronger. No doubt he’d stocked up plenty of reasons to get one back at me. The question was, who was angrier: him or me? And then a nasty thought sent a prickle of fear over my body: which of us was more capable of doing something really violent? What if my brother really was some kind of psycho?