by Karin Fossum
'We'll follow him,' Reinhardt said.
Kristine gave him a dubious look. 'Surely we don't need to follow him,' she said, 'we've got his registration number. All we have to do is call the police.'
But Reinhardt was unstoppable. 'I want to know where he lives,' he said. 'I have to know. Look, he's turning right, I bet he's from Huseby. He's speeding. And he's not indicating either. What a crap driver.'
Kristine groaned in despair.
'If he turns off, we have to let him go,' she said. 'It's not our business to follow complete strangers to find out where they live.'
'I don't have a problem with following him,' Reinhardt said. 'Later we'll call the police and give them his registration number, his address and everything. Jesus Christ,' he exclaimed, punching the steering wheel. He was so excited his cheeks had gone bright red.
'You could be wrong,' Kristine said.
'Not this time. Admit it, he looks like him, he's the spitting image.'
'He does look like him,' she conceded. 'But people resemble each other.'
'He's limping,' Reinhardt continued.
'So does my uncle,' Kristine said, 'because he's got a tumour in his knee.'
'Now stop being so stupid,' he raged. 'You agreed with me, don't you dare back down now!'
They followed him for eleven kilometres. He took the exit for Huseby precisely as Reinhardt had predicted. The car went through the town and turned left at the top of a steep hill.
'Granåsveien,' Reinhardt said. 'I bet he lives at Granås Farm. Perhaps he rents a cottage there.'
'We can't follow him all the way to his house,' Kristine protested. 'It might ruin everything if he sees us in his mirror. I don't think the police would be best pleased to know that we're playing detectives.'
'I'm bloody well not going to turn around now,' snarled Reinhardt. 'I want to know where he lives.'
The car stopped by a row of letter boxes and the man got out.
'He's opening the middle box,' Reinhardt said.
The man got back in his car and drove down to the right, where he stopped outside an old cottage.
Reinhardt drummed his fingers on the steering wheel.
'He's noticed us,' Kristine said. 'He's realised that we've been following him.'
'He's gone inside now,' Reinhardt said. 'Now get out and find out what the name on the letter box is.'
She got out of the car and ran over to the letter boxes. She stood there for a few seconds before running back and getting into the car.
'His name's Brein,' she said. 'Wilfred A. Brein. Can we go now, please?'
CHAPTER 33
The following morning Reinhardt leapt out of bed to listen to the morning news. There was no mention of the case. He ran to the letter box to get the newspaper, leafing through it feverishly, but there was nothing about the man from Linde Forest, no announcement that the police had finally received the vital tip-off and made an arrest. That meant one of two things. The man had been interviewed and eliminated, or they had botched it. Had they not taken his call seriously? The very thought outraged him, and, having paced up and down the room a few times, he called the police station.
A female officer answered.
'All tip-offs are followed up,' she said, 'but it takes time. We're still getting a large number of calls.'
'But this is not just any old tip-off,' Reinhardt said, his frustration turning his voice shrill. 'It's about the man from Linde Forest whom you've been wanting to speak to since the fourth of September. My wife and I found the body of Jonas August, and we were the ones who saw a man in a blue anorak by the barrier. Wilfred Brein from Huseby. Have you interviewed him? Does he have an alibi?'
'I can't give you that sort of information,' she said curtly, 'but I have made a note of your call and it will be followed up.'
'Listen,' Reinhardt said. 'Please would you find out if anyone's been to see him? The police have been known to make mistakes. A killer will walk free if this information is lost in the system. Please don't make that mistake, it would be awful for you.'
He heard a sigh at the other end.
'All right. I'll find out. You'll have to wait a moment.'
He waited. Kristine was standing next to him now. She, too, was waiting.
'It's unbelievable,' he said, 'that they can faff around like this.'
'They've got to follow procedure,' Kristine said. 'They can't bring people in just like that.'
'Here I am trying to be a good citizen,' Reinhardt fumed, 'but if they can't be bothered to take the public seriously, they'll pay for it. I'll go to the press.'
'Hundreds of people have called,' Kristine said. 'You're just one of many.'
Being thought of as one of many did not appeal to Reinhardt. He scribbled something on a notepad. Bloody murderer, Kristine read.
'Hello? Are you there?'
'Yes. What did you find out?'
He let go of the pen and straightened up.
'There's obviously been a big mistake,' the officer said.
'What kind of mistake? How?'
'I've found the report,' she said. 'We sent a car to Wilfred Arent Brein yesterday. To number 3 Granåsveien in Huseby.'
'Yes?'
'He's in a wheelchair.'
Reinhardt gawped at Kristine.
'What are you saying? A wheelchair?'
'He's a wheelchair user,' she repeated.
'No, I'm sorry, but you've made a mistake. We saw him in the superstore, he was doing his shopping and he drives a white Toyota. Listen, you really have made a mistake, my wife and I both saw him walk. He limps slightly on one leg, that's all. Jesus Christ.'
He huffed irritably.
'Let me talk to Sejer, please,' he demanded.
'He's out,' she said, 'but I've made a note of what you've just told me. I'm sorry, but we're terribly busy and we just can't waste time on incorrect information.'
Reinhardt slammed the handset down.
'A wheelchair?' Kristine said in disbelief.
I could leave him, Kristine thought, I could save up some money and rent a bed-sit somewhere, I could do that. He has to let me go. I can't stand this life any more, I hate that he never listens to me.
Feeling despondent she let herself fall into a chair. Reinhardt had been thwarted and she had no idea what he would do next. God knows where he is, she thought, and what he's up to. She felt her life had become impossible after the 4th of September; something had been unleashed in Reinhardt, something unknown to her. He had gone out and the house lay quiet, it was the calm after a storm.
She tried to imagine living on her own and how lovely it would be. Decide everything herself, reclaim her body, fill her life with good things, a child perhaps. Never having to hear his overbearing voice, feel his constantly domineering presence. Then she imagined Reinhardt's reaction and recoiled. If you leave me, I'll beat you to within an inch of your life, he had said. His words had terrified her, but she had dismissed them as a joke. He wasn't like that, he couldn't be.
She felt a surge of anger because the police had failed to catch the man who had taken the two boys. She started pacing the floor, a constant, restless walk. From time to time she would look out into the road, but there was no sign of the Rover. She looked at his desk where he normally sat with his back to her. What should I take with me if I go? she thought. Some clothes, some books, any important papers. My passport, she thought, where is my passport? In the drawers of Reinhardt's desk, perhaps? She could not remember which one it was and had to go through each drawer. They were all crammed with stuff. They need sorting out, she decided, as she went through old letters and Christmas cards. There was no sign of her passport. Perhaps Reinhardt had put it in his file. He had one where he kept all their important documents, an accordion file with multiple compartments. She found the file, opened it and went though each compartment looking for her passport. She found her marriage certificate and for a long time she sat staring at it. She had married him. She had believed she was doing the right
thing.
She continued and came across user manuals and the paperwork for when they bought the Rover. And finally she found her passport, in its protective red plastic folder. She squeezed it hard. Then a large yellow envelope caught her attention. She opened it and looked inside. It contained a photograph. She sank on to the floor and placed it on her lap. It was a photograph of a girl of five or six with straight dark hair and a fringe. She had a big gap between her front teeth. Kristine had never seen her before and her brain struggled unsuccessfully to place the girl. A little girl. How weird. And there was something else which disturbed her. The photo of the girl was a headshot and her shoulders were bare. Then it hit her. He has a daughter, she realised, with another woman and that's why he doesn't want to have children with me, because he already has one. And he's probably paying child maintenance to her. She gasped for air. She planted her palms on the floor for support. She returned the photo to the envelope the way she had found it, as her mind started to freewheel. What if he was one of them? She barely had the strength to voice her fears in her own mind. One of those who abused children. No, not Reinhardt, it was a ludicrous thought, almost hysterical. But the little girl with the naked shoulders, what was that about? She took the photograph out of the envelope and studied it once more. She did not look like Reinhardt, in fact, she did not even look Norwegian, her eyes and hair were so dark. She put the photograph back in the envelope, put the envelope back in the file and placed her passport in her handbag. She sat down on the sofa to wait and looked out of the window at the fading light. Then she went to the bathroom and stared at herself in the mirror. She clutched the sink as she slowly counted to ten. It could not be true. She was tired and wanted to sleep, but she did not want to go to bed, she was unable to relax. She kept seeing the child with the naked shoulders and her strange, almost pleading, eyes. She started demolishing her marriage. Everywhere she found something she had previously overlooked, tiny, ugly signs. In bed he often displayed a mixture of distance and brutality. He lives in this house with me, I can't stand it any longer. It's wrong. I've lost my way. She lay down on the sofa wishing it would swallow her up. She lay there watching the hands of the clock on the wall.
CHAPTER 34
'Why are you sleeping on the sofa?'
Reinhardt's voice cut across the room.
'Where have you been?' she gasped as she struggled to sit up. She held the blanket against her chest as a form of protection because he was a different Reinhardt now, someone she no longer knew.
'I went for a drive,' he said indifferently. 'I needed some fresh air.'
'It's almost two o'clock in the morning,' she burst out. 'You've been gone for hours.'
'I needed some time on my own,' he said. 'Now calm down, sweetheart.'
'You could have told me,' she replied. 'I would have understood.'
He went into the kitchen, opened the fridge and returned with a can of beer in his hand.
'I don't have to be accountable to you for my every move,' he said, lifting the can to his lips. She folded the blanket neatly and got up from the sofa.
'I'm going to bed,' she said. Her voice was strained.
'You're not looking at me,' he said suddenly. 'Are you angry about something?'
She could not think of an answer. All she could think of was the photograph in the folder. What would Reinhardt say if she confronted him with it? No, she did not dare, he was very tall and broad as he stood there in front of her.
'There's no need to make a drama out of it,' he said. 'I'm here now and you managed to have a nap on the sofa. It's really no big deal.'
'Goodnight,' she said, heading for the door.
He sat down and put the beer can on the coffee table with a bang.
'You're really quite sweet,' he said softly, 'but you can be a bit uptight.'
She turned around and looked at him. 'I'm so sorry,' she said tartly. 'But I had no idea where you were or what you were doing. I'm going to bed now. That sofa is not very comfortable to sleep on, but I was too worried to go to bed. But I will now. Goodnight.'
She went out into the hall and ran up the fifteen steps to the bedroom. She rarely told him off and she was scared now. She crept underneath the duvet where she listened out for sounds coming from the ground floor. All she wanted to do was go to sleep, but she felt wide awake. Her eyes sought out the darkness in the room she knew so well, the room they had shared for many years. It was only a question of time before Reinhardt would come up the stairs and lie down next to her. She did not know if she could bear to have him so close, given what she knew now. And if he tried it on, she was scared that she might scream, yet at the same time she thought about the child she so desperately wanted.
I won't give up until I've got what I want, she decided. And there's only one way. She lay there waiting with her eyes open.
CHAPTER 35
One day Sejer and Skarre drove to Linde Forest.
The road up there was narrow and steep with hairpin bends, the unstable verges offering little protection from the sheer drop down to a brook at the bottom of the ravine. The Highway Department had created a passing place halfway up, but they met no one on the five-kilometre drive. At the top was a small car park with room for three to four cars. Sejer pulled in and stopped at the red-painted barrier.
'This is where they saw the man in the blue anorak,' he said. 'Reinhardt and Kristine Ris. Right here by the barrier. There's no doubt that they got a good look at him. It was sunny on the fourth of September and visibility was fine.'
'But how does that help us,' Skarre asked, 'when Ris orders our officers to go and look for a man who turns out to be in a wheelchair?'
'I don't understand it,' Sejer said. 'Something must have happened. A mix-up. We need to look into it.'
The men began to walk. They left the path and wandered between the spruces until they got to the spot where Jonas August had been found. The memory of the half-naked boy was still vivid in their minds.
'He'll refuse to explain himself,' Skarre said. 'His defence counsel will advise him not to say anything.'
Sejer smiled briefly.
'He feels he's the victim. Poor me, I have such strong urges, I just can't control them.' Skarre's voice was dripping with irony.
'He's only trying to solve a problem,' Sejer said. 'We agreed that, didn't we?'
'He drove along the road,' Skarre said. 'He abducted a child, it's inexcusable.'
For a while they looked around. The hush from the tall trees put them in a reflective mood. Skarre walked towards the pile of logs where Kristine Ris had sat on the 4th of September. He sat down and lit a Prince cigarette.
'But all the same,' he stated firmly, 'he's not feeling good. He probably doesn't have a moment's peace. He is frightened to death at the thought of the hatred, the shame and the newspaper headlines. It might even kill him.' He inhaled deeply. 'People do die from things like that.'
Sejer sat down next to him. 'We expect to love and be loved,' he said, 'but paedophiles are supposed to control themselves. Saying that, love is never straightforward for any of us. Everybody seems to be breaking up these days.' He stopped talking at this point, he was entering unfamiliar territory. 'What about you, by the way? Still single?'
Skarre smiled broadly. 'Why would I need a wife,' he quipped, 'when I've got you?'
Later they drove to Guttestranda and sat on the jetty. For a while they savoured the unique feeling people experience in the presence of water. Sejer tried to glimpse the bottom, but failed. Then they saw a man walking along the beach some distance away.
'We have a visitor,' Skarre said.
The man had a brisk, energetic walk, he was short of build and bald, and he was wearing a navy blue puffa jacket and faded jeans. He raised his hand and greeted them solemnly. He reminded them of a little kid bursting with exciting news.
'My name's Andor,' he said. Sejer and Skarre looked at him with interest.
'You're detectives,' he stated.
They nodded.
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He took a few steps closer to them and crouched down. He smiled confidently. His skin was strangely smooth and clear as if life had left no trace on him.
'I live in the yellow house up there.'
He turned around and pointed. 'The big one with three storeys. Behind that long balcony is my bedroom. I've just noticed I've left the window open. I'd forgotten all about that. I hope it doesn't start to rain or my bed will get soaked.'
