by Thomas Enger
‘I saw a video of you,’ I said, forcing myself to step forward so I was right up in his face. ‘So talk to me.’
If I’d prodded his chest with my finger, he would have exploded. Things would have gone from bad to worse. I could almost feel the sparks flying out of my eyes, though, which might have been the reason why Tobias pulled back a little.
‘Alright, I was there,’ he said, finally. ‘So what? I wanted to see the show. What the fuck is wrong with that?’
‘I don’t believe you,’ I said. ‘It’s not your kind of show. Not your kind of music. So why were you there, Tobias? I know Mum didn’t buy you a ticket.’
He lowered his eyes.
‘Answer me!’ I screamed so loud he almost jumped.
‘I went for a walk,’ he said, ‘and I kind of found myself at your school. I knew that Mum and Imo were there, so I thought I’d see if I could get in. And I did. No one was watching the door. I didn’t think anyone would notice me. No one normally does.’
‘You walked straight past someone filming the show, you fucking twat.’
He didn’t have an answer to that.
‘Did you talk to Mari?’ I asked.
Tobias said nothing, just kept his eyes down.
‘Did you?’
I took a step closer. He still said nothing.
‘How long were you there?’ I asked.
‘Don’t remember,’ he said, with a shrug.
‘Did you leave before the show was over?’
Again he waited a beat before saying: ‘Yes.’
‘How did you get home?’
‘I walked.’
‘Straight home?’
‘Can’t remember.’
‘You can’t remember.’
I couldn’t believe my ears. I looked at him, trying to work out whether he was telling me the truth or not. It was difficult to tell. But he wasn’t making much sense – not remembering even the most basic details.
‘My girlfriend was killed that night, in case you’ve forgotten,’ I said. My voice was trembling. ‘If I were you, I’d try a little harder to get my facts straight.’
He retreated a step, and nearly fell backwards onto the bed.
‘I walked around for a little while, then I went home. It might have been around midnight. I don’t know. That make you happy, Sherlock?’
I ran my fingers through my hair and sighed heavily. So Tobias had been out more than long enough to kill Mari and Johannes. And he had been at the school.
I stared at him for a second. ‘I don’t believe you, Tobias. Not for a second.’
He responded by looking at the floor again. And I thought: Is this the moment? Is this when he is going to confess?
‘I … I broke into a car.’
My mouth fell open. It was like someone had stuck a pin in me.
‘Jesus, Tobias.’ That was all I could say.
But when what he’d actually done finally sank it, I was angry again. ‘What the hell did you do that for?’
Tobias hesitated, then said: ‘There was … an iPad on the seat inside.’
My jaw dropped again. ‘An iPad?’ I didn’t know what to think or say. I looked around his room.
‘But you’ve already got an iPad…’
‘Yes, but…’ He looked away. Wrung his hands. ‘I needed the money.’
‘Money? For what?’
‘None of your business.’
‘Er, I think it is. It is now, anyway.’
He straightened up and pushed back his shoulders.
‘So, are you going to tell me?’ I pressed.
‘No.’
I wanted to punch him. Beat the truth out of him, but I managed to control myself.
‘So, you sold it? Is that what you’re saying?’
‘Yes, I did.’
‘Who to?’
‘Does it really matter?’
I looked at him for a few seconds. So that was the lay of the land. My brother was a thief. He was a fucking thief.
I turned and walked towards the door.
‘You owe me a controller, for fuck’s sake!’ he shouted after me.
I just slammed the door and went down to my room and sat on the bed. Børre had seen my brother in one of the windows at the school. He must have been in there, looking for something to steal, I thought. The bloody fucking thief.
I was sure the rumours had spread further now – everyone would know it was Tobias at the school. I didn’t want to go online to see. All I could hope was that no one had told Mum yet, but I knew that was only a matter of time.
I put my headphones on and tried to listen to some music for a while, hoping it would block out the whirl of thoughts. But when I turned it off again, none of the songs I’d been listening to lingered in my head. Instead, it was Johannes’ voice, singing a song that felt all the more touching now that he was dead. I guessed they would be playing it at his funeral.
God, the funeral.
I hadn’t even thought about the fact that Mari and Johannes would have to be buried. I wondered if there would be a joint service, or if the families would want them buried separately. And I wondered what Mari’s parents would say if I showed up. I wanted to say goodbye to her properly, too. Was I not going to be allowed to do that?
And if I wasn’t, what else could I do? Doing nothing would be agony. I would try to find the one who killed her, I thought. Not just to clear my name, but because it was what Mari deserved. Truth was, I shouldn’t really be interfering. The police should be left alone to do their job. But it wouldn’t hurt to look around, I said to myself, to keep my eyes open. And I still wasn’t one hundred percent sure that my brother was telling me the truth. About anything.
I’ll have a look in his room, I thought. Tomorrow, after he’s gone to school.
God.
Just the thought of going through his things, looking for clues or signs that he might be a killer, made me nauseous.
50
The face of Weedon, the ginger-haired tech analyst, appeared on Yngve’s computer screen in a pop-up box. He was live messaging – rather than walking round the corner to have a chat.
‘Hey boss. I thought you’d still be working.’
Åse looked at him from the chair on the other side of the table. It was hours since she’d told him to go home, but he’d ignored her and started going through the interviews again, looking for remarks or clues they hadn’t dug into deeply enough. So far he’d come up with nothing fresh.
‘I’ve managed to fix Mari’s phone,’ Weedon said.
‘OK, good. Found anything interesting on it?’
‘Er … are we really allowed to look at texts and go through her apps and stuff like that? Don’t we have to write to Facebook or Apple and…’
‘Yes,’ Yngve said. ‘I’m sure we do. But it’ll take forever to get an answer, and we might not even get a yes.’ Yngve ducked away from Åse’s gaze. ’Just take a quick look,’ he said. ‘Mari didn’t have a working phone the last forty-eight hours or so of her life, and it might be critical for us to know who she communicated with on Facebook or Messenger or whatever the hell they’re called – these apps the kids use nowadays.’
Weedon hesitated for a moment, then looked away from the camera. There was a tapping – he was typing at his usual high speed.
‘Start with WhatsApp,’ Yngve said. ‘If she used it.’
‘She did,’ Weedon said. ‘Do you want me to read you the names of everyone she was in contact with?’
‘Just the most recent ones first,’ Yngve said.’
‘OK.’
Now Weedon was moving his thumb across Mari’s phone. ‘She had quite a few chat groups,’ he began. ‘There was a lot of activity on the day of the school show, but Mari didn’t get involved. At least not in this particular group.’
Yngve looked at his clock. Almost midnight.
‘There are … one, two, four, six, eight … twelve people in the next group,’ Weedon continued. ‘All girls.’
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sp; ‘We have a fairly good idea of her female friends,’ Yngve said. ‘Concentrate on the boys.’
‘Alright.’
A few seconds passed.
‘I’ll just say them out loud as I go along,’ Weedon said.
Yngve was getting impatient. It didn’t help that Åse was still looking at him. Her eyebrows were raised.
‘Stick to those she was in private chats with,’ he said.
‘OK.’
While he waited, Yngve found a pen and started clicking it on and off, on and off.
Finally Weedon said: ‘On the day she died, she chatted with Johannes Eklund…’
‘About what?’
‘Let me see…’
Another beat. ‘Nothing important, it seems, only some stuff about the show. She wanted to confirm that they were going to do the interview afterwards. Johannes agreed. With a smiley, even.’
‘Alright,’ Yngve said. ‘Who else was she chatting with?’
‘Let me see…’
Yngve drew a big circle on his notepad.
‘Her father tried to reach her,’ Weedon said. ‘Hello. You’re not answering my calls, so I’m trying to reach you in here instead. Can we meet somewhere? Talk about it?’
Talk about what? Yngve wondered. ‘When was that?’ he asked.
‘Sunday. The day before she died,’ Weedon answered, scratching his head.
‘Hm,’ Yngve murmured. Getting hold of Frode Lindgren was becoming more and more imperative. He still hadn’t returned any of Yngve’s calls.
‘She had been chatting to Even Tollefsen a lot,’ Weedon continued. ‘There must be thousands of exchanges between just the two of them. But on those last two days, though, she’s not responding to him. He’s … pretty desperate, it seems, to get answers from her.’
So far Even’s story checks out with the findings on her phone, Yngve thought.
‘Huh…’ Weedon exclaimed.
‘What is it?’ Yngve asked.
‘She did have a private chat with another Tollefsen.’
‘Who?’
‘A Tobias.’
Even’s brother, Yngve said to himself. ‘What the hell were they talking about?’
‘Let me see…’
Again it took Weedon half a minute to comb through the communication.
‘It started a little while ago,’ he said. ‘Five or six weeks or so. She contacted him because she needed some pictures of Even for an article she was going to write.’
The one for the school newspaper, Yngve thought as he waited for Weedon to continue.
‘She says that she’s reluctant to ask Even directly, because she doesn’t just want his favourite pictures of himself. She wants some pics from his childhood, preferably some embarrassing ones, because she wants the story to be fun. She’s hoping that Tobias might get her some photos that are fun for everyone – apart from Even. Then there are a few smileys and that kind of thing. She also wants to know if Tobias can get her a picture or two of Jimmy. Their father.’
Nothing irregular about that, Yngve thought. The article Mari was writing was about Jimmy as well.
‘Tobias says he is going to try. Then a couple of weeks go by before Tobias says that he has found some really cool ones. Mari gets excited. They agree to meet.’
‘When was this?’
‘A little over a week ago.’
‘Nothing more recent?’
Weedon’s thumb moved over her phone screen display again.
‘Well, yes.’ A couple of seconds passed. ‘He wrote to her last Friday – that would be three days before her murder – that he’d found out what kind of blood type Jimmy had.’
‘What?’
‘That’s what it says.’
Yngve scratched the back of his head. ‘So she asked him for that information?’
‘I don’t know. It doesn’t say.’
Maybe they had talked about it when they met, Yngve thought. That was the only plausible explanation.
‘They were also in touch on the night she died.’
Yngve sat up in his chair. ‘What are they saying?’
‘She’s not saying anything. It’s Tobias who wants to meet her. He asks her a couple of times, without getting a reply.’
‘Hm. Anything else?’
‘No, that’s it.’
Yngve asked Weedon to go through Mari’s other apps as well. But he didn’t find anything in particular of interest.
After Weedon had disappeared from Yngve’s screen, Åse continued looking at him. ‘I know,’ he said. ‘It’s not the proper way to go about it.’
She smiled. Because she liked it, she said – him not following protocol. Being naughty. He smiled back. ‘This is the new me,’ he said. ‘I don’t know if it’s a good thing or a bad thing.’
In the years that had passed between Åse first being diagnosed with breast cancer and the day she actually died, they had tried to prepare themselves for the inevitable. They had talked about death at length, but always in an arm’s-length way, as if it were something theoretical. Mostly it was Åse reminding him of the practical things he had to do, like oiling the workbench in the kitchen every two years, or remembering to change the gas hose on the grill.
Of course, there were the physical signs of her slow but steady decay, but they had both somehow accepted her death with a kind of serenity – something that had come as a great surprise to him. It was almost as if they really didn’t think it would happen, that it was all some kind of a prank, and that they would somehow be able to get through this as well. Like they did everything else.
Four weeks ago, on the day she died, it was as if though reality finally hit him. He had held on to every hour, every minute she continued to live, even though he wanted her suffering to be over. He knew this was life – the way of the world – but he cursed it. This wasn’t how it was supposed to be. It made no sense to him that some people would live to be a hundred, while others merely made it to sixteen or sixty-two.
Yngve had wanted to scream then, because it was so bloody unfair. He had wanted to shout, because fate was so unfair. He hadn’t been able to stop crying. But maybe that was what had kept him going. Without his tears the fire that was raging in his chest would have consumed him.
He looked over the desk at her. Her smile had faded. But their love never would, and neither would his grief. It was just going to change, and he was fine with that. Åse was, too. She had said so many times.
I will just be there, with you, around you and in you. And you will feel my hand in your heart instead of on your chest.
She vanished into thin air, as she did these days, with no warning.
Yngve made a decision. He needed to put her away for a bit. He needed to close the door to the room where all the colours were dark. He wasn’t going to lock it and throw away the key, no. He was going to keep it around his neck, as close to his heart as he could. And when the time was right, he was going to open it again.
Now he just needed to work.
It simply wasn’t his moment to be mourning.
51
Mum was already in the kitchen when I got there, reading the paper, drinking her morning coffee. I hoped it was alcohol free. GP lay at her feet with his tongue hanging out, hoping to catch a titbit or two. She ignored him.
‘Good morning,’ she said.
‘Morning.’
‘They say they’ve got a strong lead.’
‘Hm?’
‘The police. They say they’ve got some new evidence in the case.’
I wondered what kind of evidence it was, or if that was something they just said to the media.
‘Any details?’ I asked.
‘No. There’s some stuff about how difficult this case is, though.’
I wondered when Yngve Mork would get in touch with me again. I had a feeling it would be soon.
‘Working today?’ I asked.
‘Yes,’ Mum sighed. ‘I have to leave in a minute or two.’
I looked at her.
I couldn’t see any signs of last night’s drinking. There were bags under her eyes, but then again, there always were.
‘Is that brother of yours going to make an appearance today?’ She looked up at the ceiling, as though Tobias might suddenly come bursting through it.
‘Don’t know,’ I said. I guessed he probably wouldn’t come down until I had left.
Mum looked at the clock on the wall. ‘I’ll go and see what he’s up to.’
I heard her feet on the stairs, GP eagerly following, paws scratching against the steps. Then a knock on my brother’s door.
‘Tobias, time to get up!’
She got no answer. She knocked again. Called his name once more and made another point of how late it was. Still no answer. Again she knocked, harder this time. Same result.
I went upstairs too. When I got there, Mum was trying the handle. It was locked, just as it had been the evening before. GP was jumping around her ankles, wagging his tail.
‘He’s started to lock the door,’ Mum said, more to herself than me. She tried the handle again. ‘Tobias!’
I put my ear to the door. Couldn’t hear a thing. No music. No movement. ‘Tobias!’ I yelled. ‘What’s going on?’
I tried to push at the door. It didn’t budge. I looked at Mum. ‘Do you have the key?’
Mum shook her head frantically. I put my shoulder to the door but still it didn’t move, not even a little bit. It was old and heavy. I stepped back and took a run at it. I just bounced off. GP barked. I took a look around for something to hit the handle with. Spotted the fire extinguisher by the wall. I picked it up, then slammed it down on the handle with all my might. It didn’t break.
I tried the same again. No luck. And even if I did manage to get the handle off, I thought, the door would still be locked. The whole thing would have to come off its hinges. I had to kick it in.
GP was jumping around my ankles, wanting to play.
‘Keep him away from me!’ I shouted at my mum.
She grabbed the lead and got him to sit still. Give it all you’ve got, I said to myself, like they do in the movies. Then I began to kick. I kicked and kicked and kicked. But still nothing happened. I attacked it again, targeting the same spot, and finally I felt something give, the door was about to give way. This gave me more strength, and I kicked again, as hard as I could. Slowly, gradually, the door was coming apart.