Kai pushed her panties off the desk on to the floor, stood up, crossed to the window. Spring day outside. The sun hanging above the river. He felt a mixture of anger and relief. Inconceivable that Shahzad Chadar knew anything about the fires and the ignition devices. He wouldn’t have kept his mouth shut for eight years. They must have killed Karsten before the kid had a chance to talk about it.
Another thought struck him as he read through Synne Clausen’s most recent document. He picked up his mobile phone. A while since he’d called Adrian’s number. For a time they had done things together. He’d worked for his little brother. It was unnatural. Couldn’t last.
– You still alive?
The standard opening. Could mean anything. The continuation didn’t make things any clearer, but the mere fact that Adrian had picked up was a sign that he was willing to let bygones be bygones.
– I’m just about to start a meeting, he said once they’d got the opening courtesies out of the way.
– Where are you?
– London. Try again later.
Kai heard the buzz of voices in the background. He didn’t need to call, didn’t need Adrian’s help or his money. He’d worked for him for almost six months. One mistake and he was out. You fucked up was how Adrian summarised it. And he was sent back home, like some kid who got legless on a school outing. How would Adrian have managed without the money his father gave him?
– It’s about Synne Clausen.
Pause. Then Adrian was there again: – Are you talking about the sister?
– The very same.
– Wait a moment.
Adrian moved away into what sounded like a side room; the background noise was abruptly gone. Kai was surprised at how easy it had been to get his full attention. But Adrian had taken an interest in Karsten, had enjoyed the way the lad fell for Jasmeen Chadar. Had encouraged them, played along with them. He called it an experiment. Naïve boy grows up in Toytown, meets Pakistani girl who’s been prepared for marriage to a relative in the Punjab. What happens if you bring them together and introduce a catalyst? As though a brainless idiot couldn’t see what would happen. After the lad disappeared, Adrian soon lost interest in the experiment.
– What is this about the sister?
– You haven’t heard that she’s become a writer? Now she’s writing some kind of documentary thing about her brother’s disappearance.
– That was a hundred years ago.
– Precisely eight, Kai corrected him, prepared to be rejected, but Adrian was still there.
– When is the book being published?
– No idea. But if you can believe what she says in an interview, she’s only just started. Thought I might try to find out a bit more about it.
Adrian said nothing, but Kai could feel that he was on the verge of breaking through the wall of hostility.
– There’s more, he said, and waited.
– Let’s hear it, Adrian grunted, and the tough-guy way he said it made Kai pull a face.
– Synne Clausen has a list of people she’s contacting to ask about Karsten. She’s been to see Shahzad Chadar’s sister.
My sister, he was on the verge of adding, and flicked himself on the forehead with an irritated smirk.
– Jasmeen?
Kai didn’t know what to make of the fact that Adrian still remembered her name.
– Jasmeen Chadar has told Synne that Shahzad killed Karsten.
There was a long silence after this. Kai knew that Adrian always fell silent when he was surprised, that he took refuge in the nearest shelter and assessed the situation before re-emerging and continuing his advance, or pulling back even further.
– Does she know that?
Suddenly Kai felt in high spirits. – She says she knows. You were in no doubt about it either back then. That it was Shahzad and his gang who got rid of Karsten.
They hadn’t spoken much about this. Just recognised that they had failed to protect the lad, that they had lost a battle but that the war was only just beginning. But perhaps this defeat was the reason Adrian had gone back to England.
– You seem very well informed about who’s been talking to whom.
– You’re right there, Kai confirmed. He was enjoying this conversation more and more. – You don’t seem to have noticed that Shahzad Chadar has been busy making himself a career as a politician.
– From small-time crook to politician? That’s not exactly a long journey.
– He’s backed the right horse, the party that’s most opposed to immigration.
Adrian blew out his breath. – In Norway all politicians think the same. They assign each other roles and then try to make it look as though they’re quarrelling. And Shahzad Chadar is a total creep.
– If he gets had up for murder, he’s finished, said Kai. – Once and for all.
– Why do I need to know all this? Adrian interrupted irritably.
– Because I’m thinking I might just crush that Muslim bastard.
That was the way he had to talk to get Adrian on his side. – Iraq is a lost cause. Things are even worse in Afghanistan. Resistance here at home is what matters now.
Kai could hear that Adrian had opened the door back into the room he’d started out in. A confusion of background voices welled up again. But he was obviously still listening; he hadn’t ended the call.
– Elsa’s on Synne Clausen’s list of people to talk to.
Adrian coughed at the other end. – What does she want to talk to Elsa about?
– I’m sure you’ll realise if you think about it. Karsten spent a lot of time round here before he disappeared.
– Elsa has enough on her plate. We can’t let people start worrying her.
He was right about that. Elsa reached out in all directions. That winter eight years ago, Kai had got closer to her than ever before. He was at her place every day, because Adrian had decided to live with his father in Birmingham. She’d opened up to him, started to talk about things she had been through, and Kai had helped her in any way he could. It was the best time he’d ever had. And then the prince had decided to come back to her. And again Kai found himself banished to a far-off land. Not a land even, just a dank, cold place.
– Interested in copies of what Synne Clausen is writing? he joked. – She’s writing about you too.
– Fucking hell, no, Adrian swore. – Leave me out of your snooping.
Kai smirked, surprised by his outburst. – I’ll get in touch if something comes up.
– I’m going to Basra, Adrian told him.
– I’ll keep you posted, Kai replied, and made sure he was the one who ended the call.
Chadar lived in 47B, the central of three detached houses with carports dividing them. The house was painted in a loud turquoise colour that made him smile indulgently. There was a light in the hallway, the only one, and no car outside. Kai carried on past, on to the next group of houses, found a path between the gardens, passed 47B on the far side. The living room faced this way. He noticed that the curtains were closed and there were plants on the windowsill. He stood for half a minute before withdrawing into some bushes and then heading up towards the copse.
The April day was bright and sharp and the biting wind colder than it had been in the morning. He pulled his collar up, took out his phone and punched in a number. From his position between the trees he could not be seen from the house.
– Who is this?
The female voice was old, the accent broken. He guessed it must be the wife.
– I’m calling from Interflora, he said. – Is Khalid Chadar at home?
– No.
– Will he be long?
The woman said something in a foreign language and then another person came on the line.
– What’s this about?
A younger voice this, no accent. He went through what he had planned to say.
– We can take the flowers here, the woman said.
He dismissed the suggestion, saying that the greetin
g had to be delivered in person. He could hear how stupid it sounded, but she fell for it.
– Then you’ll have to send it to Lørenskog Nursing Home, she informed him.
He asked which department, was told, again declined the offer to take the flowers out to him. – A floral greeting, he murmured to himself, and was still laughing as he got into the car.
When they let him into the ward, he had a bouquet of flowers with him, bought at a nearby Esso station. The corridor smelled of piss. He was shown through a room in which four or five skinny old men sat staring at a blank TV screen. Kai felt himself getting irritated.
– Are you family? asked the chubby girl in the pale blue nurse’s uniform.
He nodded and tried to look sad. – Close family. Has there been any change?
– He spends most of the time sleeping. Doesn’t eat much. He’s on liquids.
She opened a door at the end of the corridor. – Visitor for you, Khalid, she chirped. – Your nephew.
Kai had no idea where she got that from but had no need to correct the assertion, because the figure that was half sitting and half lying in bed didn’t move his eyelids at all; they looked to be stuck to the sunken eyeballs. The chest moved jerkily two or three times and then was quite still for some time before the jerky movements were repeated.
– He is awake, the chubby girl informed him. – He hears everything you say to him. He’s just so thrilled when he has a visit. If only every family looked after their own as well as yours does.
Kai gave her a suitably modest smile. She took the flowers he handed to her, filled a metal jug and put them in it, set it down on the bedside table.
– I’ll let you have a little time on your own, she said warmly, and let herself out.
Kai remained standing by the bed, looking down at the almost translucent figure. A needle in the back of his hand was attached to a tube, clear liquid dripping from a bag up on the metal stand. He had met Khalid Chadar once before, in the sweet shop in Strømmen. Kai was fourteen and had played truant after the lunch break and ridden up there on his bike. Didn’t buy anything, just stood there and looked Khalid Chadar in the eye. Can I help you? the man had asked. Kai had left without a word. And now, after all these years, he answered:
– Yes, you can help me.
Because now he knew what he should have said back then. He dragged a plastic chair over to the bedside, sat down.
– The first time I heard of Khalid Chadar was when Tord Hammer told me about you. Tord Hammer called himself my father. He knew who you were. For some reason or other he couldn’t stand you.
It seemed to Kai that the glued eyelids moved, and he took that as a sign that the man lying there was awake and hearing every word he said. He felt an itching inside himself. The kind of itching that might lead anywhere.
– Tord Hammer couldn’t stand me either. Not so surprising really. He couldn’t have kids of his own, his sperm was rotten, so he had to look after a boy who wasn’t his. I wasn’t supposed to know, Gunnhild wanted to shield me as long as possible, but Tord Hammer thought that was just rubbish. And he was right about that. Why shouldn’t kids be told where they come from?
There were a few photos on the bedside table. Kai picked up one, a black-and-white picture. It looked to be from the village back in Pakistan. An elderly man with a turban, two children standing in front of him, one with his arm around the neck of a cow.
– Tord was pretty mad at me the day he told me. It was the time I set fire to a field just down from our house. It almost spread to the next-door garden, and if that’d happened the whole house could have burned to the ground. But Tord and a few others managed to put it out just in time. He came up to my room afterwards. I’d been sent up there to think about what I’d done. I thought and I thought and I wasn’t in the least bit ashamed. And that’s what I told Tord Hammer when he came up to hear the conclusion I’d come to.
Kai shook his head and placed the picture back on the table.
– There’s an art in being ashamed. It wasn’t for me. Something stronger was called for. Tord Hammer understood he had to get right down to it. You don’t even know who your mother is, he told me, because it seemed to him now was the time for the truth to come out. And it was right, what he said. I’d already realised it wasn’t Gunnhild. Your mother is married to a rich man in England, Tord Hammer explained, and suddenly his voice was softer. The trouble was, this man didn’t know she already had issue. When he found out, he probably wasn’t all that pleased, but he didn’t lose his rag completely till he learned who the father of this bastard was. A bloody Mohammedan, having it away with the woman who was now his wife. I had to think about what he was saying for a while. I wasn’t familiar with the words issue or bastard. But it wasn’t too hard to work out. And before Tord Hammer left my room that afternoon, he informed me that he had always thought of me as the Paki kid, and it was the sort of useful information that made a lot of things fall into place.
Kai pulled his chair closer to the bed. The creature lying there was breathing differently now, quicker and more evenly. There was a slight rattling sound from the throat, and a rivulet of spittle that had gathered at the corners of the mouth trickled down over the chin.
– But this is not what I came here to talk about, said Kai, and leaned down towards Khalid Chadar’s ear. A smell of decay came from the body; it was hard to tell whether from the mouth or the hair, or whether the skin itself was releasing the stench. Kai held his nose.
– You stink, he announced. – But Shahzad smells even worse. I understand why you Muslims wash yourselves all day. Shame it doesn’t help. The stink is embedded. And soon everyone’s going to know what I know about Shahzad. Yes, that’s who I’m talking about, Shahzad Chadar, your son. A little Paki criminal who thought he was clever because he stopped stealing mobile phones and began to play at being grown up and acting responsible. Who acts the friendly, enlightened man, the man who thinks it’s wrong to beat his wife up, who preaches tolerance and free speech. But he’s still a little Mohammedan shit. And soon everybody is going to know who he really is.
He leaned right over into the stinking ear.
– A killer. Someone who supposedly kills to protect the family honour. As though there is any honour in your family. Well now he can go to hell. Every fucking journalist in this country is going to be after him. They’ll camp outside his house, follow his wife to work, his kids to nursery school. Nobody in that whole fucking family of yours is going to get a moment’s peace until the newspapers and the TV had have their fill and people can’t be bothered to pay attention any more. Not just that bottom-feeder Shahzad but the whole of the fucking Chadar family might as well move back to that hole in the Punjab you crawled out of. No one here will miss you.
Suddenly the thin eyelids moved, and Khalid Chadar’s eyes opened, looked at him, or past him, and at that moment the thought of Elsa came to Kai. That she would get the revenge she had never asked for. If she could see him now, he thought, she would be happy that he was able to do something for her, that he didn’t back away, that he protected her.
18
Synne sat on the side of the bed. Slowly the dream images were sucked into the afternoon light. She didn’t try to hold on to them.
When she stood up, that line of tension was still there in her head, like a warning.
Four messages on her phone. Janus had a cold, nothing serious, but Åse obviously thought she ought to come and take care of him. Two of the others were from Erika. Synne deleted them, regretted it, should have read them first. Erika had rung too, three times according to the call list. Synne was about to ring back but didn’t. For a few days she would make herself inaccessible, maybe a whole week, maybe for ever. The thought of how that would hurt Erika gave her an intense and pleasurable glow.
She was still tired and could have slept on, but after a Coke and a visit to the toilet, she sat down at the machine.
Don’t be angry, Karsten, I whisper. Please, don’t be angry
with me.
She had typed this after staggering in through the door the previous evening, with the pain twisting from her ear and into her head. She had been outside herself. It was as though someone else had written it. Someone who knew more about her than she did about herself.
Janus was worse than Åse had said. He shook himself as she entered the stable, greeting her with that little movement of the neck. She pressed her face against the warm muzzle, stroked his mane.
– I missed you too, she said into his ear, and stood there without moving. Janus stood motionless too. – I’ve had so much on my mind, she confided to him. – I don’t know what’s happening. Don’t understand any of it.
Afterwards she took both Janus and Sancto Spirito over to the riding hall. Walked them round the large room. Janus was stepping a little oddly, and she got the hoof pick and lifted one of his hooves, gave the inside of the shoe a clean. The door swung open. Synne half turned, saw a male figure silhouetted against the afternoon light. He was black haired, fairly tall.
– Hello? she said.
He pulled the door to behind him, walked towards her. She recognised him now, had seen pictures of him in the newspapers and online. What are you doing here? she wanted to ask, but couldn’t get a word out. He came nearer. Her fingers tightened around the scraper. She tried to carry on with the cleaning job, but Janus was too restless. She dropped his hoof and stroked him, couldn’t tell if it was the tremor passing from her skin into the big animal body or the other way round.
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