The man’s eyes flickered with uncertainty. ‘You can’t stay here. You’re blocking the way for pedestrians.’
‘Beat it,’ Lena said in a monotone. ‘Buzz off. Now.’
The man met her eyes and backed away without a protest. He got into his van and drove off.
Lena adjusted the mirror. Do I look demented?
The door of the newspaper building opened. Monica, Emil Yttergjerde’s girlfriend, had come outside for a cigarette. Lena slid down her seat. She remembered Emil saying Monica worked in reception there. She didn’t remember when he had said it though. This is ridiculous, she thought. Here I am, hiding in a car from friends.
No, a voice protested in her head. This isn’t ridiculous.
Steffen begged me to go last night. He invited me over. He said to go to his place. He said to go in and pick up my watch…
Monica had draped a long, elegant woollen jacket over her shoulders. She was in constant motion in the cold weather, tripping with her feet while smoking feverishly. The jacket was multi-coloured and multi-patterned. Monica was a girl with a passion for handicraft.
A Volvo estate pulled in by Monica, who presumably knew the driver. She bent down and spoke to him through the window. She threw down the cigarette, turned and went back in. The Volvo idled. The front door opened again. A familiar figure appeared. It was Steffen. He walked around the car and got in. The car drove off. Lena started up and followed. She switched on the radio to hear something other than her own thoughts. Rod Stewart was singing that tonight was the night. Not her style of music. She pressed to find a station with music she liked as she followed the car to the right, into Storgata, then left in front of the old Schous Brewery and up Thorvald Meyers gate. The Volvo took a left and stopped in front of the library in Schous plass.
Lena found a gap in the line of cars and parked. She switched off the radio.
The driver of the Volvo turned out to be a female photographer – a woman in her twenties, wearing a duffle coat, a fashionable fur hat and a pink scarf, which she had wound round her neck like a collar. Steffen waited with his hands deep in his pockets while the woman took photos of the library. He said something to her. She looked up from behind the camera and said something in return. Steffen grinned and stepped in front of her as she once again knelt down with the camera raised. He posed. She lowered the camera and shooed him away, a baby-doll smile on her face.
A journalist and photographer at work. And Lena spying on them. This was ridiculous. What would she say to him?
A man was waiting for me in your flat. A man who wanted to kill me. Did you let him in?
How could Steffen have done that? Steffen had given her his key. They had both been woken in the night by the alarm. Steffen had been as sleepy as she had been. He couldn’t have had anything to do with the fire. It was her who should take responsibility for everything that had happened. It was Lena who had tracked down Stian Rømer. She was the one who had defied Ingrid Kobro’s orders. Rømer had chased her through Gamlebyen. Rømer had gone underground afterwards.
That was how it must have been! Rømer had found Steffen via her. The man must have been spying on her. Rømer was in the rental car the night Steffen had been at her place. Rømer had found out where Steffen lived. When she fell straight into the trap last night he had been waiting outside Steffen’s flat until she and Steffen turned out the bedroom light. Then he had given them another hour or two until he was sure everyone was asleep. Then he had gone into action.
But why?
Why did Steffen want me to go to his flat? Why did the man run after me? Why did he want to kill me?
She didn’t have a clue.
Lena took a deep breath and raised her head.
She looked straight at Steffen, who was standing by the library and looking back at her.
He raised a hand and waved. ‘Lena!’
She didn’t want to talk to Steffen. Not now. She turned the ignition key. The engine started.
He walked briskly towards the car. Lena didn’t want this. She rammed into first gear. A horn blared. She didn’t give a damn and moved into the carriageway. She accelerated. Looked in the mirror. A van driver was flashing his lights and behind it Steffen was standing with his arms raised and a bewildered expression on his face.
‘Ugh!’ Lena banged her hand on the wheel. She was flushed, embarrassed. She wanted to get away.
7
The first person she met on her way into Police HQ was Emil Yttergjerde. He held her arm.
‘What happened to you?’
Lena stroked the cut above her eye with her forefinger. ‘Herpes. Terrible.’
Yttergjerde frowned. ‘Herpes is a lip sore.’
She nodded. ‘Oh, you mean the cut over my eye?’
‘What did you think I meant?’
Lena shrugged. ‘Hard to know. I fell on the piste. They turned the lights off before I’d finished.’
‘You coming out for a beer tonight?’
Lena didn’t need long to think about that. ‘Yes,’ she said.
The nurse had said she should make the most of good moments. A beer after work was a good moment.
She had to control her paranoia, and resumed her work on the mysterious L. She tried to organise the numbers on the list Telenor had finally provided for Sveinung Adeler’s mobile phone.
Finally she looked at the results without being any the wiser. But at least she had managed to work out that one of the numbers was an unregistered mobile. She rang the number and was told that the phone was switched off or was in an area where there was no coverage. She drummed her fingers on the desk. Something told her this was worth examining more closely.
She rang Telenor, asked them to trace the phone, thanked them and rang off. Then went through the list of numbers again. This time she concentrated on the calls Adeler had received on the Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday – the days before the famous dinner in the restaurant.
Adeler had spoken to a lot of people, but he hadn’t used his phone much during working hours. As the date with L was on Wednesday evening he must have made the arrangement one day, or several days, before. At 10.27 on Monday, 7th December he had rung a landline number outside Oslo from his mobile.
Why had Adeler used his private phone in working hours this time?
Maybe he had gone out somewhere to be alone when he rang? In which case, why had he wanted to be on his own? Perhaps because he wanted a more personal conversation?
Lena dialled the number. It was the switchboard for the duty-free shops at Oslo Airport.
So many strange things I do in this job, Lena thought twenty minutes later. By then she’d had four further telephone conversations. She had been promised a list of the employees at Gardermoen Airport whose first names started with L. Once that was done she sat staring at the wall.
Behind her someone coughed. She swivelled round in her chair. Emil Yttergjerde was standing in the doorway. He had his coat on and was pointing to his watch.
8
Monica was waiting for them in the hall below. Lena avoided eye contact, slightly ill at ease with having spied on her earlier in the day.
Monica suggested the Asylet. Neither Lena nor Emil had any other suggestions.
They sat down at a long table where there were already a lot of police officers from Sentrum Police Station.
Lena drank white wine, not beer. It was good – a light, chilled Chardonnay that made the glass sparkle. Lena was well through her second glass before Emil had finished his first half-litre. That didn’t go unobserved.
‘Wow,’ Emil said. ‘Keep going like that and we’ll have to carry you home tonight.’
Lena ignored the comment and went to the loo.
It happened on her way from the toilet.
She came face to face with Steffen.
And pulled up sharp.
‘Hi,’ she said automatically.
He looked into her eyes for several long seconds. Then he said a curt ‘Hi’ and pressed past he
r.
She watched the door to the gents’ toilet close behind his back.
People streamed past her, back and forth. Lena was motionless while others were in motion, as if she were a big rock in the middle of a fast-flowing river. Her head buzzed. She heard waves beating against the rock face. She was back there. Clinging to the rock face while the sea stretched up its arms for her.
The door to the gents was constantly opening and closing. But Steffen didn’t appear.
How long had she been waiting there?
She had no idea.
The door to the gents opened again.
Steffen stopped when he saw her, stood aside for someone and was alone again. An attractive man in scruffy clothes. Almost a rocker. Unshaven, long hair and gentle movements.
‘Christ, you still here?’ he said.
She tilted her head, puzzled.
‘You didn’t seem so interested earlier today.’
‘Something happened,’ she said in a low voice, ‘after you went to work.’
She straightened her head and met his gaze.
‘Whatever it was, it must’ve been pretty special,’ he commented in a cool tone.
This is all wrong, she thought. You can’t talk about Stian Rømer now. But she wanted to.
She cleared her throat. ‘After you left…’
She didn’t get a chance to continue. ‘After last night,’ Steffen said with a glower. ‘After what happened last night, you spy on me at work? And when I try to talk to you, you drive off. What is it with you? What are you up to?’
Lena’s whole body was ice-cold. She didn’t want this. ‘Did you find your key?’ she asked with no emotion in her voice. ‘When you got home?’
‘It was where it should be, in the letter box. But don’t you change the subject, Lena. Not now.’
‘I didn’t put it there.’
‘Oh?’
The expression on his face was at once enquiring and unsure. ‘If you didn’t, who did?’
She searched for the liar in his eyes, but didn’t find one. Steffen just looked lost and uneasy.
The silence that persisted between them became oppressive. People squeezed past them on their way to and from the toilets.
‘I’m a bit curious as to what you wrote about the fire that wasn’t a fire,’ she said.
‘What?’
‘Earlier today you said you had to go to work because the fire in the block had become a news story.’
‘Oh, that…’ He summoned a distant smile.
‘Didn’t you write anything?’
‘It was a way of speaking.’
‘A way of speaking? You left without having any breakfast, without changing clothes, without checking to see if anything was damaged in your flat. I heard you clearly. You said the fire was a news story.’
She tried to hold his gaze, but couldn’t.
‘Lena, what’s the matter with you actually? I went to work because I had to go to work, and what concern is that of yours?’
At last she had eye contact.
‘I was actually on my way out,’ he said.
She nodded.
Suddenly he opened his arms and hugged her.
She was unable to react. Her body was stiff all over.
He released his grip and looked her in the eye. ‘Lena, what’s the matter?’
‘I’ve got cancer,’ she said.
She might just as well have slapped him; the effect would have been the same. His face was open and vulnerable as he blinked. And blinked again. His eyes began to flicker.
‘Is there anything I can do?’
‘I don’t think so. You go now. Do what you must.’
She turned to leave him.
He grabbed her hand. Clearly he regarded the situation as absurd and weird as she did.
‘Yes?’ she said.
‘Tell me about it,’ he said.
‘About what?’
‘About what you said.’
‘Have you got the time?’
He waved his arms helplessly. ‘Tomorrow?’
The boat had slipped its moorings. The distance between them grew with every word they said. She pretended she was mulling over his suggestion. ‘Call me tomorrow,’ she said.
He nodded and gave her another quick hug before turning and leaving. On his way out of the door he sent her a final glance over his shoulder. Raised his hand in a wave. ‘You were kidding, weren’t you? About something happening today?’
She raised a hand and waved without answering.
The door slammed behind Steffen.
Lena hadn’t moved. I’ve got cancer. That was the first time she had said the word aloud. The way she said it, the sound the word took on, was eerie.
Steffen had asked if there was anything he could do, as though she was telling him she had missed the last bus home. He hadn’t even asked what type of cancer it was. He hadn’t been interested. He had turned and asked her to tell him about it when he realised he hadn’t reacted well.
No, she said to herself at once. She had no right to judge his reactions. She was the one who had brought up the subject. It was the wrong place and the wrong time. She was the one who had created the difficult situation. Or had she?
Illness never comes at the right time.
Lena tore herself away and went back to her table.
Monica stood up to make room for her. ‘I saw you talking to Steffen,’ Monica said.
Lena looked at blonde Monica with somnambulist eyes.
‘Monica knows him,’ Emil said. ‘“The Hanger-On”. Monica works at DN.’
Lena was still looking at Monica, who smiled shyly. ‘Some of the journos are naughty and call Steffen the Hanger-On, apparently because he usually hangs onto others’ coat tails instead of doing the digging himself. The atmosphere between some journalists is a bit competitive,’ she added, by way of apology.
Lena blinked. It was strange to hear Steffen being slandered like this. ‘The Hanger-on’! How humiliating that must be for him. Nonetheless, it didn’t please her. All thoughts of Steffen were painful. She didn’t want to think about him any more. She wanted to drink.
But she was torn out her trance when Emil Yttergjerde waved a hand in front of her face. ‘Lena, anyone at home? Feel like a beer and a brandy?’
‘Yes,’ Lena said. ‘Very much.’
Saturday, 19th December
1
Her eyelids felt like two stamps with the gluey side down. She could barely open them. But she would have to. The light flickered. Horrible, bright light penetrated between her eyelashes.
There.
The room was light. So it had to be later than nine o’clock in the morning. Her stomach felt like a lump of clay. Impossible to budge.
Why? She didn’t know, but knew she should keep perfectly still.
I’m looking up at a ceiling, so I’m alive, I exist. But where?
She was looking straight at a lamp. The shade was a plate decorated with pictures of Donald Duck.
She moved her head to the left while trying not to irritate her stomach too much. The cupboard was awful. An IKEA model from the previous century. Broad brown doors and white side panels.
There was a wooden chair by the bed. Over the chair hung a pair of long gentleman’s underpants, blue.
Where on earth was she?
Sweat broke out over the whole of her body. Another attack of nausea was on its way.
I’ve got a hangover, she thought, but where am I? What day is it?
She sniffed and found the reason for her upset stomach. The smell of fried eggs and bacon. My God, what a terrible stench!
She groaned aloud.
Then she heard someone move in another room.
At that moment the seriousness of the situation came home to her. She was in bed with a stranger! It was a double bed with only one duvet. She lifted the duvet.
Oh, my God, I’m stark naked in a stranger’s bed.
What happened? What have I done?
She looked around feverishly for her clothes. They were nowhere to be seen.
Who was in the adjacent room?
Lena tried to sit up, but another bout of nausea forced her back down.
The person or persons in the other room were approaching the door.
She had to defend herself! What should she…?
Lena watched the door handle, her eyes rigid. It went down. The door opened slowly.
A bearded face with a thatch of hair revealed itself in the doorway.
‘Awake?’
It was Frank Frølich.
‘You!’ Lena exclaimed. ‘What are you doing here?’
‘I live here.’
‘Oh,’ Lena said, pulling the duvet up to her chin.
Frølich entered the room. He threw her a garment. Her light-blue panties – which landed on the floor.
‘What are you doing with my underwear?’
‘Nothing. I just thought you might like to dress before breakfast.’
Lena stared at him in shock.
‘Hang about,’ he said and left the room. A few seconds later he returned with a pile of clothes, which he laid on her bed. ‘If you want a shower there are towels in the bathroom cabinet.’
He made to leave.
‘Frank!’
‘Yes?’
‘I don’t feel well.’
‘You’ve got a hangover.’
‘I don’t remember anything.’
He smiled and his eyes had that mischievous look.
‘Be honest,’ she said.
‘About what?’
‘Now. I need you to be totally honest with me … now.’
‘Aren’t I always?’
He turned round with a big grin on his face. ‘You’re wondering if we were drinking last night. You can bet your bottom dollar we were!’
‘You know what I mean!’
The Ice Swimmer Page 22
