‘What do you think about?’ she wanted to know.
‘About death,’ I replied. ‘I think about death the whole time. My own death and that of others, I can’t help it. People often say they’re not afraid of dying. They say it in a cheerful, confident manner, seeming to be so wise and far-sighted, taking it for granted that the event will be peaceful. They’re going to die quietly and serenely, and in bed. They’ll hardly even realise what’s happening. It never occurs to them that their death might be horrible and intolerably painful, a hellish, drawn-out torture. Other people die like that, they think. I won’t make a lot of fuss when it’s my turn. But we do. We make a fuss. I mean, look at Barbro. I often think about such things. When I can’t get to sleep.’
She picked at one of her nails. Glanced up at me, deadly earnest.
‘And what about you?’ I asked. ‘What’s preoccupying you?’
‘Is it that obvious?’
‘You’re not your usual sparkling self,’ I said.
‘Well then, I must have lost some of my sparkle,’ she said with a mournful smile. ‘I think about my brother all the time. About Oscar. That he’s lying at the bottom of the lake. I know it’s difficult to find him, that it’s dark and muddy down there. Rubbish and old tree trunks and whatnot. But I thought they gave up so quickly. And then he must have shouted,’ she said, ‘as loudly as he could. But nobody heard him. Think of it, Riktor. To be floundering in a hole in the ice and screaming at the top of your voice. And no one hears you.’
In my mind’s eye I saw the red ski-suit slipping under the water.
‘We don’t know for certain if anyone heard him or not,’ I said. ‘Perhaps someone did hear him but couldn’t do anything about it. I mean, there are people living in the area after all. There are several houses on the shores of Lake Mester, and others on the slopes above. Maybe most of us simply shrug our shoulders if we hear someone screaming and bellowing in the distance. And just get on with what we’re doing.’
‘What do you think went through his mind?’ she asked.
I smiled gently at her.
‘I imagine he thought of you. And he probably struggled as hard as he could. Don’t you think he did?’
She bit her lip.
‘I can’t bear to think about it.’ She began to walk away. Then she turned suddenly, and there was anger in the low voice. ‘I think death is completely intolerable!’
I nodded. Certainly death was intolerable, we were in total agreement about that. I was still leaning against the wall. Anna walked away. The hem of her coat flaring like a white sail in the grey corridor.
Chapter 21
Randers’ green Volvo came up the drive. I could see him from the window. I heard the engine stop and a door being slammed. But no doorbell chimed to break the silence, so I waited. And while I waited my mind worked feverishly. I didn’t feel guilty, I felt betrayed. I had practically acted in self-defence. Arnfinn had dealt me a cruel blow, and my reflexes had taken over, I could explain everything, if only someone would listen. Now he’ll go round to the back of the house, I thought suddenly, he’ll catch sight of the grave, the small mound of earth. There followed several spine-chilling seconds while I couldn’t make up my mind what to do, although I’d been expecting him. I’d known he would return, and I was prepared. But there was no sound of a doorbell. Finally, I went to the front door and yanked it open so abruptly that it made him jump. He was standing on the steps with one hand on the handrail. A broad wedding ring glinted.
‘You could ring the bell,’ I said irately.
He gave his fleeting smile.
‘You were standing at the window,’ he said, ‘you saw me coming. I didn’t think it was necessary. Thanks for your assistance last time.’
He looked around the driveway.
‘We need to talk. It’ll take about ten minutes.’
I pushed my chin forward as I do when I’ve been mistreated.
‘You haven’t asked me if it’s convenient,’ I said sullenly.
‘Is it convenient?’
‘Perfectly,’ I said. ‘It’s just that there are certain norms of politeness. I thought the police understood them.’
He let go of the handrail and took a step nearer, leaning on the wall by the door. I felt his hot breath, it was odourless.
‘Sometimes I forget about the rules,’ he said. ‘They’re so time-consuming.’
I led him into the hallway. Then into the living room and pointed at the corner of the sofa where he’d sat before.
‘You’d better sit down.’
He sat down. I took the initiative.
‘Is this still about a possible murder?’ I asked. ‘Or are you certain now?’
‘I’m certain,’ Randers said, nodding. ‘And we know where to look. What to look for, who to talk to. I enjoy this phase,’ he said, leaning forward slightly, as was his habit. ‘This information-gathering phase. Finding unexpected things. Having suspicions confirmed, forming a picture of what actually happened. And last but not least, why it happened. Because there’s an underlying reason for everything.’
‘Yes, I suppose people who kill do have something in common,’ I said. ‘Isn’t that right?’
Randers considered the question. When he smiled, his eyes narrowed, and his craggy face immediately took on a milder aspect.
‘Occasionally we come across unusual murderers,’ he declared. ‘Criminals who aren’t like the others. With quite special motives. They never cease to astonish us.’
‘In what way are they unusual?’ I wanted to know. ‘You’re a detective. Give me an example, I find this very interesting. How many pips have you got on your shoulder, by the way, when you’re in uniform? I mean, are you senior to the others? You must be senior. I can see things like that right away.’
Randers cocked his head.
‘Three pips,’ he said. ‘But we don’t bother about them much.’
‘Don’t make me laugh.’
‘We’re a team,’ Randers explained. ‘In which everyone has a special task. Young officers are important to us, because they’re receptive to everything. People who haven’t got much experience can often see things that others overlook. They aren’t blinkered, they see possibilities and unconventional solutions. Even if they do only have one pip.’
‘And you must be a very popular chief, Randers,’ I said. ‘A man the others look up to.’
‘Yes I am,’ Randers asserted with self-confidence. ‘A very good leader, even if I say so myself. I’ve never been modest. Modesty isn’t a virtue, it’s a disability in my opinion.’
I kept silent for a moment while I planned my next move.
‘Where did you find the deceased?’ I asked, fixing him with an unwavering expression. My heart was almost palpitating, my cheeks were getting hot again. It was like walking on a knife-edge.
Randers paused before replying. I couldn’t understand what sort of clues he’d unearthed, what stage he’d arrived at, I couldn’t believe that he was sitting in my living room, nor could I comprehend what facts had brought him to my humble red house.
‘We don’t need to concentrate on that,’ he said, ‘we’ll deal with that later. Today I’m more interested in the incentive for taking a life.’
‘Motive, d’you mean?’
‘Yes, certainly. Motive. Why would anyone wish to kill Nelly Friis?’
You could have heard a pin drop in my small living room. What had he just said?
Why would anyone wish to kill Nelly Friis.
I thought I’d misheard, but he really had said Nelly Friis. Nelly had been dead for a week and was shortly to be buried. And I had selected a new victim, Betzy Haugen. She was now receiving the same treatment. The thin skin behind the ear, the hair at the temple. I managed to keep my composure, but it took all the self-control I possessed. My hands lay motionless in my lap. I was dumbstruck, and it took a little while before I found my voice again.