«What happens with the funeral now?»
Verner drooped, looking like he was on the verge of tears.
«I don’t know.»
13
Agnar turned toward the town center. Up the hill, past the courthouse. He cast a glance at Lady Justice, who was hanging on the wall with a blindfold over her eyes and a scale in her hands. To be honest, she looked more like a man, in his opinion: flat-chested and broad-shouldered.
«Don’t judge me too hard, lady! I’m doing the best I can here.»
He passed the big parking lot and took a side street, followed it awhile, and had to turn around when he realized he was going the wrong way. It had been a long time since he’d been in town, but he still remembered the local driving rules for Drammen. If you were driving along the river, you had the right of way; if you were driving toward it, it was smart to yield. A black Passat honked in the crossing just before he got there. He suppressed the urge to give the driver the finger and immediately turned after it. Agnar let the car roll slowly alongside Bragernes Church before stopping between the church itself and a low brick building that appeared to be some kind of equipment shed. He sat there a moment. There was a light in the window of the sacristy, but he did not see anyone inside.
«That wasn’t much of a city tour,» he whispered. «But I have to split, do you understand that? They’ll find you here. You’re almost home now.»
Agnar opened the door and slipped out, knowing full well that he would be noticed if anyone saw him getting out of the car. He was not exactly dressed like a funeral director. He left the keys in the ignition and closed the door carefully with a quiet click. Fortunately, he had sense enough not to take off the leather gloves. With permanent storage in the fingerprint registry, it would only take the police a few seconds to find a match if he’d put his thumb on the steering wheel. They wouldn’t find any hairs either. He pulled the cap tighter down over his shaved skull. Regardless, what would make the police think of checking him out for a stolen hearse? He could get out of this. He just had to figure out what to do with himself.
He had planned to stay with his mother until he worked out what to do with his life. Now he had to make an alternative plan. And he had to prepare for the shock. The shock he would have to fake when someone, presumably a pastor, found him to report that his mother had been reduced to a quantity of carbon roughly equivalent to two bags of charcoal. Besides that, he needed an alibi for the last twenty-four hours.
He walked around the church. Now when he was safely out of the car, his legs suddenly got soft, as if a presoak agent had been sprayed into the bones. At the top of the steps that led down to the center, he stood for a moment and looked around. The city, already decorated for Christmas, lay before him, with the square, the fountain, the river and bridge. Everything that had once been his town. Now it stared back as if he was an intruder. His knees were about to give way. A shiver coursed through his body, and a voice began to grind, making tiny grains of the few clear thoughts he had.
Where should I go? No place to go. Go. Just go.
He went down the steps.
And now I’m alone. No. I’m no more alone now than before.
He sank down at the bottom of the steps.
No reason to feel sorry for me. Damn right it’s too bad about me. I’ve got no one. No one. No place to go. Should I take the train? Go into the woods? To the creek? To the ravine? No, to the river. Right into the river, where I can sink down. Sink down and float away. I have to get away. I won’t get away. I’m going to get caught. Get caught. I don’t want to get caught. Not caught. I have to go somewhere else. I can’t go anywhere else. I have to have someone. I don’t have anyone.
Then it occurred to him. Finn! He stood up abruptly. Finn lived in Drammen. He did the last time they talked, anyway. Twenty-five years ago.
«Finn, damn it! I have Finn.»
14
Press conference. TV. Bitte Røed managed to hide the smile that briefly threatened to appear when Police Superintendent Thomas Lindstrand asked her to fill in for Verner Jacobsen. She had not mentioned to the boss that she knew the person who reported the crime, and now she decided to wait. Lindstrand had not mentioned that person’s name either, so in principle, she could not have known when she agreed on short notice to appear as Verner Jacobsen’s replacement. Besides, Lindstrand had been more occupied with reminding everyone how important it was to maintain the pace in the investigation, that they had to secure all forensic leads, take care of witnesses, bring in possible suspects, and most important of all: proceed broadly, but not so broadly that they wouldn’t be able to follow up on the most important leads.
«And you, Bitte Røed,» he had said, pointing her out where she sat at the end of the table in the meeting room where all available hands had appeared—a total of five people. «You have just been at the scene and can add to what I’m saying as needed.»
She had sent Kristian a message, but had not received a reply. Now she was in the changing room. It was a long time since she’d needed a uniform. She held her breath and barely got the pants buttoned. It was worse with the shirt. She studied herself critically in the mirror. Could she appear on TV like this? If she placed the tie and service badge right over where the collar opened, maybe it wouldn’t be so conspicuous? She must have red lipstick in any event. Draw the focus upward. She practiced being serious. Don’t smile. Don’t smile.
Bitte Røed assumed that she had been assigned the role as the serious constable who would not say too much, the one who in a way would symbolize that the police were a team. Yet nervousness caused little stabbing pains in her abdomen. She consoled herself with the thought that Superintendent Thomas Lindstrand would probably take care of most of it. She smoothed the shirt, sucked in her stomach, and went to the auditorium, ready to meet the press.
She stared at all the microphones on the table and cast a glance at the waiting reporters. The low-pitched hum died down and only the sound of chairs scraping against the floor was heard as she and the superintendent sat down at the table. Police Superintendent Thomas Lindstrand gave a brief introduction.
«The police can disclose that it is fifteen-year-old Idunn Olsen who was found dead at Tranby in Lier. Idunn Olsen was reported missing last night when she did not come home at the agreed time. She was found in a forested area. The family has been notified and taken care of by crisis personnel. The area is cordoned off, and forensic and tactical investigations are still ongoing. So far, we have not arrested anyone in the case, but interviews with key witness are ongoing.»
That’s why Kristian doesn’t answer, it occurred to Bitte.
«Can you say anything about the cause of death?» one of the journalists called out; he was standing at the back and had been waving his arm throughout the superintendent’s short introduction.
«It’s too soon to say. There will be a routine autopsy done on the girl.»
«Do you suspect homicide?»
Bitte looked at Thomas Lindstrand. He answered.
«We can confirm that we consider this a suspicious death, but it is still uncertain whether there is a criminal action behind it. All the same, we are asking anyone who has been in the area who may have information to contact the police, so that we can clarify more quickly what happened.»
«Who found her?»
Thomas Lindstrand nodded toward Bitte, who swallowed when she realized that it was her turn. She peeked at the papers she had been given right before the conference. She should have said no, once she had skimmed through the papers, but she would have to blame the shock that made her mute. In any event she had been told not to mention names in this round.
«A sixteen-year-old boy from Tranby found her, and»—she swallowed—«a man, age forty-seven, reported it to the emergency service. The doctor at the scene determined that the girl was dead. Considering the investigation, we cannot give out the identity of these people at the present time.»
«There are rumors that there was a party of young
people that got out of control in the area. Neighbors have complained of noise. Is there any connection?»
«It is correct that there was a gathering in a private home,» Bitte said, thinking of Kristian’s daughter. She had also managed to glance through the night’s reports when she returned from the scene, which confirmed that a patrol car had quieted down a home-alone party. She’d forgotten to check with Thomas Lindstrand about whether she should answer. But this was sort of like standing on a stage and acting. It was only the first line that was difficult; the rest came easily, on their own. She did not dare look at the superintendent, but continued what she had started.
«It’s much too soon to say if the deceased was present there. The police are in the process of clarifying who was at the party.»
«There is a police bulletin out on a hearse that was stolen in Tranby in the morning hours. What can you say about that?»
Now Bitte looked at Thomas Lindstrand. This made the superintendent respond.
«We can confirm that a hearse has been reported stolen, but beyond that we have no comment.»
«Can the perpetrator have taken the car?»
«There is nothing that indicates that.»
Thomas Lindstrand kept his answers brief. There was authority in that, which Bitte Røed decided to imitate.
«What can you say about the place where the girl was found? Someone mentioned a rumor about ritual murder. Because it’s a special place, isn’t it?»
The middle-aged journalist looked right at Bitte Røed, and Thomas Lindstrand gave her the go-ahead signal. He probably assumed she knew about the place since she was now residing in Tranby.
«She was found by the old Kongeveien. What is special about it is that there is an obelisk in the forest there, right by the place she was found, and...»
Bitte stopped herself. Wasn’t she going to come across as firm and tight-lipped, just like her boss?
«There is no reason to believe that the place has any significance for the case,» she concluded.
15
Agnar continued down toward the city center, putting one foot in front of the other with unsteady determination. He passed the two tower buildings that had once housed the fire department. Now there was a computer store there. He crossed the street. Something was different, but he could not quite put his finger on what it was. Yes, there was too little traffic. This was Engene, the main artery through town. The driving pattern must have changed. There were new bars, and the municipality had clearly gone all out and hung strings of lights in all the trees that encircled the square, in addition to the usual Christmas tree at the far end down by the taxi shack. Enormous plastic icicles with built-in lights were planted in the fountain, but St. Hallvard still stood motionless at the top of it, in the middle of Bragernes Square, with lady and boat and all, and the gust from the river, steaming of gray chill under the City Bridge, was just as raw as ever.
Finn lived on the other side of the river, twenty-five years ago, in an apartment on Konnerudgata. Winter wind blew right through his clothes as Agnar struggled in a headwind across the bridge. So help me God, Drammen must be the coldest city in the country, he thought, but the cold was, if nothing else, somewhat masked by the chaos in his brain. Maybe he was sobering up. The thought of letting himself float down the river was long gone. He stopped and looked down into the black water. A surge that started in his knees transmitted itself up through his entire body. An occasional ice floe drifted past. Hell if he would go out there. On the right side, he noticed that a new bridge had been built. It resembled a circus tent without a canvas, where only the poles spread out.
He hurried ahead. The first twenty-four hours of freedom, he thought, and already in flight. The railway area had changed, and the old Müller Hotel was getting a facelift behind green netting. The whole area felt foreign. Only the old, yellow Globusgården building was there from before. He was uncertain how he would find Konnerudgata, but found an underpass with signs right by the Baptist Church. When he came up on the sidewalk again, he tried to remember which apartment building Finn lived in. He crossed the street, looking around. A modern glass-covered building had taken the place of the old ice cream factory that had once been blown up. There had been a temporary employment office on the corner where he should turn. The office was gone, replaced by a driving school. Agnar rounded the apartment building. Though he did not remember the number on the building, it was as if his legs found the way on their own now that he was here, as if the memory was in his body. He could have found his way there blindfolded. And strictly speaking that’s what I did, he thought. They had been to many soccer matches at Marienlyst. As a rule, they ended up at Kings after the match and drank until they were thrown out. He wondered whether the old pub was still there, or if it had been torn down in favor of something more modern.
He stood in front of the entrance to the apartment building and read the directory. There it was. He was still here! Finn and Elin Berget, it said in faded letters. So, he got married, that bastard. His heart shifted gear as he pressed his finger against the doorbell. Total silence. He was about to turn around and go down the stairs when there was a crackling in the loudspeaker.
«Yes, hello?»
A woman’s voice. Agnar cleared his throat.
«Hi, this is Agnar. A friend of Finn...»
No buzzing in the lock. He pulled himself together and concentrated on keeping his voice steady. If he slurred his words, he could just forget the whole arrangement.
«Yes, I was wondering if Finn was home.»
«Yes.»
«May I come in?»
Finally, the lock buzzed, and he slipped in. Third floor. No elevator. He could almost imagine that everything was like before.
Finn was already standing in the door as he rounded the last curve in the stairs.
«Agnar?»
«Finn?»
They stood there a moment and observed one another, both trying to find the younger version of an almost forgotten friend.
«Come in,» said Finn, finally opening the door.
Agnar did not recognize the apartment. Where there had been an old couch and a table usually covered with beer bottles and ashtrays, there was now a simple, gray sofa with light pink pillows. On the table was a cloth that matched the sofa pillows, with two silver candleholders.
«You’ve made it nice,» said Agnar, who didn’t really know what he should say.
«It’s the wife who arranges most things here now,» Finn said. «Coffee?»
Agnar nodded, wondering whether it would be impudent to ask about a slice of bread. He decided that could wait. Maybe his wife would serve something with the coffee. He felt dizzy and sat down on the sofa before anyone offered him a seat. He was about to wriggle out of his jacket when he remembered the blood-stained shirt. I’ll have to pretend that I’m a little cold, he thought, pulling the zipper even further up to his neck.
16
Verner Jacobsen parked in the narrow driveway that led to the house he and Ingrid bought when they were newlyweds. They got the house for under a million kroner, that’s how long ago it was. He opened the door and heard angry barking.
«Lorca, now,» he said.
The dog looked ashamed when he realized it was him. But in only a moment, he placed his paws on Verner’s knees and arched his back. The dog was little, long-haired, and fidgety. A little shrill sometimes, not easy to understand, but with the right enticements, he could be surprisingly obedient. Not completely unlike Ingrid, he thought. It was her idea to get a dog. When Ingrid found out that he had avoided telling her that he was the father of an almost grown son, thus revealing that he had known all along that she was the reason they never had children of their own, one day smuggled a dog into the house, as if she assumed he would be skeptical about acquiring a pet.
He got down on his knees, scratching the dog behind the ear and stroking its back.
«Good boy. There now. Aren’t you just the best little Lorca boy.»
You d
on’t even notice that I’m rubbing my own despair into your fur, Verner thought. You just look at me with trusting eyes, blink and yawn, and when I stop petting, you scrape with your paws and beg for more.
«Papa’s good, good, little boy.»
«Where have you been?»
Ingrid came downstairs from the second floor dressed in a simple black skirt. He saw that she was making an effort not to seem irritated.
«He has to go out before we leave,» she continued.
Lorca turned his back to Verner and scratched himself. Wagged his tail expectantly.
«I can do it,» said Verner. He got up, but showed no sign of getting Lorca’s leash and collar, which were in a basket by the door.
«Have you been at work?»
Verner nodded.
«A teenager,» he said curtly.
She didn’t ask anything else.
«I’ll help you walk him,» Ingrid said. «I was going to get dressed now anyway.»
She had that steady voice, the one that took control when things were difficult. He liked that. And right now, he needed someone who could remain calm.
«We have plenty of time,» Ingrid continued, checking her watch.
Verner nodded.
«Plenty of time,» he mumbled and leaned over to get the collar, which Ingrid handed him, over the head of the dog.
Verner stood up with a stiff movement, as if his body would have preferred to stay down there curled up on his knees in a fetal position. Ingrid took a step forward and put her arms around him.
«The car was stolen,» said Verner.
«What are you talking about?»
«The hearse. Haven’t you seen the news? They are searching for a hearse that was stolen from Statoil in Tranby early this morning. Victor... We have no idea where he is.»
Ingrid stared at him as if she didn’t believe what she was hearing. Then she put her feet in her boots.
«Lorca needs a walk regardless. Come now!»
Verner Jacobsen followed along obediently.
Lorca barely had time to mark the fencepost when Verner’s phone rang. It was Bitte Røed.
The Girl With No Heart Page 4