After the next train had arrived and he was settled in a window seat, he looked up and saw flashing blue lights on the street outside. Two or three cars pulled up on to the pavement. It reminded him with a jolt of where he was going. Now that he was actually on his way, the feeling of repugnance at the thought of handing himself in for interrogation grew even stronger. But he couldn’t put it off any longer.
The train stopped in the middle of the tunnel, stayed there. There was no announcement. He looked around the half-full carriage. At an angle to one side of him a boy of about Daniel’s age was reading a magazine and listening to music through earphones, the leg on the seat shaking, possibly in time to the music. Maybe Daniel would be the one who would feel most betrayed, even if he had left home. Daniel had always reached out to him. Three seats further down, two girls of African appearance were tapping in messages on their mobiles. On the seat behind them was a woman in a hijab. She was looking out of the window into the dark tunnel wall. Bie and the children. To be with them and feel no shame. The way things used to be. It sounded like something from another time zone altogether. From the time before Brede reappeared in his thoughts. Axel had kept him at bay all these years. Locked him in a dark room and ignored the shouts coming from inside. Discovered a kind of peace in not hearing them any more. But Brede had managed to get out anyway. The day his mother mistook Axel for him. The train set off again. He knew it wasn’t possible to close that door again. Could no longer rid himself of the thought of what had happened that summer.
Police on the platform at the National Theatre station. He counted four or five. One of them with a dog. He still hadn’t realised why they were there. Not even when a couple of them burst into the carriage and ordered everyone to stay in their seats. Not until one of them stopped in front of him and yelled at him to hold out his hands did it dawn on him. But he had never been able to relate to orders screamed into his face, so he did nothing. At the same moment he felt a violent tugging at his shoulders, his arms were pinioned behind his back and he was pushed forward head first, his forehead and nose thudding on to the floor. A knee was forced into his neck, his wrists manacled together.
– Stay completely still! a voice bellowed into his ear.
He twisted in order to be able to breathe and was hit on the jaw. Heard another voice, further away: – Suspect apprehended at National Theatre station. Situation under control.
A response through a crackling transmitter: – Definite identification?
– Driver’s licence and Visa card. It’s him.
He couldn’t tell how long he lay there. Five minutes, maybe ten. The other passengers were told to leave. At last the pressure on his neck was relieved.
– On your feet.
He stood up, blood in his mouth. One of them at least was wearing a holstered pistol, he noticed. Am I that dangerous?
Outside, by the fountain, a car was waiting. He was led towards it. Halfway across the square a figure jumped out in front of him. The flash cut through the semi-darkness and tore it wide open. Twice, three times, until he was pushed in through the passenger door.
In his student days Axel had made a bit of pocket money at the weekend by doing blood tests on suspected drunk-drivers. He knew what a holding cell looked like. But he had never been inside one behind a locked door. He sat with his head resting against the wall, legs stretched out in front of him across the floor. His neck was aching, over the shoulder and down the ribcage on one side. He was certain at least one rib was broken. He had a swelling above his right eye and was still bleeding inside his mouth. An eye tooth had come loose.
A little earlier, he had heard sounds from one of the neighbouring cells. An elderly man, it sounded like. Pretty drunk, but sober enough to reel off a few verses: If you’ve sunshine in your heart, then the whole wide world is yours. And When the chestnuts bloom on Bygdøy Allé… It helped, hearing him sing out his joy like that. Axel could imagine what he looked like. See the days when the old man had first learned the songs, of which only these carefree fragments now remained. Think of some explanation for why he had ended up under arrest. That way he could keep the other thoughts at bay. But at some point the old man had been let out. It must have been an hour ago, maybe two. Naturally they’d taken his watch, along with his mobile phone, his wallet, belt and shoes. Now all was silent in the other cells. He was left at the mercy of his own thoughts between the sallow green stone walls, under the bright strips of neon lighting. These were the thoughts he would be living with for every moment that was left to him.
Bie had once shown him a picture in a magazine. A Buddhist monk walking through a valley flushed with red and gold leaves, sunlight streaming down through the branches. Beneath the picture it said: Not one single thought disrupts this walk. But the monk hadn’t got where he was by pushing thoughts away. He must have accepted them so completely that there was nothing left of them at all. Suddenly Axel thought of how he used to imagine his old age would be. Strolling along a beach. Sitting on a rock and looking out over the sea. A feeling of everything being calm and settled, of everything having been done, and now all that remained was to wait. Lying in that cell, staring into the wall, he knew he would never reach that beach.
54
THE RECTANGULAR ROOM he was taken to was inward facing. It had no windows and was lit by strips of neon lighting in the ceiling. The walls were grey, as was the wall-to-wall carpet. A video camera was suspended above the door, and he realised that the interview was going to be filmed, that someone would perhaps be sitting and following the proceedings on a screen.
A table and three armchairs by the further wall. He at once recognised the men sitting there. They were the same two who had interviewed him about a week earlier. It felt more like a month to him, maybe longer.
The younger one stood up. He was about the same height as Axel, powerfully built, with dark eyes beneath his light fringe.
– Sit down, Axel, he said and pointed to the vacant chair.
Axel understood that he was being addressed by his first name for a reason. But this man seemed a sympathetic type, and he was relieved to think that he would be present throughout the questioning.
– As you might remember, my name is Norbakk. And this is Detective Chief Inspector Viken.
The chief inspector directed his cold gaze on Axel and gave not the slightest sign of recognition. He was wearing a white shirt, obviously freshly ironed.
Norbakk said: – We’ve decided to charge you with the murders of three people. Hilde Sophie Paulsen, Cecilie Davidsen and Anita Elvestrand. This gives you certain legal rights. Among other things you have the right to see all documents relating to the case. And within twenty-four hours at the latest, a lawyer of your own choosing will be appointed to defend you, or else we can choose one for you. You have the right to have your lawyer with you during all questioning, but it may take some time for him or her to arrive. So we propose to make a start now. It means we can cut down on the amount of time you spend in the holding cell. Not a very cosy place to spend a night.
This was said with a sort of empathic undertone. Evidently the two men were to play different roles. This Norbakk was to be the friendly, understanding one. Axel hadn’t the slightest idea what his own role was supposed to be. He recalled suddenly a dream he had had several times. Stepping out on to a large stage, glimpsing a room full of people, the sense of their anticipation. Silence falls, everyone awaits his opening line. That’s when he realises he hasn’t learnt a single one of them.