Don't Look Back

by Karin Fossum

  "Of course."

  The vault door slammed shut.

  Out in the car park Sejer signalled for Skarre to drive.

  "Drive up the hill and pull into that driveway at the top. Do you see it?"

  Skarre nodded.

  "Park there. We'll wait until he leaves and then follow him. I want to see where he's going."

  They didn't have long to wait. No more than five minutes passed before Johnas suddenly appeared in the doorway. He locked up, activated the burglar alarm, walked past the grey Citroen, and disappeared down the driveway to a back courtyard. He was out of sight for a few minutes, then reappeared in an old Transit truck. He stopped at the street and signalled left. Sejer could clearly hear the roaring of the engine.

  "Ah, yes, he would have a delivery truck," Skarre said.

  "With one cylinder gone. It's roaring like an old fishing boat. Let's get going, but be careful. He's making for the intersection down there; don't get too close."

  "Can you see if he's looking in his rear-view mirror?" Skarre said.

  "He's not. Let that Volvo get ahead of you, Skarre, that green one!"

  The Volvo braked but Skarre waved it on ahead of them. The driver saluted in thanks.

  "He's signalling right. Get over in the right lane! Where do you think he's going?"

  "Possibly to Oscarsgaten. The man's in the middle of moving, isn't he? Careful now, he's slowing down. Watch out for that beer truck; if it gets in front of you, we'll lose him!"

  "Easy for you to say. When are you going to get yourself a more powerful car?"

  "He's slowing down again. I bet he's heading for Børresensgaten. Let's hope the Volvo is going the same way."

  Johnas drove the big vehicle gently and smoothly through town, as if not wanting to attract attention. He signalled and changed gear as he approached Oscarsgaten, and now they could clearly see him looking in his rear-view mirror several times.

  "He's stopping at the yellow building. It's number 15. Pull over, Skarre!"

  "Right here?"

  "Turn off the engine. He's getting out now."

  Johnas jumped out of the truck, looked around, and crossed the street with long strides. Sejer and Skarre stared at the door where he stood, fumbling with a key. He was carrying a toolbox.

  "He's going up to his apartment. We'll wait here for the time being. As soon as he's inside, slip out and run over to his truck. I want you to peek in through the back window."

  "What do you think he has in there?"

  "I don't even dare guess what it might be. OK, now. Hurry, Skarre!"

  Skarre ran along the footpath, bent double like an old man, ducking behind a row of parked cars. He appeared again at the back of the truck, and put a hand on either side of his face to see better. Within seconds he turned and came sprinting back, threw himself into the driver's seat and slammed the door.

  "A pile of carpets. And what looks like Halvor's Suzuki. It's in the back of the truck with the helmet on the handlebars. Shall we go up?"

  "Absolutely not. We're just going to sit here. If I'm right, he won't be long."

  "And then we'll keep following him?"

  "That depends."

  "Is there a light on anywhere?"

  "Not that I can see. There he is now!"

  They ducked down and peered at Johnas, who had paused on the footpath. Now he looked up and down the street and at the long row of cars parked on the left-hand side. He didn't see anyone in any of them. He went over to the Transit truck, got in, started the engine, and began backing up. Skarre stuck his head up over the dashboard.

  "What's he doing?" asked Sejer.

  "He's backing up. Now he's moving forward. He's backing across the street and parking right in front of the entrance. He's getting out. He's at the back door of the truck. Now he's opening it. Taking out a rolled-up carpet. Crouching down and putting it over his shoulder. He's swaying under the weight. It looks like it's god-awful heavy!"

  "Christ, he's going to fall over!"

  Johnas teetered under the weight of the carpet. His knees seemed about to give way under him.

  Sejer put his hand on the door handle. "He's going back inside. He's probably trying to put it in the lift. Keep your eye on the front of the building, Skarre. See if he turns on a light!"

  Kollberg started to whine.

  "Be quiet, boy!" Sejer turned and patted the dog. They waited, peering at the façade of the building and the dark windows.

  "There's a light on the fourth floor now. His apartment is there, right below that protrusion – can you see it?"

  Sejer stared up at the wall. The yellow window had no curtains.

  "Shouldn't we go up?" Skarre asked.

  "Don't be too hasty. Johnas is clever. We should wait a bit."

  "Wait for what?"

  "The light has gone off again. Maybe he's coming out. Get down, Skarre!"

  They ducked down. Kollberg began to whine again.

  "If you start barking, you won't get any food for a whole week!" Sejer whispered between clenched teeth.

  Johnas came back outside. He looked exhausted. This time he didn't look to the right or left but just got into the truck, slammed the door, and started the engine.

  Sejer cracked open the door.

  "Follow him. Keep a good distance. I'm going up to his flat."

  "How are you going to get inside?"

  "I've taken a course in picking locks. Haven't you?

  "Of course, of course."

  "Just don't lose him! Don't move until you see him turn the corner, then follow him. Most likely he'll wait until it's dark. When you see that he's headed for home, go to headquarters and get some back-up. Arrest him at his house. Don't give him a chance to change his clothes or put anything away, and don't say a word about this flat! If he stops along the way to dump the motorcycle, don't arrest him. Do you understand?"

  "Yes, but why not?" Skarre asked.

  "Because he's twice your size!"

  Sejer grabbed Kollberg's leash, and got out of the car, pulling the dog after him. He ducked down behind the car as Johnas put the truck in gear and drove off down the street. Skarre waited a few seconds and then drove after him. He wasn't feeling terribly confident.

  Sejer walked across the street, pushed a doorbell at random, and growled "Police" into the intercom. The door buzzed and he stepped inside. Ignoring the lift, he dashed up the stairs to the fourth floor. There were two doors, but he automatically turned to the door facing the street, where they'd seen the lights. There was no nameplate. He peered at the lock; a simple latch. He opened his wallet in search of a credit card. He was reluctant to use his bank card, but next to it was a library card with his name and number on it. On the back it said: "Books open all doors". He stuck the card into the crack, and the door slid open. The lock was useless, but maybe it was going to be changed. For the time being, the apartment was virtually empty. He turned on the light. Caught sight of the toolbox in the middle of the floor and two stools over by the window. There was a little pyramid of paint cans and a five-litre bottle of turpentine under the sink in the kitchen. Johnas was redecorating. Sejer tiptoed inside and listened. The flat was bright and open, with big bay windows and a good view of the street, and high enough to escape the worst traffic noise. It was an old block from the turn of the century, with a handsome façade and plaster rosettes in the ceiling. He could see all the way to the Brewery, which was reflected in the river some distance below.

  He walked quietly from room to room, looking around. The phone hadn't been installed, and there was no furniture. A few cardboard boxes stood along the walls, labelled with a black marker: Bedroom, Kitchen, Living Room, Hall. A couple of paintings. A half-empty bottle of Cardinal on the kitchen counter. Several carpets, rolled up, lay beneath the living-room window. Kollberg sniffed at the air. He recognised the smell of paint and wallpaper paste and turpentine. Sejer made another round, stopping at the window to look out. Kollberg was restless. The dog padded around on his own; Sej
er followed, opening a cupboard here and there. The heavy carpet was nowhere in sight. The dog started whimpering and disappeared further into the apartment. Sejer followed.

  Finally the dog stopped in front of a door. His fur stood on end.

  "What is it, boy?"

  Kollberg sniffed vigorously at the door, scraping at it with his claws. Sejer cast a glance over his shoulder, not exactly sure why, but he was suddenly gripped with a strange feeling. Someone was close by. He put his hand on the door handle and pressed down. Then he pulled the door open. Someone struck him in the chest with great force. The next second was a chaos of sound and pain: snarling, growling, and hysterical barking as the big animal dug its claws into his chest. Kollberg sprang and snapped his jaws just as Sejer recognised Johnas's Dobermann. Then he hit the floor with both dogs on top of him. Instinctively he rolled on to his stomach with his hands over his head. The animals tumbled on to the floor while he looked around for something to use as a weapon but found nothing. He dashed into the bathroom, caught sight of a broom, picked it up, and ran back to where the dogs were standing a couple of metres apart, growling and baring their teeth.

  "Kollberg!" Sejer shouted. "It's a bitch, goddamn it!" Hera's eyes shone like yellow lanterns in her black face. Kollberg put his ears back; the other dog stood there like a panther, ready to attack. Sejer raised the broom and took several steps forward while he felt sweat and blood running down his back under his shirt. Kollberg looked at him, paused, and for an instant forgot to keep an eye on the enemy, who rushed forward like a black missile, her jaws open. Sejer closed his eyes and struck. He hit Hera on the back of her neck and blinked in despair as the dog collapsed. She lay on the floor, whimpering. Sejer lunged forward, grabbed the dog's collar, and dragged the animal over to the bedroom. He opened the door, gave the dog a violent shove inside, and slammed the door. Then he fell against the wall and slid down to the floor, staring at Kollberg, who was still in a defensive position in the middle of the room.

  "Goddamn it, Kollberg. It's a bitch!" He wiped his forehead. Kollberg came over and licked his face. On the other side of the door they could hear Hera whining. For a moment Sejer sat with his face buried in his hands, trying to recover from the shock. He looked down at himself; his clothes were covered with dog fur and blood, and Kollberg was bleeding from one ear.

  He got to his feet, and trudged into the bathroom. On a blanket in the shower stall he caught sight of something black and silky soft that was crying pitifully.

  "No wonder she tried to attack us," he whispered. "She was just trying to protect her puppies."

  The rolled-up carpet lay along one wall. He crouched down and stared at it. It was tightly rolled, covered with plastic, and taped up with carpet tape, the black kind that Sejer knew was nearly impossible to remove. He began tugging and pulling, the sweat pouring down under his shirt. Kollberg scratched and clawed and tried to help, but Sejer pushed him away. Finally he managed to get the tape off and began tearing at the plastic. He stood up and dragged the carpet into the living room. They could hear Hera whimpering in the bedroom. He bent down and gave the carpet a mighty shove. It unrolled, slow and heavy. Inside lay a compressed body. The face was destroyed. The mouth was taped shut, as was the nose, or what was left of it. Sejer swayed slightly as he stood there staring down at Halvor. He had to turn away and lean against the wall for a moment. Then he took the phone from his belt. He stood at the window as he punched in the number, fixing his eyes on a barge moving along the river. Hexagon. Sailing from Bremen. He heard the beep and a prolonged, melancholy ringing. Here I come, it was saying. Here I come, but there's no hurry.

  "Konrad Sejer, 15 Oscarsgaten," he said into the phone. "I need back-up."

  CHAPTER 16

  "Honning Johnas?"

  Sejer twirled a pen between two fingers and stared at him.

  "Do you know why you're here?"

  "What kind of a question is that?" he said hoarsely. "Let me say one thing: there's a limit to what I'll stand for. But if this has anything to do with Annie, then I have nothing more to say."

  "We're not going to talk about Annie," Sejer said.

  "I see."

  He rocked his chair back and forth slightly, and Sejer thought he registered a hint of relief flit across the man's face.

  "Halvor Muntz seems to have disappeared from the face of the earth. Are you still certain that you haven't seen him?"

  Johnas pressed his lips together. "Absolutely positive. I don't know him."

  "You're sure about that?"

  "You may not believe it, but I'm still quite clear- headed, in spite of repeated harassment from the police."

  "We were wondering what his motorcycle was doing in your garage. In the back of your truck."

  Johnas uttered a snorting sound of fear.

  "Excuse me? What did you say?"

  "Halvor's motorcycle."

  "It's Magne's motorcycle," he said. "I'm helping him repair it."

  He spoke quickly, without looking at Sejer.

  "Magne has a Kawasaki. Besides, you don't know anything about motorcycles – you're in a different field, to put it mildly. Try again, Johnas."

  "All right, all right!" His temper flared and he lost his self-control, gripping the table with both hands. "He came trotting into the gallery and started pestering me. God, how he pestered me! Acting like he was on drugs, claiming that he wanted to buy a carpet. Of course he didn't have any money. So many strange people wander in and out of my shop, and I lost my temper. I gave him a slap. He ran off like the little brat he is, leaving behind his motorcycle and everything. I lugged it out to my truck and took it home with me. As punishment, he's going to have to come and get it himself. Beg me to give it back to him."

  "For just a slap, your hand certainly took a beating, didn't it?" Sejer stared at the flayed knuckles. "The thing is that nobody knows where he is."

  "Then he must have taken off with his tail between his legs. He probably had a guilty conscience about something."

  "Do you have any suggestions?"

  "You're investigating his girlfriend's murder. Maybe you should start there."

  "I don't think you should forget, Johnas, that you live in a very small place. Rumours spread fast."

  Johnas was sweating so heavily that his shirt stuck to his chest.

  "So what? I'm going to move," he said.

  "You mentioned that. Into town, is that right? So you taught Halvor a lesson. Maybe we should let him be for a while?"

  Sejer wasn't happy. It just seemed like it.

  "Could it be that you lose your temper rather easily, Johnas? Let's talk a little about that." He twirled the pen some more. "Let's start with Eskil."

  Johnas was lucky. He had just bent down to take his cigarettes out of his jacket pocket. He took his time straightening up.

  "No," he groaned, "I don't have the strength to talk about Eskil."

  "We can take all the time we need," Sejer said. "Start with that day, that day in November, from the moment you got up, you and your son."

  Johnas shook his head and nervously licked his lips. The only thing he could think about was the disk, which he hadn't managed to read. Maybe Sejer had taken it and read through everything that Annie had written. The thought was enough to make him feel faint.