Requiem

by Geir Tangen

  A crazy bang and a sharp flash sent them right to the ground. Lotte was blinded and stunned. Her ears were ringing. A burning pain shot from her neck and down toward her chest. She couldn’t breathe. Completely paralyzed, she was lifted up from the ground and roughly thrown into the cement wall. She could hear tramping steps that echoed in the tunnel walls and intense shouting. Gradually she discerned figures running around her. A woman was lying on the ground farther away, screaming hysterically. Lotte tried to raise her hands to her head, but they didn’t obey. She tried to get her legs under her, but a foot struck her in the temple with great force, and everything disappeared around her.

  Haugesund Police Station

  Monday morning, October 20, 2014

  The cameras clicked like machine gun fire as Lotte Skeisvoll and Olav Scheldrup Hansen turned past the press gathered at the police station. Fortunately, they could drive right into the parking garage below police headquarters. No journalists were allowed in there. Lotte registered a TV camera with the CNN logo sweep by as they passed. That was frightening. It was bad enough that Norwegian media closely followed what you did, but when the world’s leading news channel had its Argus eyes on you, you knew that everything you did and said from here to eternity would have your name on it.

  The police station was thronged with people, even though it was just past seven thirty in the morning. Kripos had sent over two full teams on Saturday and Sunday, and now reinforcements were brought in from all possible departments in the district. Five homicides in seven days was the total so far, and today a sixth was supposed to happen. Now it had been prevented. They’d arrested him. That was probably what the press had gotten wind of. The killer was placed in a bed in the emergency ward at the hospital, and heavily guarded. She had personally asked the response team members to proceed carefully during the arrest, but they didn’t. If the treatment the man got went under the designation of “careful,” she would prefer not to see the rough-handed variety. He’d been beaten black and blue even though he must have lost consciousness the moment he hit the asphalt in the underpass. A deep cut in his head testified to a hard encounter with the pavement.

  Things hadn’t gone much better with her. One of the police officers who stormed the tunnel from the west had mistaken which of the two was lying there, and gave her a solid kick to the head when she showed signs of trying to get up. Fortunately, it was something she could remedy with an ice pack. Foggy and bruised, but alive. That was more than she would have been if they hadn’t managed to stop the killer.

  She was groggy. Staggered a little and needed help on the stairs. She probably should have been in the hospital too. It feels like a concussion, Lotte noted on her way up the first stair steps. She waited. Scheldrup Hansen took hold of her arm and gave her a little extra support. Whether it was the pressure from the shock grenade or the well-aimed kick that made Lotte hazy was not easy to say, but her face was a hardly becoming shade of gray, and she looked like she was about to throw up at any moment.

  “Will you manage? Are you okay?”

  Lotte didn’t answer, but nodded affirmatively. They went into her office and each took a seat. A little later, Lars and Knut came in and placed themselves by one wall. The police chief came in right after them. He had a stick-back chair with him from the hall. A couple of curious souls hung around outside, so Olav went over and closed the door.

  The police chief got right down to business.

  “Do we know him? The man in the tunnel?”

  Lotte nodded and cleared her throat. “We know him very well. He’s someone we’ve had on the radar at the newspaper. We have DNA samples from him, but the results from the lab won’t get here until tomorrow.”

  The four others in the room looked at one another. This was what they had hoped would happen. That there was a clear connection between the person they’d arrested in the tunnel and something to do with the case. An employee at the newspaper was perfect in that respect.

  Olav Scheldrup Hansen asked the burning question. “Who is it?”

  Lotte looked up at them. Peered at four faces that for the first time in a week had traces of energy and enthusiasm. So this was how it felt to succeed in bringing in a killer. They looked like a hunting party that had just shot the royal stag.

  “It’s Henrik Thomsen. The arts reporter.”

  Lotte had recognized him at once. The man was enormous. She had run into Thomsen a number of times before.

  Scheldrup Hansen seized the chance that came in the silence after the name had sunk in among the three others. “This Thomsen … Did he say anything? Did he do anything when you came into the tunnel?”

  Lotte sighed and shook her head. “No, there was an explosion, and then it was all just chaos.”

  There was silence in the room. All five appeared to be lost in their own thoughts. The adrenaline that had raced through their bodies the past few hours had kept them alert and on edge. Now fatigue came creeping in. They finally knew who he was, and they had him under control. Thomsen would have to force his way past no fewer than ten policemen to escape from the hospital. Regardless of how much intended mayhem this man had prepared, he probably didn’t have a plan B for this scenario.

  They were roused from their reveries by a knock at the window. Outside stood a fresh and cheerful Harald Madsen. The publisher was smiling from ear to ear. He was let in.

  “I’ve been talking with several of the other publishers today, and now I just had a phone call from Arno Vigmostad at Vigmostad and Bjørke. He had the name and address of the man behind the pseudonym Geir Tangen.”

  Harald Madsen threw the paper he had in his hand on the table. The others smiled at him. So they’d figured out the name too.

  The police chief patted Madsen on the shoulder. “Well done. Fortunately, we got hold of him in a maneuver up in the city earlier today. Henrik Thomsen is in our custody at the hospital. It’s over now.”

  Harald Madsen smiled back at the tall police chief. He nodded, but evidently had a question on his mind. His gaze wandered among the five others in the office.

  The police chief looked at him. “Is there anything else you’re wondering about in this connection?”

  “Uh … No. Now, of course, I’m not completely updated on everything in this case, but who is Henrik Thomsen?”

  Requiem: Communio

  The police cars roar past along Kirkegata. I am amused. Once again, it was a close call. Much too close, actually. I understand it now, what was tormenting me all last night. How could they know? How could they be in the vicinity two times in a row? They actually must have been able to solve the case and found the manuscript.

  In that case, it’s only a matter of time before they know who I am. I’m gambling that I still have time. Half an hour is all I need for the finish. Nevertheless, I notice that it is unpleasant to have them so near me now when I can see the final stretch and the finish line in front of me. I have only one plan B, and it involves a major risk that they will be faster than I.

  For that reason, I’m standing by the window, so that I can see. Be aware if someone were to suddenly come to get me. In that case, a rapid retreat through the emergency exit in the basement is the only alternative.

  My body is racked with impatience. The work computer has always been sluggish, but never so bad as today. I notice that the tiredness is seizing hold of me now. There was no sleep at the boathouse last night. I got a call from André. He had to confess his sins, he said. He had to tell what had happened that day out at Røvær. That he’d almost killed Viljar, but changed his mind. It amused me that he didn’t have the slightest idea what I’d been up to the past week.

  André’s unexpected intervention in my story about Jonas was an interesting twist. It must be written into the manuscript. I noticed that it was just the little sequence that was missing to make the piece of music complete. The Jonas story got its worthy ending.

  While the computer trudges through the start-up programs, I look down at the street
below me. Everything appears normal. People are scurrying to and fro, and the cars maneuver around all the illegally parked vehicles on the streets surrounding the prayer meeting house in the city center. I marvel at how they can live their normal lives completely unaffected by everything that has happened in the past week. What will happen when they read about Hans Indbjo, who stood in the bright flames on Lindøy last evening, I don’t know, but it will undoubtedly speed up the media circus, which has already gone completely off the rails. I allow myself a smile. It was a delightful feeling to hear the screams of pain echoing between the skerries.

  Half an hour ago, I witnessed the drama over by the Opel Building. I felt it physically as I approached the place that something was wrong. A tingling sense of worry in my body. A feeling that something wasn’t normal. More rapid breathing. An incipient anxiety that pinched me in the ribs. Ten minutes before the scheduled time, I was standing at the crossing by the old power station trying to make up my mind. The manuscript I had edited in the little summerhouse at Espevær gave me directions about what I should do, but back in town, it was as if everything suddenly was wrong. I had a creeping suspicion that the police knew more than I thought. I could not meet Lotte in the tunnel.

  While I was standing there, a familiar figure appeared before me, and right then I understood that this must be fate. A hundred and thirty kilograms of walking negativity was exactly what I needed there and then. Henrik Thomsen nodded in recognition and shook my hand. I fired off a couple of dry polite phrases before I asked if he could do me a favor.

  “Lotte Skeisvoll is coming in five minutes, and I was supposed to give her this flash drive down in the tunnel on my way to work, but now something has come up, so I can’t wait. Could you wait here for her, do you think? It’s extremely important.…”

  “Why in the tunnel?” Thomsen had looked a bit skeptical. Certainly not happy to be inconvenienced.

  “No, we just agreed on there. She usually jogs that route, and I go past here on my way to work.”

  Henrik Thomsen nodded and took the flash drive. “I won’t wait long, just so you know. Maximum five minutes.”

  I nodded and left him.

  I got in my car by the Austmann high-rises, started it, and rolled a short way in the opposite direction before I turned around. Just then, I caught sight of Lotte, who came running. From my vantage point I took in the whole episode. It didn’t take more than half a minute from when she passed me before there was an explosion. At the same time, the place was swarming with police, and I understood that I had been quite right in my suspicions. I jumped out of the car and ran over to take in the details. When a flock of police was carrying a bloody and unconscious Henrik Thomsen from the tunnel, I knew that I still had some time. Not much, because he would blab as soon as they started asking questions. But that wouldn’t happen right away. Now the man needed medical attention, and he was out cold besides.

  I make a name change and amend the scene by the tunnel. Lotte Skeisvoll got away. I chuckle a little at the thought of something Hans Olav Lahlum said at a crime festival one time: “It’s frustrating when my characters suddenly start living their own lives. One time, one of the main characters decided that he should come out of the closet as gay in the middle of a book. Incredibly irritating. That created a lot of trouble for me.” In my book, it’s a bit different. The characters have their own free will in reality too, and I’m the one who has to change the story so that it will be correct. Unfortunately, reality can’t be changed.

  I am approaching the final sequence. Soon it will actually be over. Before I write my manu propria, my final words, I go to the email list of all the Norwegian literary publishers. Paste them in and get ready to send. If the police come now, I’ll manage to press Send before I run away. This time I won’t get a single rejection. There will be seventeen publishers, all of whom have permission to argue till the fur flies about who will get the rights. The answer is in my will, in the event I don’t live that long. The tumor in my head is knocking steadily louder on the door. Just a pity that I won’t be able to see the success of the book itself. That is my great sorrow. Still, it’s enough to know it. Mozart didn’t get to hear his Requiem, after all. Wergeland never got to see “To a Nightingale” in print. It will probably be that way with my masterwork.

  I sigh in relief. Know I’m going to make it now. In a short while, I can pick up my last victim. She is sitting ready in reception. Happily ignorant of her own fate. Half an hour ago, she had her life ahead of her. Now I’m writing her in as dead. I actually couldn’t have found a better stand-in for Lotte. She actually should have been plan A, but I hardly knew about her three years ago when I wrote the first draft. She was a minor character. I’m giving her the place she deserves. I will take time to write the afterword too. Without that in place, no one will understand what really happened.

  Everything is written. Everything is in place. I study the details one last time before I tap the baton. The curtain goes up. Enjoy the feeling when everyone finally sees me. I’m the one who is the masterwork.

  I am Maestro.…

  Haugesund Police Station

  Late Monday morning, October 20, 2014

  Lotte tossed the sheet of paper with the name down on the table. Everything that made it look like “case closed” a minute ago was suddenly turned on its head again. The name that was written in red marker on the paper Harald Madsen had with him glared at the five officers in the room.

  “What the hell is going on?”

  Lotte Skeisvoll collapsed like a sack of potatoes in the chair. She looked up in despair at the publisher in the hope that he would reveal what would have been the worst, most subtle joke of all time, but the publisher just looked at them uncomprehendingly.

  “Well, that was the name I got from Vigmostad, anyway. They’ve cataloged all submitted manuscripts digitally since the company started, and it was an easy matter to search the contact information behind the pseudonym.”

  “Øystein Vindheim, isn’t that the librarian that Ranveig interviewed the day before she was killed?” Scheldrup Hansen stood with the paper in hand and looked over his glasses at the others.

  Lotte nodded weakly in confirmation.

  “Damn it! I knew there was something familiar about that figure on the bicycle at Djupaskar. I talked with him about those confounded codes in the emails that same day.”

  The police chief had collected himself and took control of the situation. “Great. That’s the way it is. What Henrik Thomsen was doing in the tunnel we’ll know soon enough. Now we just have to get ahold of this librarian before he finds some random victim or other that he takes with him.”

  Everyone stood up, except for Lotte. The others stopped and looked at her. She looked tired. As if all the energy had left her. In slow motion, she turned her gaze toward the inquisitive faces before her. The words were stuck in her throat. They wouldn’t come out. At last she managed to whisper what she had to say. What struck her the moment the police chief had spoken.

  “It’s not a random victim.”

  The five in the room did not say anything. They looked at her with greater puzzlement. The silence had settled around them like a vacuum.

  “It’s Anne … my sister,” she added. “She was given an offer from NAV for subsidized work at the library. Part of the new municipal arrangement where they try to place drug abusers during the day. It was Øystein who arranged it. Anne told me when she woke up at the hospital on Saturday. I couldn’t understand what use the library could have for a worn-out addict, but never asked her about it. She was supposed to start today, she said.”

  “Damn! Is there a single scenario this man hasn’t thought out in advance?”

  Olav Scheldrup Hansen was furious and struck a clenched fist into the wall in frustration.

  Lotte did not react. She sat as if paralyzed, looking down at the table. This time, there was nothing left of her. She remained a passive witness as the police chief and Olav took charge. Everything wa
s arranged over her head. Together with a confused publisher, she remained sitting at her desk while all the others were running around in the corridors. As the first sirens were heard, she came around.

  “I can call…”

  She fumbled in her pockets for her phone, but her fingers and hands wouldn’t obey. Only on the third try did she find where it should be. In the clip on her uniform belt.

  “No answer,” she called. “Pick up, damn it!”

  Harald Madsen stood up carefully and left the room.

  Lars Stople came in right after that. He went over and put his arms around Lotte. She resisted while she howled out new oaths. Lars hushed and consoled her, and then it was as if something shook loose. Lotte placed her head against the shoulder of the old policeman. There was nothing to do now other than hope. Hope that the killer wasn’t one step ahead of them, but that they would find him where he should be. At the library. Nevertheless, it struck them both in the midst of their embrace. If there was a sign of how Øystein Vindheim had operated the past week, then it was that he was always one step ahead.

  Confirmation came on a crackling intercom system two minutes later. An out-of-breath Knut Veldetun reported in.

  “He’s not here. Left ten minutes ago, the woman behind the counter said. He was going to buy office supplies and took the new assistant from NAV with him. I expect they’re not at Staples shopping.…”

  Lotte straightened the earbud and the microphone. She cleared her throat a few times so as not to give away her tear-filled voice.

  “No, Knut. They’re probably on their way to Haraldsvang. The cards are dealt now. The only thing to do is go all in. We no longer have anything to lose.” There was silence for a moment at the other end before Knut came back.

  “You’re wrong there. We have everything to lose, Lotte. If we fail this time, you no longer have a sister.”