– Stop following me, he hissed. The mouth smelt of overripe bananas. In the dark, she saw the outlines of Zako’s face, the high cheekbones and the pointed chin.
– I’ll stop now, she murmured, and suddenly it dawned on her who it was. He’d grabbed her by the throat in that stairwell in Sinsen. He knew something about what had happened to Mailin. I am not afraid, she forced herself to think. No matter what he does to me, I’m not afraid any more.
– You were sneaking about in Mailin’s office, she managed to say.
He bent even closer. – I didn’t take anything.
She struggled to control her voice. – What were you doing there?
– I told you, he barked. – Had an appointment. Looked through a couple of drawers. Found nothing.
– You tore a page out of her appointments book.
The grip on her arm relaxed. – Mailin was OK, he said. – There’s not many try to help. Enough that pretend to. I don’t want to get mixed up in anything. What I don’t like is you following me about.
– It’s coincidence, she assured him. – Every time I’ve met you. But I have to find out what happened that day.
He released her. – What day are you talking about?
– That Thursday, the eleventh of December. Mailin went to her office to keep that appointment with you. She parked her car right outside. Then she disappeared. No one saw any sign of her.
He pulled away a step. – That can’t be right.
– What… can’t be right?
He glanced around. – She gave classes at the School of Sports Sciences. I got a lift with her into town a couple of times. I remember her car well.
He turned towards her again. – Other people besides me must have seen it that day.
He stared down into her face. It was still possible for anything to happen in that park. Liss saw Mailin’s chalk-white face in front of her, the half-closed eyes filled with dried blood.
– Doesn’t anyone understand anything? he muttered.
– Understand what? she was about to say. But abruptly he turned and walked away. She recovered, headed over towards the footpath to follow him.
– If you saw something… she called out. – You must say what it was.
He speeded up, began to run and disappeared into the darkness.
She turned off the light in the room, settled down into the sofa again. Could still taste the vanilla in her mouth. The traces of acid in her gullet and down her throat. Cold in her stomach, cold inside, shrivelled.
Sound of a door. Then Viljam’s voice: – Are you home, Liss?
Home? She slept a few nights there, for want of anywhere else she could stand to be. It was his suggestion. He’d given her Mailin’s spare key. Had it made Mailin happy when he came home and she heard that voice? Maybe there was something she wanted to tell him that would make him put his arms around her.
– Sitting here in the dark?
She sat up, picked up her lighter and lit the candle on the table.
– Mailin liked sitting like that too, he said as he sank down into a chair. – Candlelight in the room.
– I like it here.
– It’s a nice house, he nodded. – Peaceful. Mailin and I… He stood up suddenly. – I meant what I said yesterday. If you want to stay here a few more days. You know she would have liked it.
A funny thing to say, but it was true, she realised. A lot of what he said was true. He grieved in the same way she did. That was why she could stand being there.
He disappeared up the steps, out to the kitchen. – Thanks for doing the washing-up.
– Of course, she said. – My turn, wasn’t it?
She imagined him smiling at what she said; it almost made her smile too. For a moment it felt good to be sitting there. Viljam kept his distance. Not completely absent, but let her alone. Had enough stuff of his own to deal with. He and Mailin had been lovers for more than two years. He missed her, but not in the way she missed her. Mailin would become a memory for him, light with a great darkness around it. Then he’d get over it and find someone else. Liss would never get over it.
She went out to him in the kitchen. He was standing by the window, looking out on to the lit street.
– An old friend of yours was here earlier today, he said.
She looked quizzically at him.
– At least he said he was a friend. Looked pretty spaced out.
She had a thought. – Dark curly hair, scar on his forehead? Wearing a reefer jacket?
– Correct. First he asked for you, where you were and when you were coming back, then suddenly he wanted to know if Mailin lived here.
– He’s no friend of mine.
She told him about Mailin’s patient, how she’d come across him several times, how he’d followed her into the park.
– And only now are the police beginning to take an interest in this guy?
She didn’t answer, was thinking of something else. – Mailin had a Post-it note hanging in her office. It had death by water written on it. Do you know where that comes from?
– Death by water? He seemed to be thinking about the question. Then he shook his head. – Sounds like a typical Mailin thing, whatever it is. It’s the kind of stuff she was interested in.
17
Friday 2 January
LISS HAD ARRANGED a meeting with Jennifer Plåterud at the Pathology Institute at ten, but it was closer to 11.30 by the time she announced her arrival at the front desk. She’d taken three sleeping pills the evening before and woken to a hangover forty minutes earlier.
– Sorry, I overslept, she apologised when Jennifer Plåterud came to greet her.
She was smaller than Liss remembered from that morning she’d gone with Tage to do the identification. Couldn’t be much above one metre fifty, because even with the high-heeled sandals she was wearing, she was still half a head shorter than Liss. She was heavily made up but obviously knew what she was doing. The blue eyes were made more prominent and the mouth seemed bigger than it was. Beneath her open doctor’s coat she was wearing a cornflower-blue suit, and a string of what looked like real pearls around her neck.
– That’s okay, she said. – I haven’t been sitting in my office twiddling my thumbs.
Liss had forgotten that she spoke with an accent. It sounded American, as did her first name. Preferable to being Norwegian, anyway.
Her office was fairly large, with a window facing on to the square outside. On the desk was a photo of a man her own age. He stood there in oilskins holding an enormous fish up to the camera. Another photo showed two teenage boys on some steps, one sitting, the other standing.
– Yes, this is where I live, said Jennifer Plåterud. – You know what, I found an article about you on the net. It was originally in Dagbladet’s magazine. I didn’t know you were about to start a career as a model.
She switched on the coffee machine in the corner. – Don’t get me wrong, I haven’t been checking up on you, a colleague mentioned it to me.
The reassurance was superfluous. There was something about this doctor’s manner that didn’t arouse Liss’s suspicions.