by Thomas Enger
‘Again, I apologise.’
Yngve rubbed his eyes.
‘After you’d come out of the school, and while you were waiting in your car, did you see anyone then?’
‘No, it was raining quite heavily. Which was why I didn’t want to waste any more time just sitting there.’
‘It was quite service-minded of you,’ Yngve said, ‘to go in and look for Mari like that. Would you have done that for any other customer?’
Knut seemed to give that some thought before answering. ‘I don’t know. I think I would. But I knew she was Even’s girlfriend, and I thought I could score some points with her, and with him, if I went in and got her. God knows it’s not easy coming into a family like Susanne’s the way that I have, late in the boys’ lives and all.’
Knut had been working when Børre Halvorsen was murdered as well, but he’d been on a trip to Lillestrøm at the time. The taxi company had a copy of the receipt he’d collected afterwards. He’d been paid at exactly thirteen minutes past midnight. There was no way Knut could have made it back to Fredheim in time to kill Børre.
Yngve asked him a few more questions, then sent him on his way, sweating profusely and apologising once again for not coming forward. Afterwards Yngve went to see Therese.
‘Someone’s lying to us in this town,’ he said. ‘I can’t see any other explanation.’
‘Yeah,’ she said. ‘I think you may be right. I’ve just heard from the doctors at Akershus University Hospital. They have given us the go-ahead to interview Tobias.’
‘Let’s go then.’
73
I said goodbye to Victor Ramsfjell and checked my phone. Ole Hoff had called. I suspected he’d heard about Tobias and wanted an update. But after what my mum had told me about Julia, his wife, I really didn’t want to talk to him. Besides, our family drama was nobody else’s business – especially not the media’s.
I was wondering what to do. I didn’t want to go home to the big empty house and sit there with my own thoughts, waiting for updates on Tobias. As I was standing on the pavement, my bike leaning against my stomach, I tried to go through everything I knew about the case, step by step. I thought about Mari and what she’d done the last few days of her life – besides breaking up with me. I remembered how she’d stayed away from school and spent the last two nights of her life at Ida Hammer’s, apparently because of some argument with her parents.
A new plan formed in my mind, but I wasn’t sure if I should go through with it. My previous encounter with Cecilie Lindgren hadn’t gone well, and if it really was Frode who had been following me in his car that night, going to see them now might not be a good idea. But I needed answers.
When I got to their house, I could see that Frode’s car wasn’t there. I leaned my bike against the fence and tried to muster up some courage, before walking slowly to the front door and ringing the bell. I heard footsteps inside, a slow shuffling that made my heart beat faster. The door opened and Cecilie Lindgren looked at me. She didn’t appear to be angry or upset. She just stared squarely at me, waiting for me to speak.
‘Please,’ I said, holding up my hands. ‘Don’t … chase me off. Please, just … I need to talk to you.’
It was as if the person in front of me didn’t have the energy to even speak. She just held on to the door handle and looked at me with empty eyes. It looked like she hadn’t showered or slept for days. She was thin and feeble, a bit like Mum.
‘Why do you want to talk to me?’ she asked finally, in a flat voice.
‘I just … want to try and understand a few things,’ I said.
‘Sorry,’ Cecilie said – she sounded utterly exhausted. ‘I don’t know if I can bear to talk to you, Even.’
‘Please,’ I begged. ‘I’ve been through a lot in the past few days too. It might do us both some good if we talk.’
I was afraid that my psycho-babble might upset her again, but instead of sending me on my way, her shoulders dropped and she let out a heavy sigh.
‘Do you drink coffee, Even?’ she asked me.
‘Not often,’ I said with a small smile. ‘And not a lot. But I’ll be happy to have some now.’
As soon as I entered the house, my eyes searched for Mari’s things. Her shoes. Her jacket. A hairband lying on a dresser. A glass she had used. But I saw nothing. I wondered if Cecilie had cleared out all her daughter’s belongings already. Whether that was how she’d managed to get through the past few days.
Cecilie indicated the living room and pointed to the sofa, and I went in and sat down. Shortly after, she came in with a coffee pot and two cups. She poured a cup for me, but only helped herself to a few drops.
‘Put plenty of sugar in,’ she said. ‘It helps.’
We sat there for a little while, just feeling the silence between us. I’d always felt a bit awkward around Cecilie. Like she really didn’t like me. There had always been a certain distance or a coldness in her gaze. Like she was suspicious of me or something. I had even asked Mari about it, but she had just dismissed it. ‘You’ll win her over,’ she’d said. ‘Just act normally, and she will love you just as much as I do.’
‘It’s strange, isn’t it,’ Cecilie said. ‘It’s at times like these you discover who your true friends really are.’ She poured a bit of milk into her cup and stirred. ‘At first everyone wants to pay their respects. We’ve received flowers, cards, messages of support and love from God knows where. It’s when things start to calm down a bit you really need people. When the emptiness fully hits you. That’s when you need something – someone – to help get you through the days.’
I thought about my mother, who had recently said something similar. She’d also been angry at the woman sitting in front of me.
As though she’d read my mind, Cecilie said: ‘I wasn’t a very good friend to your mother after your dad died. It was a very difficult time for me too. Your father was a good friend of mine. A good colleague.’
I remembered what Tom Hulsker had said about them.
Cecilie looked away. ‘The accident had a deep impact on me. My grief … it was hard for me to explain or control.’
She looked up at me. Old grief mixed with new.
‘I think your mother was disappointed with me,’ she said. ‘The fact that I wasn’t there for her when she needed me most. But I just couldn’t, not when…’ Again she turned her head away.
I wasn’t sure I knew what she meant.
She looked at me again and smiled. ‘You’re very much like your father,’ she said. ‘You’ve got the same chin. The same eyes. Your hair’s a bit longer, though.’
She smiled again.
‘Mari seemed to be really interested in my dad just before she…’
Cecilie’s smile vanished in an instant. Then she stood up and went over to the table in the corner. It was where we’d had dinner together. She grabbed the back of a chair and just stood there, holding on to it. She was crying, even though she didn’t make a sound.
‘Did she ever tell you why she split up with me?’ I asked.
It took a while before Cecilie nodded. Then she shook her head. ‘She couldn’t be with you, Even,’ she said, suddenly overcome with tears. It sounded like an echo of the message Mari had sent me the day she dumped me. That I was the best guy, but that she just couldn’t be with me any longer.
I got up and slowly moved closer to Cecilie. ‘Why?’ I asked.
She sniffed. ‘Have you really not guessed it yet, Even?’
I shook my head. ‘Guessed what?’
Cecilie took a deep breath, lifted her shoulders, then dropped them again. ‘Your father and I, we … we were more than just good friends,’ she said, with a sob. Then she gave me a piercing look.
And that was when I understood the tears. The sobbing. The questions Mari had asked my brother, about blood types. I finally understood why Mari and I couldn’t be together. It was because we had the same father.
74
While he was driving towards Akershus Uni
versity Hospital, Yngve asked Therese to re-examine their timeline thoroughly and repeat it to him. She started with Jimmy Tollefsen’s car accident, then continued with Even and Mari’s relationship ten years later. Mari then broke up with Even, just as Frode and Cecilie Lindgren’s marriage was falling apart. The murders on the night of the school show premiere took place next, and then Børre Halvorsen was killed. After that she went through all the people they’d interviewed, most importantly the ones closest to Mari Lindgren, discussing all the possible motives anyone could have for being the murderer.
‘We just can’t find any motive that sticks,’ she said.
Yngve glanced over at her. She was pale again. She leaned forwards slightly, touching her belly.
‘Are you OK?’ Yngve asked.
‘Not really,’ she said. ‘I puked like crazy this morning.’
‘Want me to take you home?’
‘Now?’ she asked. ‘We’re halfway to the hospital. I’ll be fine. I may ask you to pull over in a little bit, though.’ She feigned a puking motion with her mouth.
‘Just say the word,’ Yngve said.
They drove on for a few miles. Neither of them spoke, both deep in thought.
‘Wait a minute,’ Yngve said, more to himself than to Therese.
‘What is it?’ she asked.
‘Just hang on for a second.’
He thought of Tic-Tac’s door again.
‘What?’ Therese was getting impatient.
Yngve grabbed his mobile phone and dialled a number.
‘Who are you calling?’ Therese asked.
‘Knut,’ Yngve said.
The taxi driver answered quickly. ‘I just have a few more questions for you,’ Yngve said. ‘When you left the school that night, it must have been somewhere between ten fifty and eleven, correct?’
‘Yes, I assume that’s—’
‘Did you see any cars parked outside the entrance at the back of the school at that time?’
Knut appeared to be thinking. ‘Yes,’ he said tentatively. ‘I think I did. Yes,’ he confirmed, more sure of himself. ‘Yes I did.’
‘Was it more than one car?’
There was a moment’s pause. Yngve could feel Therese’s eyes upon him.
‘There was just one,’ Knut said. ‘Right outside.’
‘On the janitor’s parking spot?’
‘Yes. I don’t think there’s room for more than one car there. Why – is it important?’
Yngve looked at Therese for a second. ‘It might be. Did you see whose car it was?
‘I did,’ Knut said, another hint of pride in his voice. ‘I’m good with cars. And this car is kind of special, too, so it was easy.’
‘OK,’ Yngve said impatiently. ‘So whose was it?’
75
Mari was my half-sister.
Cecilie had got pregnant by my dad while she was married to another man and he was married to another woman. Her best friend.
I couldn’t believe it. I really couldn’t.
Especially after what Mum had told me about Julia, Ole Hoff ’s wife. Man, my Dad had really been a player.
‘I wasn’t even sure of it myself,’ Cecilie sniffed. ‘But Mari had just studied blood types at school, and she realised that her blood group couldn’t have come from me and my husband’s. It’s easy enough to find out, and I’m not sure, really, why I didn’t…’ She stopped herself, needing a few more moments before she could continue. ‘Mari had been working on that article she was going to write – the one about you and your father. She’d talked to a number of people, who no doubt said good things about him. He was so well liked, your father. She asked me about him, too. But then she … dug a bit deeper. I told her that he was a good friend of mine. A good colleague.’ She looked away. ‘I don’t know if it was the way I said it or if she could see the truth on my face. I’ve never been a good liar. And I guess deep down I always knew that Jimmy was Mari’s biological father. Which is why it was so difficult for me when … Mari and you got together. I couldn’t really deny her the right to be with you, could I? That, surely, would have raised some questions that would have been hard for me to answer. Anyway.’ She shook her head. ‘Somehow she’d found out what kind of blood type Jimmy had. She was cross-questioning me about it when Frode came in the room. He’d heard the questions, too, and … I … well, I was basically cornered by the two of them. So … I decided I’d better tell them the truth.’
My phone vibrated – a text – but I didn’t want to check who it was from. Cecilie was too distraught. I took a breath, then went over and put my arms around her. We stood like that for a while, then she pulled herself free and said sorry for being so emotional.
‘I understand completely,’ I said with a low voice. ‘Don’t apologise.’
It was easy now to understand why Mari had been avoiding me. How could she explain this to me? And where would it lead? What would I have done with that information? How would Mum…?
I thought about how my mother hated gossip, the way a story like this would be the talk of the town for months on end. Not only would the truth destroy her. So would the chatter.
I couldn’t digest the fact that Mari was my half-sister. The things I had felt for her. The things we’d done…
‘I guess I should go on home,’ I said after a while. I had barely touched my coffee. Cecilie nodded and followed me to the front door.
‘You were right,’ she said. ‘It was good to talk to you about this. I think I needed to. And deep down I know you couldn’t have hurt Mari, Even. I know that you love … that you liked her.’
I tried to smile.
‘How is your mother?’ Cecilie asked.
I took a deep breath and wondered what I should say. ‘Not so good,’ I said. ‘My brother’s a little out of sorts these days, too, so … we’re struggling a bit – all of us, to be honest. But … we’ll get there eventually. One day at a time.’ I looked at her. ‘And don’t worry,’ I said. ‘I’m not going to tell her what you just told me.’
Cecilie gave me a thankful smile. We hugged again.
As we embraced, I wondered what the next few days and months would be like for her. If anything, or anyone, could help her fill the void somehow, if she would be able to get back on her feet again, to get back to teaching. If there would ever come a time when she could burst out laughing at something without feeling guilty. I somehow doubted it.
The text I’d got was from Ole Hoff. I opened it before getting on my bike. It said:
Call me. Important.
I rang him back, but the call went straight to voicemail. I sent him a text too, telling him that I could speak now, if it was urgent. Maybe he’d discovered something, I thought. Ole was a good journalist. He knew a lot of people in this town.
As I cycled towards the centre of Fredheim, I once more tried to fit the pieces of the puzzle together. I couldn’t see how Mum could have had anything to do with the murders. If she had found out about Cecilie and Jimmy, it would have had an enormous impact on her. She would have fallen apart completely. She would have cried and cried and made life a living hell for everyone. But she wouldn’t have held it against Mari. Not to the point where she killed her. And if she didn’t have a real motive to kill Mari, then I guess neither did Knut.
The tone in Ole’s text got me worried, though. So I cycled to his office in the centre of Fredheim, to see if he was there. I put my head through the door, and one of the women sitting closest to the entrance, told me he was out.
‘Do you know where he is?’ I asked.
‘I only know that he was going to Solstad earlier today. I don’t know if he’s still there now.’
‘Solstad,’ I muttered and thought about my brother. Our old neighbourhood. ‘Did he say about what?’
‘No, sorry,’ the woman said.
‘OK. Thanks.’
I had just got back out onto the road again when my phone rang. I guessed it would be Ole calling me back, but it wasn’t. It was Imo.
/> ‘Even,’ he said. I could hear that his breathing was shallow. ‘I need some help. Can you come over?’
Something was up. But maybe it was simply that he’d done his back in again or something.
‘Yes, of course,’ I said, with the tiniest hesitation. ‘To your house? What’s going on? Is something wrong?’
‘I’ll explain when you get here.’
76
‘So what if Imo’s car was still parked there?’ Therese said. ‘It doesn’t have to mean anything. We know he stayed behind after the show.’
‘Yes, but he also told me that he left school somewhere between ten-thirty and ten-forty, and that there were about fifteen to twenty people still left inside the school when he did. According to Knut, there was practically no one there when he went inside to look for Mari, and that was closer to eleven. We now know that Imo’s car was still there. Which means that he was still there.’
‘Fuck.’
‘He could have got the time wrong, of course,’ Yngve continued. ‘But we can, for sure, place him at the school quite close to eleven.’
‘Unless he went home some other way that night.’
‘Why lie to me about that, then?’ Yngve said. ‘I don’t think he did. He told me he drove home all by himself. He was tired. It had been hectic the week before the opening night. Lots of rehearsals, blah-blah.’
Therese seemed to be thinking.
‘We haven’t got a single witness account of the person leaving the school via the roof,’ Yngve continued eagerly. ’Tic-Tac’s parking space is a short stone’s throw away from the fire ladder. Imo could have made it to his car from there without being seen.’
‘So there would be blood in his car, then?’
‘For sure.’
‘We need to check that.’
‘He probably cleaned it as soon as he got home.’
‘There might be some traces left.’