Once we are finished, and I have been asked to steer clear, but not to venture too far away, while they continue their search for the two missing police officers, I drive down to the shopping centre I had visited when I first arrived in the city. First of all I head for the pharmacy and buy some Duphalac before calling in at the perfume shop to buy the same bottle of perfume from the same shop assistant as last time.
Outside the centre, I see huge sheets of foam battering the Coastal Steamer quay. I get into the car and drive out of the city, northwards, through the darkness beneath the massive crags, past rotten fish racks and broken barn roofs that the wind has catapulted to the ground. I pass driftwood, poles and flotsam jutting from the mounds of seaweed at the edge of the foreshore, while gusts of wind drive tattered storm clouds in from the wide ocean.
CHAPTER 31
It is past five when I finally return to the residential centre at Skjellvik, and the wind has died down. The helicopter and lifeboat are gone, and the fjord is a pitching, blue-black expanse murmuring fitfully in the oppressive afternoon darkness. I take out my mobile phone and call Harvey.
‘Yes,’ Harvey answers in a relaxed voice. ‘Mr Aske, is it not?’
‘The very one,’ I respond before Harvey roars with laughter. I can picture him in my mind’s eye, raising a glass of fortified coffee to his kitchen window in a mock toast.
‘They’ve found the boat,’ he says more seriously.
‘What? Are you sure?’
‘Yes. Johannes just told me. He had heard it on his walkie-talkie. A pleasure craft found it this morning, washed ashore by the storm on Reinøya Island. Besides, I saw a police vessel out at the lighthouse earlier today. It looked as if they were there to undertake some investigations. They were all wearing white suits, and they left not long ago.’
‘Scumbags,’ I whisper.
‘What is it?’
‘Forget it. It’s just that I bumped into an old acquaintance in Tromsø today.’
‘Tromsø?’
‘I’ve just been interviewed.’
‘I see. And they didn’t say anything?’
‘No.’
‘Why not?’
‘Police tactics,’ I tell him, leaning heavily on the side panel of the hire car. ‘There’s no point in telling a witness or possible suspect what they know until it’s tactically advantageous.’ Within myself, I go over the conversation at Police Headquarters with Gunnar Ore and Sverdrup a few hours earlier. It’s no fucking coincidence that Gunnar has turned up here at the same time as two policemen have gone missing after arranging to meet me at that lighthouse. They’ve already begun to construct a scenario. A scenario that implicates me in Bjørkang and Arnt’s disappearing act. ‘Bloody hellfire, fuck it,’ I groan, leaning forward as pain stabs through my stomach.
‘Doesn’t sound good, Thorkild,’ Harvey comments.
‘No, definitely not,’ I moan, forcing my body up again. ‘Tell me, where is Reinøya?’
‘Farther south. Towards Tromsø. Talk to Johannes – he probably knows the fisherman who found the boat. I have to go back out to the farm before nightfall.’
‘Bjørkang and Arnt took diving equipment with them when they went out that night.’
‘How do you know that?’
‘The police told me.’
‘Doesn’t sound like something Bjørkang would have agreed to,’ Harvey says. ‘He would never have gone out diving at that time – he’s not very comfortable at sea even in good weather.’
‘Could they have been involved in some criminal activity?’
‘Why do you ask that?’
‘Because,’ I venture, ‘the person who came out to the lighthouse that night was wearing a diving suit, and the police asked me specifically if I knew whether Bjørkang and Arnt had any reason to take diving equipment with them when they set out that evening. And last, but not least: no one apart from the two of them knew that I had found the body. The only logical conclusion would of course be that they had something to do with her death, and didn’t want anyone to know about her. Isn’t it?’
‘So why have they gone now, then?’ Harvey probes.
‘Yes, that’s what doesn’t add up in all this,’ I complain. ‘Why the hell haven’t they come back yet? The problem is that if they don’t turn up soon, then I’m in trouble. A whole shitload of trouble and grief, do you get it?’
‘Because?’
‘I have a feeling that the police are cooking up a scenario in which the policemen came to the lighthouse that night when I was there, and that they subsequently disappeared. I’m the last person on earth who ought to be anywhere near a case involving two vanished police officers.’ I give a heavy sigh as my stomach pains resume, and double up in agony.
‘Are you OK?
‘My stomach,’ I gasp through clenched teeth. I have already poured three full measures of Duphalac down my throat on the trip back from Tromsø, without effecting any change down below.
‘Tough shit.’
‘Quite literally, yes.’
‘Talk to Merethe. I know she often helps a few of the residents when they’re suffering from constipation.’
‘Is she at work now?’ I ask, squirming as the pain sears through my gut.
‘Yes, she’s there till nine tonight. You’ll find her in the canteen or at a therapy session,’ Harvey says as I reach the apartment door.
‘By the way,’ he adds as I fumble for the keys. ‘The daughter of the couple who lived in the apartment before you is travelling north for the funeral on Wednesday. She intends to clear it out and take their belongings back south with her again. If you could—’
‘Of course.’ I squat down as another bout of pain grips me. ‘Speak later.’ I round off the conversation and head towards Skjellviktun Residential Centre’s main entrance. It’s time to find Merethe.
CHAPTER 32
There is complete silence in the corridor. No wheelchair or walking-frame users, only the sound my shoes make as I pace along the newly washed linoleum floor.
The canteen is crowded. With extra chairs added, lots of residents are milling round the tables, but no one is speaking and the room seems charged with an anxious stillness.
At one end of the room, several tables are pushed together. Two people sit there facing the gathering. One is the nurse called Siv, holding a microphone in her hand. The other is an old man with a dusty brown toupee, in a short-sleeved Hawaiian shirt and wearing a gold watch that glitters in the light from the fluorescent tubes directly above.
‘Thorkild,’ I hear a voice whisper, and I catch sight of Johannes at the same table as before, sitting beside Bernadotte and Oline in the wheelchair.
‘And you are?’ Bernadotte hisses as I squeeze into a seat just as Oline lays a cold hand over mine: ‘My goodness, how you’ve grown. I remember when you were little and Agnes used to take you down to the shop to buy ice cream. Good heavens, how you yelled and screeched if you didn’t get what you wanted.’
‘Here you are.’ Johannes pushes one of the four bingo cards he has across to me, together with a red felt-tip pen. ‘Two rows,’ he says, nodding at the cards before I have time to protest.
‘The number is seven. Seven. Seven.’ The crackling loudspeakers are on tables flanking both walls.
‘What did she say?’ Bernadotte whispers. ‘Did she say thirty-two?’
‘No,’ Oline answers, slightly agitated. ‘Seven. We already had thirty-two a minute ago.’
We hear the metal cage holding all the balls rattle again before another ball rolls out.
‘The number is forty-three. Four three. Forty-three.’
‘Have you seen Merethe?’ I ask, as Johannes uses the pen to mark the card. He is engrossed in the game and sits with his glasses perched on his nose, staring down at his three remaining cards.
‘We’ll have a break after we’ve gone through all three rows,’ he replies swiftly without looking up from his card.
‘The number is twenty-one. Two one. Twe
nty-one.’
‘Bingo!’ Oline screams, grabbing hold of my arm.
‘What?’ I stare at her as if she is having some kind of attack: she is clawing at my arm as she waves her free hand above her head. ‘Bingo, bingo!’ she yells before starting to haul me up by the arm. ‘Look, look, move yourself, lad. You’ve got bingo!’
Putting her glasses on her nose, Siv peers out into the cafeteria as Oline drags me out of my seat. ‘Was that bingo?’
‘Yes,’ I answer in a hoarse voice, flapping the card as if it were a dead fish. ‘Apparently so.’
I get to my feet and wait for the man with the gold watch who is working his way towards us. ‘Fine,’ Siv intones into the microphone when he finally reaches us: ‘You can start.’
The man snatches the card and lets his index finger follow the numbers until he arrives at the place where two of the rows have been completed: ‘Five, twenty-one, thirty-two, sixty-six, eighty-two.’
‘That’s all good.’ Siv’s voice rasps over the row of loudspeakers. ‘Then the next one.’
‘Seven, forty-three, fifty-seven, seventy-two, ninety.’
‘That’s OK too,’ the loudspeaker announces. ‘Then we can get ready for three rows. Full house.’
The man with the gold watch hands me the card and returns to the prize table, where he takes his time examining each individual item before finally selecting what he has been looking for and returns to our table.
‘Here.’ He hands me a pack of fifty Christmas napkins decorated with elves in a variety of sledging exploits.
‘Thanks a million.’ I give a deep bow and sink into my chair as soon as the handshake is over. All of a sudden I feel Oline’s hand on mine. Her head is shaking slowly from side to side. ‘Clever boy,’ she says, before crouching over her own cards once more.
‘Then we’re off again,’ Siv announces over the loudspeakers, followed by more rumbling of balls and several numbers read out: ‘Seventy-seven. Seven seven. Seventy-seven.’
I shove the packet of Christmas napkins over to Johannes, who shakes his head and sends them back to me. ‘You keep whatever you win.’
‘The number is fifty-nine. Five nine. Fifty-nine.’
‘Bingo!’ Oline shouts for joy and grabs hold of my arm again. ‘He’s got bingo again!’
‘Hell and damnation,’ an old man exclaims, thumping his hand on the table and flinging down his pen.
I glance at the card and see that she is right. The third row is also complete. Reluctantly, I stand up again, looking lost, as I scan the assembled residents, while the bingo inspector sets off on his expedition across the room yet again. Siv gives me a nod of acknowledgement, and fiddles with the microphone as if it were something altogether different.
The procedure of reading out the numbers is repeated before the man takes off again and starts to rummage around on the prize table, eventually returning with a cake tin that he sets down reverentially on the table in front of me.
‘The truffle cake?’ Johannes says, with a grimace. ‘I thought it was the cream cake for three rows now?’
‘Don’t you start, Johannes,’ the man with the watch remarks. ‘That comes after the break, you know that.’
Oline leans over to me: ‘Yes, Agnes will be pleased, you’ll see.’
‘Now we’ll take a short coffee break before we make a start on the final game of the evening,’ Siv announces into the microphone. She stand up and crosses to a long table where members of staff are setting out big silver pots of coffee, bowls of sugar cubes and jugs of cream.
‘I think I’ll leave now,’ I say, pushing the card and cake over to Johannes. Since Merethe is not here, I decide to go to the apartment for another dose of Duphalac followed by some severe straining on the toilet. ‘Thanks for the hospitality.’
‘The cake’s yours.’ Johannes passes it back to me again. ‘I don’t like chocolate anyway.’
‘What about you?’ I look despairingly at Bernadotte and Oline, who both promptly shake their heads.
Oline pats me on the shoulder and whispers: ‘Take care, my boy. And say hello to Agnes from me.’
I pick up the pack of napkins and the cake tin and head for the exit. Behind me the sound system crackles and something that sounds like a gramophone record wheezing out organ music – from an ancient harmonium that must belong to the era of prayer meetings – comes on and a girl with a southern accent bursts into song … ‘Aunt said the angels asked them to come home …’
‘Escaping?’ a female voice enquires once I have managed to close the door behind me at last.
‘I’ve been looking for you,’ I answer as I catch sight of Merethe approaching with a net bag filled with small coloured stones in one hand.
‘Well, here I am,’ she says, grasping my arm with her free hand. ‘What did you want?’
CHAPTER 33
‘Have you been like this for long?’ We are walking towards the residential centre exit, Merethe still holding me by the arm, as if I am one of the residents here and have to be led back to my room for a nap.
‘Just over a week,’ I answer. ‘Since I got out of prison.’
‘Prison?’ I notice her grip loosen on my arm. ‘But aren’t you—’
‘Long story. You can ask Harvey about it some day.’
‘It doesn’t matter.’ She squeezes my arm again. ‘I like you.’
‘Thanks,’ I mumble, glancing down at the bag of stones. ‘What do you use them for?’
‘These are my crystals,’ Merethe replies. ‘For the therapy sessions. Harvey buys them for me in Russia.’ She squeezes my arm harder. ‘Cheaper there.’
‘Do you sell them?’
‘Of course. Jasper, quartz, green aventurine – we call them wish stones – rose-red rhodochrosite crystals. Deep-blue lapis lazuli from Afghanistan, amethysts, rhodonites, fluorites of every colour: white, black, purple, blue, green and yellow, and yes, some are even almost colourless. Emeralds, malachites, onyxes, carnelians, rubies, agates, apatites, beryls, topazes, sugilites, rose quartzes and moonstones.’
‘Expensive?’
Merethe blinks both eyes at the same time. ‘At a profit, of course.’
‘And these are what we are going to use to … to—’
‘Exactly,’ Merethe concludes once we reach the apartment.
‘Cake?’ I offer when we enter the living room. I deposit the container and the pack of napkins on the kitchen worktop.
‘No thanks,’ Merethe says. ‘I heard it was you who won the truffle cake. Berit baked it – she’s one of our residents in the open rehabilitation unit.’ Merethe opens the bag of semi-precious stones and dips her hand inside. ‘But she forgets things. Her cakes are not what they once were, to put it kindly.’
‘Brilliant,’ I answer, leaning across to the kitchen worktop as a fresh bout of pain starts to spread inside me.
‘Are you ready?’ Merethe holds two stones from the bag in her hand, rubbing them together. She beckons to me. ‘Don’t be scared. Crystal therapy is totally harmless. Just bring the blanket and lie down on the floor here in front of me.’
The room is warm and I remove my sweater so that I’m wearing only a T-shirt. I prostrate myself before her, lying on my back.
‘Are you taking any medicines?’
I nod.
Merethe rubs the stones together in her hand as she looks at me. ‘I can see that.’
‘Oh?’
‘Miosis. Small pupils.’ She nods with her mouth closed. ‘It’s absolutely fine. It can sometimes help you. Anything else you need to make yourself comfortable?’
‘The radio,’ I answer in a thick voice, stretching out on the floor while Merethe goes to switch on the radio. ‘And the coffee machine. Turn it on.’
‘Like that?’ she asks once she has put on the coffee machine and found a radio station playing light, dancing piano music.
I nod my head. ‘No, wait,’ I exclaim, standing up without warning, grabbing the bag from the table and dashing to the bathroom.
In there, I grab the perfume bottle from the bag and close my eyes and mouth before spraying a fine mist directly into my face. Then I swallow two more OxyNorm tablets and return to the living room.
Merethe sits waiting beside the coffee table. She wrinkles her nose at the strong smell of perfume, but makes no comment and simply kneels down beside me once I have lain down on the floor again. ‘The human body has seven chakras,’ she says, heating a red stone in her hand. ‘These are energy wheels, or centres, distributed along your spine. These chakras control, radiate and regulate the body’s use of energies and impulses. We place the stones on these points so that the vibrations from the stones home in on the same vibration that exists within the chakra.’
Merethe starts to arrange stones of different colours and shapes in a straight line from my middle all the way up to my forehead, where she places an oval, purple stone. Then she picks up an elongated, transparent crystal and moves it in a strange pattern over my stomach and groin area, speaking continuously in an undertone, so quietly that I fail to catch what she is saying.
I feel my thoughts being wrapped in thick, smothering clouds as a feeling of calm and wellbeing falls over me, suppressing the pain and substituting new, improved sensory cells, mystical receptors that only medicines can arouse, and that wish me nothing but good. At last, the drugs are beginning to take effect.
‘I felt a great sorrow.’ I hear Merethe talking through a white, grainy membrane that has materialised between us. ‘The first time we met and you gave me your hand, in my house. That was why I pulled it away so quickly.’
‘What?’ I say, slurring. My eyelids are heavy and it is hard to keep them open.
I can feel the stones on my stomach, chest, and throat, all the way up to the one on my forehead. It is as if they are spinning, round and round, at the same time gradually eating through into me, bit by bit. Pinning me down on the floor so that I can’t move.
‘Later, I saw her between you and Harvey, outside in the car park.’
I try to whisper something but my lips won’t move.
I Will Miss You Tomorrow Page 14