“Don’t say that,” said Adam. “In the U.S…”
“In the U.S. there are examples of people who have killed simply because their Big Mac wasn’t hot enough,” said Johanne. “I think we’d be wise to stick to our own territory.”
“What actually happened between you and Warren?”
Johanne was surprised that she didn’t react more violently. Ever since Adam had said that he knew Warren, she had been waiting for that question. And as he hadn’t asked, she just assumed that he wasn’t interested. She was both pleased and disappointed. She didn’t want to talk about Warren. But the fact that Adam had not asked earlier might indicate an indifference that she was not entirely happy about.
“I don’t want to talk about Warren,” she said calmly.
“Okay. If I’ve crossed the line in any way, I apologize. That wasn’t my intention.”
“You haven’t upset me,” she said, and forced a smile.
“I think I will have a drink, after all.”
“How will you get home?”
“Taxi. Gin and tonic please, if you’ve got one.”
“I said I did.”
The ice cubes clinked loudly as she carried through two gin and tonics from the kitchen.
“Sorry, don’t have any lemon,” she said. “Warren let me down badly, professionally and emotionally. As I was so young, I put most emphasis on the latter. But now, I’m more angry about the former.”
There was too much gin in the drink. She made a face and added:
“Not that I think about it much anymore. It was a long, long time ago. And as I said, I would rather not talk about it.”
“Cheers! Another time, perhaps.”
He raised his glass and then took a sip.
“No,” she said. “I don’t want to talk about it. Not now, not ever. I’m finished with Warren.”
The silence that followed was not awkward for some reason. Some half-grown children were making a noise in the garden, trying to retrieve a badly aimed soccer ball. It was a summer sound that made them smile, but not to each other. It was around half past nine. Johanne felt the gin and tonic go straight to her head. A light, comfortable fuzziness after only one sip. She put the drink down in front of her. Then she said:
“If we play with the idea that we are looking for an old boyfriend, or someone who perhaps wanted to be the boyfriend of one of these mothers, the message fits in rather well. Now you’ve got what you deserved. There’s no way to hit a woman harder than taking her child.”
“No way to hit a man harder, either.”
Johanne looked at him absentmindedly. Then it dawned on her.
“Oh… sorry. Sorry, Adam, I wasn’t thinking…”
“That’s okay. People have a tendency to forget. Probably because the accident was so… bizarre. I’ve got a colleague who lost a son in a car accident two years ago. Everyone talked to him about it. Somehow a car accident is something that everyone can relate to. Falling off a ladder and killing yourself and your mother in the fall is more…”
He smiled tightly and sipped his drink.
“John Irving style. So no one says anything. But it’s probably just as well. You were in the middle of a train of thought.”
She didn’t want to continue, but something in his eyes made her carry on:
“Let’s say it’s someone who seems very normal. Good-looking, maybe. Attractive. He might even be a bit of a charmer and finds it easy to make contact with women. As he’s very manipulative, he also keeps hold of them for a while. But not long. There’s something mean about him, something immature and very self-centered, combined with an easily triggered paranoia that makes women reject him again and again. He doesn’t think it’s his fault. He has done nothing wrong. It’s the women who betray him. They’re sly and calculating. They’re not to be trusted. Then one day something happens.”
“Like what?”
He was about to empty his glass. Johanne didn’t know if she should offer him a refill. Instead she continued:
“I don’t know. Yet another rejection? Maybe. But presumably something more serious. Something that makes him flip. The man that was seen in Tromsø, have you got any more on him?”
“No. No one has come forward, which might mean that was our man. It might also mean that it was someone completely different. Someone who has nothing to do with the case, but who had some business or other up there that he would rather not disclose to the police. It could also have been someone who is completely innocent who was visiting a lover. So we’re not much further forward.”
“Emilie messes it all up,” she said. “Would you like another?”
He picked up his glass and looked at it for a long time. The ice cubes had melted to water. Suddenly he drank it and said:
“No thank you. Yes, Emilie is a mystery. Where is she? As her mother’s been dead for nearly a year now, it can hardly be targeted at her. So your theory falls to pieces.”
“Yes…”
She paused.
“But she’s not been delivered back, like the other children. At least, not to the father. But have you…”
Their eyes met and locked.
“The graveyard,” he nearly whispered. “She might have been delivered to her mother.”
“Yes. No!”
Johanne pulled her sleeves down over her hands. She was cold and nearly shouted:
“It’s been nearly four weeks since she disappeared! Someone would have found her. Lots of people go to the graveyard in Asker in spring.”
“I don’t even know where Grete Harborg is buried,” he said, breathless. “Shit. Why didn’t we think of that?”
He got up suddenly and gave a questioning nod toward Johanne’s study.
“Just use the phone,” she said. “But isn’t it a bit late to investigate that now?”
“Far too late,” he replied and closed the door behind him.
They had moved out onto the terrace. Adam was the one who wanted to. It was past midnight. The neighbors had called their children in and there was a faint smell of barbecue wafting over from the east. The wind direction was in their favor, the sound of the cars on the ring road was distant and subdued. He refused the offer of a sleeping bag when Johanne went to get a duvet for herself, but he had eventually accepted a blanket over his shoulders. She could see that he was cold. He was opening and closing his legs rhythmically and breathing into his hands to keep them warm.
“What a fascinating story,” he said as he checked for the fourth time whether his cell phone was switched on. “I asked them to call me on this. So don’t…”
He tipped his head back toward the apartment. Kristiane was sound asleep.
Johanne had told him about Aksel Seier. In fact, it surprised her that she hadn’t told him earlier. In just under one week, she and Adam had spent a whole day, a long evening and a whole night together. She had thought about sharing the story with him on several occasions. But something had stopped her, until now. Perhaps it was her eternal reluctance to mix up her cards when it came to work. She wasn’t quite sure what to call Adam anymore. He was still wearing her shirt. He had listened intently. His short, occasional questions had been relevant. Shown insight. She should have told him earlier. For some reason she had neglected to tell him about Asbjørn Revheim and Anders Mohaug. She hadn’t mentioned the trip to Lillestrøm at all. It was as if she wanted to get things clear in her head first.
“Do you think,” she said thoughtfully, “… that the prosecuting authorities in Norway might in some cases be…”
It was almost as if she didn’t dare to use the word.
“Corrupt,” he helped her. “No, if you mean that someone from the authorities would accept money to manipulate the result of a case, I would say that is nearly impossible.”