– Good to see that there’s life in you yet, she said now, and her voice had that tone he was always listening for.
– Thought I’d better update your OS, he said quickly. – There’s a new security package out. He’d helped her choose a computer, and made her a webpage for attracting new clients.
– Great, she said, smiling at him across the table.
Over an hour passed before he let himself into his own flat, and she hadn’t mentioned Adrian once.
He had some monster roids in a bag in the fridge. Poor quality; he should have got something better. Considered calling one of his dealers, decided not to, injected five millilitres, a little more than he should have, was in a hurry to build himself up again. In the cellar he stripped off, did push-ups and sit-ups, a half-hour workout on the punchball. When he came back up, he stood for a while in the dark living room and looked out of the window. Whatever it is you’ve been up to, Kai, you’ve got to stop it. Elsa had no idea what she was asking for. She couldn’t know anything about the fires. She must never find out what he’d been doing that spring.
He went into his bedroom, opened a drawer. Found the interview with Romerikes Blad, Writing about a brother who disappeared, focused on the third paragraph from the end.
For the first time I’ve been going through his things. All the things he left behind, things that maybe only he understood the importance of. And his mobile phone with the last messages and photos. Things that bring him back to life again. I also want to talk to people who used to know him.
Kai rubbed his throat. The pain of that time when the car window was crushing his larynx came back to him, the moment when he thought he was going to choke to death. The longer he studied her picture, the more her gaze looked like Karsten’s. Karsten looking terrified as he lifts up the bag he’s been trying to hide under the car seat. The look that says he knows what the things inside it are used for.
He switched on his computer, checked the mail he had sent to Synne Clausen. She hadn’t opened the attachment, was obviously too cautious to fall for something that simple. He would have to come up with something better. The idea came to him as he was going over what he had found out about her. He saw her with her friend on the bus, and the two of them a few rows in front of him at the cinema, their heads touching. He suddenly knew how to get access to what he needed. Synne Clausen would be unable to stop him, and the thought made him laugh out loud. He threw open the window and let the laughter stream out into the chilly April evening.
7
The man who opened the door was the same age as Karsten would have been, but he looked a good deal older. The chin had almost disappeared, and the thin fringe did not hide the markedly receding hairline. From the way he looked in the school photo, Synne had tried to imagine what his face would look like now, eight years on, the way certain advanced software could. She hadn’t been very successful, even though the man was not very unlike his father. Now and then she had seen pictures of the local priest in the newspaper.
Synne offered him her hand. His handshake was damp, but firm enough.
– Finn Olav. So you’re Karsten’s little sister.
His tone was very slightly paternal, something she was oversensitive to, according to Erika.
– I never met you back then, he added quickly. – But Tonje remembers you well.
Synne doubted if that could be true. – Is she home?
– She’ll be back shortly. Hairdresser, you know. Or something like that. He smiled sarcastically, as though intending to convey a general comment on women and all the time they spent on that kind of thing. Synne let it pass, realising that it was her responsibility to make sure things went well, because after all, she was the one who had asked for the meeting.
– I saw the interview with you in Romerikes Blad, he said.
She took off her boots, gave an inward groan. – It seems as though everyone has.
He frowned. – Isn’t that the idea? Isn’t that why people give interviews? Without waiting for her answer, he turned his back. – It must be exciting, writing a novel about your own family, he observed as he led her into the living room. They lived in a flat that belonged to the hospital, where he worked.
– Not at all sure there’ll be a novel in it, she informed him.
He put cups on the coffee table. – I see a sort of Knausgårdian dimension to it.
– Oh yeah, she answered, suddenly watchful. – So you find time to read novels?
She had found out that he worked as a doctor in the surgical department, and that he and Tonje had two young children. She recalled that his nickname was Priest and decided she would use that if he became part of what she wrote.
– Always been a very quick reader, he claimed. – Particularly if it’s a subject that interests me. Read every volume of Knausgård’s book. Every last word of it.
He was clearly interested in showing off, and listed a whole catalogue of books he’d read. Eventually Tonje arrived. She hadn’t changed much since that old school photo.
– Hi, Synne, she said, and gave her a hug. – I had to drop my oldest off at a birthday party.
Synne understood at once why Karsten had been so taken with her. The high cheekbones and the slightly slanting eyes gave the face an exotic cast. She was small but looked fit and healthy, the kind of woman all Norwegian boys were attracted to, she thought.
– I’m glad you can spare the time for this. You’ve obviously got plenty to be getting on with.
Tonje brushed this aside. – But of course we can. If you only knew how often I’ve though about Karsten over the years.
It was as though the air in the room became fresher after Tonje’s entry, as though all the windows had been thrown wide open.
– You said on the phone you wanted to know more about the evening he went missing. She looked to be thinking back. – It was Maundy Thursday, at Finn Olav’s house; we were joking about having a party in the rectory in the middle of Holy Week.
Finn Olav nodded. – Dad was never too fussy about things like that.
– How did Karsten seem that evening? Synne asked.
The two exchanged a look. It seemed as though each would prefer the other to say something.
– Well, said Finn Olav finally. – He drank way too much.
– School leaving party, Synne commented.
Tonje sat up. – Karsten never drank. Not ever.
– Never? queried Finn Olav. He sounded unconvinced.
– Not before that evening, Tonje said, brushing him aside. – He was very straight. A bit more mature than certain other people I could mention were at that time. He knew what he wanted to do with his life.
– Research, Finn Olav added.
– Just think what he could have achieved. Tonje looked upset. – He was really intelligent.
Synne fetched the school photo from her bag, which she’d left out in the hallway.
– I haven’t seen that for years, Finn Olav exclaimed once he realised what it was. – Must be up in some loft somewhere or other.
Tonje took it from him and let her gaze wander over the three rows of eighteen and nineteen year olds.
– Good picture of Karsten, she said, her voice quavering slightly.
Synne stood behind her. – Who is that? she asked, pointing to the girl whose photograph she had seen on the mobile phone.
– Jasmeen, said Tonje. – What was her other name again? What’s that politician called?
– Chadar, Finn Olav answered. He glanced up at Synne. – You know who her brother is?
– Chadar? Synne thought about it. – You don’t mean Shahzad Chadar?
– Exactly, said Finn Olav. – He was two years ahead of us at secondary school. Didn’t think he’d even manage to finish school at all. Just shows you how wrong you can be. I remember him as a bully who lived from stealing mobile phones and laptops.
– There’s no need to keep your old prejudices alive, Tonje protested.
– Oh come on, every
one knew the guy was an associate of the Young Guns, or was it the Old Guns? Whenever he gets interviewed now, he never hides the fact that he used to be a petty thief and a gang member. He’s managed to turn it into an advantage, an experience everyone ought to have.
– Jasmeen was completely different, Tonje interrupted. – A really sweet person, but we just never saw much of her. She never came to parties, not then and not at any later reunions either. She was clever, but for some reason or other she quit school just before the final exams.
– Muslims, Finn Olav interjected. – The girls are raised to abide by medieval standards of chastity. There are no restrictions on the boys at all.
– She and Karsten were an item. Synne offered this vague surmise as though it were an established fact. Finn Olav and Tonje looked at each other, and then Finn Olav smiled indulgently.
– I’m afraid you’re mistaken there.
Tonje said: – I don’t think Karsten and Jasmeen knew each other particularly well.
Synne shrugged her shoulders. – Maybe not.
– Has somebody said anything different?
Synne thought about it. – I found some pictures. It’s obvious there was something going on between them.
– Pictures? Tonje sounded curious.
– All the things we don’t know, Finn Olav said with a smirk.
Tonje gave him an annoyed look. Just then faint sounds were heard from upstairs.
– Your turn, she said firmly.
– To breastfeed?
She rolled her eyes. – You can give me a shout when you’ve changed his nappy.
Finn Olav stood up, still smirking, padded up the stairs.
– At least they’re good for something, Tonje sighed.
– I heard that! he shouted down to them.
An upstairs door was opened. Synne heard him start to baby-talk.
– This business about Jasmeen. Tonje shook her head firmly. – I don’t think Karsten had a girlfriend, not a proper one.
She sat up in her chair, crossed her legs.
– Actually, there was something that happened … Not being conceited or anything, but I think he liked me quite a lot.
– Yes, I think so too, Synne agreed.
– I was with this other guy, sort of on and off. But there was something special about Karsten. He was so completely himself. And always very serious and decisive about what he was going to do with his life. But I never thought about him in that way.
She drank some coffee.
– The week before Easter, we had a party at my place. A gang gatecrashed and beat up someone in our class, a Vietnamese boy. Nobody lifted a finger. Only Karsten. He ran outside and was going to stop them, and he wasn’t exactly the fighting type. It must have taken a lot for him to do that.
She glanced over at the stairs up to the next floor.
– One day in the Easter holiday he came to my house. He seemed very changed. Seemed to radiate something or other … She started to fidget with the pearl pendant on her necklace. – And then he kissed me. On the front porch steps. And that last evening, Maundy Thursday, I was really wondering whether or not he’d come to the party.
She fell silent a moment. Synne realised she was rocking back and forth in her chair as she waited for Tonje to go on
– When I arrived, he was already there. Not to make any bones about it, he was completely plastered. I was furious. Not at Karsten, but at Finn Olav, because it was him who got him drunk. And then lots of things happened. Karsten threw up and was in a terrible state. We managed to get him to lie down in the basement. And then he disappeared. His shoes were still out in the hallway. It would have made a great school leavers’ party story, the kind we liked to talk about for years afterwards. Stumbles home in his stockinged feet. But it turned out very different.
Synne sensed that Tonje was on the point of crying.
– Because he never reached home.
From the floor above, her partner called down.
– Finn Olav doesn’t like me talking about him.
She sat and looked again at the school photo.
– I should never have left him alone that night, she said suddenly. – I should have stayed there and looked after him.
She paused as Finn Olav came back downstairs.
– Your turn, he chirruped in an exaggeratedly cheerful voice.
Once Tonje had disappeared upstairs he said: – So our school leaving celebration fortnight didn’t turn out quite the way we planned it. As though Karsten had ruined it for them, thought Synne, and almost as though he understood the way she was thinking, he added: – Naturally, that wasn’t what was important. When someone kills themselves …
She put her cup down, jumped at the noise it made as it hit the table. – Do you know that? Do you know that was what happened?
He scratched his balding temples. – Know? Of course not. No one knows.
– Then why do you say it?
– A faint flush spread across his face. – It seems the most obvious thing.
– Hasn’t it occurred to you that it might have been an accident?
He hesitated. – Not sure how important it is to discuss this really.
– It’s important to me.
He looked as though he was thinking it over. – Karsten changed towards the end, he said after a while. – From being very shy and reserved. Something happened to him. And then there were those fires.
She took two deep breaths. – Do you really think Karsten was a pyromaniac?
Again he scratched himself through his thin hair. – Actually no, but there were rumours. And that evening when I brought him to the party …
Now it was his turn to start peering up towards the next floor. – Tonje doesn’t like to hear this. Her idea of him is different.
– What happened to him at that party?
– When I picked him up, he was already pretty out of it. Said there were people after him.
– Who was after him?
– The police, according to him. And some gangs, Pakistanis and others. I’ve never been interested in psychiatry, but I did learn this much from my studies. He’d persuaded himself that all sorts of people were out to get him, and in his own eyes that made him important. It must have been some kind of substitute for all the things he didn’t experience in real life. I mean, he never joined in anything. Today I would say that he was paranoid that evening.
Synne couldn’t help herself. – So was that why you treated him with alcohol? she said, immediately regretting it as she saw how his face fell.
She stood at the bus stop looking up towards the hill. Blocks of flats below, villas on top. Carefully she began to make her way upwards. The pavement was covered in lumpy patches of ice with deep melt water between them, and sometimes she was forced to walk out on the road. At the top, she looked at the map on her phone, checked she was on the right road, then carried on past the row of identical detached houses, each with a carport in between. The fifth house on the right was painted in a glowing turquoise that made it stand out from all the others in the neighbourhood. A dark Mercedes was parked outside. There was a small nameplate hanging on the postbox: Chadar.
There was no light in the window next to the front door. But something moved behind the cream-coloured curtains when she rang the bell, and she thought she caught a glimpse of a face. She rang a second time, holding the bell down a little longer. Another half-minute went by. It wasn’t in her nature to find it easy to ring on strangers’ doors, stick a foot in the doorway and ask questions until she got answers. Journalist was probably the last job she would ever have chosen.
As she was turning to walk away, she heard sounds in the hallway inside, then finally the click of a latch and the door glided open.
The woman who stood there was in her late fifties, maybe older. She was small and round, and her chin had been replaced by several layers of folds that looked to be held in place by her hijab. Her eyes slowly scrutinised Synne.
Synne
said her name. – I would like to speak to Jasmeen Chadar.
The expression in the woman’s eyes did not change. – There is no Jasmeen living here, she said in broken Norwegian.
In the hall behind her a younger woman appeared. The older one turned and spoke to her in what was probably Urdu or Punjabi. The younger one looked to be in her early thirties. She too wore a veil bound tightly around a full face.
– Where can I find her?
The younger woman began to say something, but the older one interrupted her in an angry voice. She turned to Synne once more.
– We don’t know any Jasmeen.
Synne tried again. – I’ve come because there’s something I want to ask her about.
– We know why you’re here, the woman said curtly. – We can’t help you. Without further answer, she closed the door.
As Synne reached the main road and was about to head back down towards the bus stop, she heard someone calling her. She turned and saw the young woman she had just met running in her direction with small steps.
– There’s someone who wants to talk to you, she panted as she approached.
– Who wants to talk to me?
The woman stopped right in front of her. – Come. She took hold of Synne by the arm and set off walking.
The older woman was standing outside on the doorstep. She didn’t look very friendly, but she said something or other that was probably a greeting, led Synne inside and up a flight of stairs, knocked on a door. No one answered, but she opened the door and ushered Synne into a bright room with the curtains pulled back and the windows opened towards the western sky. In a bed against the wall opposite sat a man propped up on pillows. He was very thin, his skin a yellowy brown, but his eyes were clear as they scrutinised Synne, standing in the middle of the floor with no idea at all of what to say.
– Sit down, he said in a frail voice, nodding in the direction of a chair.
The woman, who was probably his wife, was still standing at the door, but the man gestured with his hand, at which she withdrew, giving Synne a sidelong glance.
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