The Jealousy Man and Other Stories

by Jo Nesbo

  ‘I realise you must have your priorities,’ said Heidi, ‘but this is a recent kidnapping, involving a young person, with a perpetrator who we’ve more or less handed to you on a plate. If anything should have priority…’

  ‘We promise to do the best we can,’ said Gardell, exchanging looks with her colleague. ‘We’re on our way out to the scene of a murder, but you’ll be hearing from us.’

  They stood up, and so did I.

  ‘Aren’t you going to take fingerprints?’ I said. ‘DNA, talk to the neighbours…’

  ‘As I say…’ said Gardell.

  * * *

  —

  For the remainder of the day I tried in vain to get in touch with Colin.

  I also drove to the apartment his son had taken the keys to, only to establish the truth of what Colin had said: that all that remained of it was a burned-out shell.

  I drove round the streets, almost hoping a gang would try to stop me, I’m not really sure why. But that didn’t happen; it looked as though all activity had come to a standstill. Like a truce had been declared.

  I drove home and Heidi and I lay with Sam between us. Perhaps it was to give him the feeling of total security we had been unable to give Amy.

  At daybreak Sam was sleeping deeply and I asked Heidi if she would tell me the rest of what had happened, the details that had not emerged in the concise description she had provided for the police.

  ‘No,’ was her brief answer.

  I looked at her and wondered how she could remain so cool and calm. I knew psychological shock could manifest itself as apathy, but that was not what this was. It felt as though she had taken control of her own mind and body and forced herself to assume this chilly calm, the same way certain animals can lower their own body temperature.

  ‘I love you,’ I said.

  She didn’t answer. And I understood. She had blocked out all emotions, chilled her heart to ice so that it wouldn’t run out of her and across the table and onto the floor. Because then she wouldn’t be any use to either of us. Out of love she now loved us a little less. That had to be the explanation.

  * * *

  —

  ‘I love you,’ he said.

  She didn’t reply.

  I watched them through the keyhole. Saw Brad lean towards the girl, Amy. She sat there on his bed with her head bowed. She was wearing a pair of comically large, checked golf trousers and a man’s shirt that Brad must have taken from the wardrobe of the people who lived here before; they hadn’t taken much with them when they left.

  I looked around carefully, listened out for the others down in the kitchen; I didn’t want to be caught in the act of spying on our leader.

  Then I put my eye back to the keyhole again.

  She was so pretty, even with her hair hanging down and covering most of her face.

  Was that why I was spying on them?

  After the robbery we’d gone straight home. I rode behind Brad’s bike up one of those narrow, deep valleys that cut furrows through the hills at the northern end of town. Once – when this was coyote country – artists and hippies had lived here, people who couldn’t afford to live in the city centre. Now it was the other way around: the poor lived in the centre and the rich in big houses with views over the bay and the skyscrapers down there. But many things were going back the other way again. Several of the houses were empty, and we saw more coyotes and wild dogs trotting along the roads in search of something to eat.

  Chaos’s new clubhouse was directly opposite a house where a gang had killed six people, including the wife of a wealthy film director. That was a long time ago. We moved here after the fire at Brad’s apartment in Downtown. It was a villa belonging to one of the partners in Brad’s father’s company and when the pandemic started Brad heard his father mention that this guy had moved to New Zealand and taken his family with him. It was apparently pretty common for rich doomsday preppers to buy houses down there, a place far enough away to shelter them from all the rest of the world’s miseries. Well, you can’t get lucky all the time every time and before the TV news channels closed down they were reporting that New Zealand was one of the countries hardest hit by the virus. Brad said that whether the owner was dead or not the big house was standing there so empty it was almost inviting us in.

  The whole way here Brad had been holding the girl upright on his bike as we crawled through the curves. I had never seen him riding so carefully.

  And now he was sitting there in the big bedroom and telling her he loved her.

  Which was definitely a new and unknown side to the guy.

  I was the only one with my own bedroom; the others shared the five other rooms. Before long the villa was on its way to becoming an uninhabitable pigsty and – to Ragnar’s great annoyance – I got Brad’s permission to arrange housekeeping duties for everyone.

  ‘Do you hear what I’m saying, Amy?’ Brad bent his head in order to catch her gaze. ‘I love you.’

  Amy lifted her head. ‘I don’t love you, Brad. I don’t even like you, I never have done. Now will you take me home?’

  ‘I understand that you’re afraid, Amy, but –’

  ‘I’m not afraid,’ she interrupted firmly. ‘You’re the one that’s afraid, Brad.’

  He gave a strained laugh. ‘What have I got to be afraid of? Are you a kickboxer maybe?’

  ‘Of what you’ve always been afraid of, little Brad. Your big daddy. You’re afraid he’s going to punish his snot-nosed little disappointment of a son.’

  Brad’s face went white. ‘He’s nothing to worry about because he’s not here.’

  ‘Oh, but he is here. He’s always up there on your shoulder. When you say –’ she put her head on one side and imitated Brad’s sincere delivery – ‘ “I love you”, that’s your father you’re talking to.’

  There was no way this could end well. But she just kept on:

  ‘But as you can hear, your father is saying he doesn’t lo—’

  Brad hit out. Just with the flat of his hand, but with enough force to turn her head on that slender, fine neck of hers. She put a hand to her face. Blood was coming from one of her nostrils. I knew Brad, had seen him so many times once he’d lost control, and I was certain that from now on things could only get worse for Amy.

  ‘Don’t talk like that,’ he said quietly. ‘Take off your clothes.’

  ‘What?’ She sniffed in contempt. ‘Are you going to rape me?’

  ‘Understand one thing, Amy. I am the only one who can protect you from the world out there. And the world out there starts in the kitchen downstairs. If I’m not here to stop them, they’ll tear you to pieces. They’re a pack of wolves, that’s what we are.’

  ‘I’d rather have ten of them than you, Brad.’

  He hit her again. This time with his fist. She tried to hit him back but he blocked her arm. He’s got quick reflexes, Brad. He’s strong and he keeps in shape. If he could only control his emotions then he’d be a good fighter.

  He grabbed hold of her blouse and pulled and the buttons flew off and scattered across the parquet floor. Then he stood up and took off his trousers. Amy tried to jump down from the bed and run towards the door but Brad easily stopped her with one arm and pushed her back onto it.

  ‘For your sake I hope you’re not a virgin,’ said Brad as he sat on her chest so that his legs pinioned her arms.

  ‘I’m not,’ she said defiantly, though her voice was trembling now. ‘But you are. Since rapes don’t count, I mean. And you won’t manage it this time either…’

  Her voice was cut off as Brad clutched her throat. With his other hand he pulled down the baggy trousers and her knickers. He must have relaxed his grip because she managed to splutter: ‘…because I am your father, you’re afraid of me too, just wait…’ before he began to choke her again.

  He forced himself in between her
thighs. I saw his naked buttocks tense and relax, but from the anxious swearing and the jerky movements I realised he wasn’t able to manage it. Either she’d jinxed his erection or else he just couldn’t handle the situation. Or else – and this struck me as a third possibility – he really did love the girl.

  ‘Shit!’ he yelled and jumped off the bed. Pulled up his trousers and buttoned them as he walked towards the wardrobe and took something from inside. It took me a moment to realise it was a golf club. He held it with both hands above his shoulder as he walked towards Amy.

  I put my hand on the doorknob and turned it. Or did I? Maybe I didn’t have time, maybe the door was locked on the inside. Maybe I changed my mind. Because one way or the other, what could I have done about it? There was a dull thud, like the sound of a meat-hammer hitting a steak as the head of the club buried itself in her upper body. And a crackling, crunching sound – like when you’re frying an egg for breakfast – when the next blow hit her on the forehead. She collapsed silently across the bed.

  Brad turned and walked straight towards me. I was just a few metres away down the corridor by the time the door opened, but I managed to turn to make it look as though I was walking towards his bedroom and not away from it by the time he burst out.

  ‘There you are!’ he said. ‘Get someone to help you carry her down into the basement. Use one of the rooms with thick walls and a decent lock.’

  ‘But…’

  ‘Now!’

  He carried on past me and down the stairs.

  VI

  It was now three days since Amy had been kidnapped. Having tried in vain to get hold of Colin by phone, mail and through intermediaries I made my way down to the harbour. The sex clubs there were still open as though nothing had happened, or perhaps because they had. Finally I met in one of them a slightly drunk fisherman who was willing to take me out to Rat Island and asked a ridiculously high price for such a short trip. The stripper onstage gave me a dirty look as I walked off with a third of her audience.

  As we neared the island a boat of the same type used by the coastguards approached us. On reflection it probably was a coastguard boat. A machine gun had been mounted on the foredeck. The boat came alongside us. I shouted across to a guy in uniform the purpose of my visit; he called it in on the radio and a couple of minutes later he waved us in. Colin was standing on the jetty smiling broadly as we lay to.

  ‘This is a pleasant surprise,’ he said as he embraced me.

  ‘I’ve been trying to get in touch with you.’

  ‘Oh, really? The signal out here is even more unreliable than it is in the city. Come on!’

  He strode on ahead of me in the direction of the huge building in the centre of the island.

  ‘So?’ he said. ‘You and the family well?’

  I swallowed. ‘No.’

  ‘No?’ He tried to adopt a quizzical look.

  ‘I’ll get to it,’ I said. ‘So this is your home now?’

  ‘Well, for the time being. Liza hates the place and thinks I should have bought some lovely big island instead of this barren lump of stone. She doesn’t understand that the overview is more important than the appearance right now.’

  We stopped in front of the building. I put my head back and looked up at the tall, weather-worn concrete wall.

  ‘You feel safe in your home?’

  ‘Here, yes,’ said Colin, hitting with concrete with his fist. ‘These walls could’ve stopped the French Revolution. And my snipers can pick off anything that approaches, even at night.’

  High above I saw the line of narrow, arrow-slit windows that commanded unbroken views in all directions. The sea glistened and glinted invitingly around us, as though this were just a normal day. But there wasn’t a sailing boat in sight. Just the thick smoke drifting across the surface of the water from the city fires. On the other hand, maybe the sea didn’t find this day any more special than one with happy yachts and surfers sailing about. Yep, just any old day with the human race wandering about the surface of planet Earth.

  ‘Let’s eat. I asked the kitchen to make some –’

  ‘No,’ I said, watching as a brown rat scampered across a sloping rock. ‘Let me tell you why I’m here. Brad attacked us in our house.’

  ‘What did you say?’

  ‘He took Amy.’

  ‘What?’ He tried to sound as if he was shocked.

  ‘And the police won’t – or can’t – do anything about it.’

  ‘When…?’

  ‘Three days ago.’

  ‘Why didn’t you tell me before? Right, problems with the net.’

  Colin has many talents but acting isn’t one of them. He made a show of shaking his head as I told him about the nightmare night, in as much detail as Heidi had been willing to share with me. And after that he didn’t have to pretend to be horrified any more.

  ‘We told the same story to the police,’ I said. ‘But once they realised that the man we were talking about was Colin Lowe’s son they stopped taking notes.’ I took a deep breath. ‘It looks to me as though you already know all this, so I’m assuming they contacted you immediately afterwards.’

  ‘The police contacted me?’

  ‘Come on, Colin. I know you too well. And as your lawyer I know all about your connections in the police.’

  Colin studied me for a few moments. And, as usual, his assessment was correct.

  ‘What you’ve got to understand, Will, is that you are my friend, but Brad is my son.’

  ‘I know that and you’re forgiven, but he has to let Amy go. And you must get them to arrest Brad.’

  ‘Hang on,’ said Colin. ‘There’s more. The police told me the only evidence they have that it was Brad is that in the course of the evening someone apparently mentioned his name. But that you yourselves did not recognise him. Not recognise a boy who practically grew up with you? Not recognise the body language, the eyes, the voice?’

  ‘What are you saying, Colin?’

  ‘I’m saying that when your daughter gets kidnapped you’re desperate. You look and you search until you find something, anything at all. And what you found was the sound of one of the most common names in the city, briefly and in passing. Because it gave you something to hang on to. But I know Brad. God knows he’s no angel, but he didn’t do this, Will.’

  ‘Then find him. Talk to him!’

  ‘No one knows where he is, no one has any contact with him. Listen, I’m as worried about Brad as you are for –’

  ‘Then let the police send out an alert for him,’ I interrupted before he could finish the meaningless sentence.

  ‘But there’s no proof, not even a suspicion. And they’re the ones saying it, not me. None of us can force them to use resources on a case they don’t believe exists.’

  ‘Yes, you can!’

  ‘I can’t, my dear Will. Not even if I wanted to.’

  ‘Yes. But you don’t want to. You’re afraid Brad’s guilty.’

  ‘He isn’t guilty.’

  ‘Then you’re afraid he’ll be found guilty.’

  ‘Maybe that has something to do with it, yes.’

  I punched the concrete wall in despair. ‘The courts are still up and running, Colin. And on my life I swear Brad will get a fair trial. Yes, even if he’s killed her. You hear me?’

  ‘And I swear on my life that my son is neither a kidnapper nor a murderer, Will. On my life. You hear me?’

  I looked out over the sea again. The silent sea that witnessed fates such as ours being played out each second of each day. And twinkled and sparkled just the same.

  ‘Yes, I hear you,’ I said. ‘You swear on your life.’

  Another rat scampered across the wet, sloping rock, the sun catching on its long tail.

  Then – without a word or a gesture of farewell – I walked down to the jetty and the boat tha
t waited for me.

  * * *

  —

  That night I drove through the city streets again, looking for Amy or someone who could tell me something. The following day I was back at the police station in Downtown asking for news, asking them to investigate, trying to persuade them that Brad Lowe was behind it. And again all I met was closed doors and deaf ears, and I was finally asked to leave the station.

  As I walked across the large car park outside the shopping mall I saw someone leaned up against my car. It was Chief Inspector Gardell.

  ‘How’s the search going?’ she asked.

  I shook my head.

  ‘Want a tip you didn’t get from me?’

  I looked at her. Nodded.

  She took a sheet of paper out of a folder and handed it to me.

  I studied it. An address, with a name I recognised.

  ‘This was one of Lowe’s partners,’ I said. ‘You think Amy might be there?’

  Gardell shrugged. ‘We’ve had complaints from the neighbours. Drugs, gunshots and partying late into the night. Seems like Brad Lowe and his gang have moved in there.’

  ‘But you haven’t done anything?’

  ‘Complaints about noise aren’t a top priority for us right now.’

  ‘But gunfire and illegal occupation, aren’t those pretty serious?’

  ‘We’ve had no complaints from the owner. And for all we know the people living in his house have a firearms licence.

  I nodded. ‘I’ll get up there and check it.’

  ‘Not sure I would do that,’ said Gardell.

  ‘No?’

  ‘With so many weapons around it’s not advisable just to turn up and ring on the doorbell. At least not alone.’

  I looked at her. ‘But you won’t help me.’

  Gardell took off her sunglasses and squinted with one eye in the sunlight.

  ‘You’re not the only one saying that these past few months.’