– Fair enough, he heard himself say. – Let’s begin.
Down in the cell he had wondered whether he should ask for a lawyer, but had decided that the arrest was a misunderstanding he would quickly manage to clear up on his own. Not even the words charge you with the murders of three people altered his view. He had been on his way here to hand himself in. Voluntarily submit to questioning. Had given a blood sample without protesting.
– That’s good, said Norbakk as he sat down again. – You’re a cooperative type of person, we appreciate that.
Axel looked over at Viken, who had still not yet said a word, and who had kept his gaze on Axel’s face throughout. It looked as though he were scrutinising his every pore. Below the bushy grey eyebrows the detective chief inspector’s eyes were red rimmed, Axel noted. Lack of sleep, or an allergy maybe. He met the gaze, couldn’t face holding it, fixed instead on a point on the wall while he waited for Viken to speak. A long time passed, maybe as much as a minute, before he did so.
– Have you ever paid for sex with a prostitute?
Axel was startled. The voice was low and intense. But it was the content of the question that surprised him. On his way from the cell, in the lift, he had thought about what they might ask him. His whereabouts. Why he hadn’t handed himself in. His relationship to the dead women. But this was something else.
– I’ll repeat my question. Ever had sex with a whore?
In that instant he knew he shouldn’t say anything else without his lawyer being present. But this was not the time to show weakness. He had nothing to hide. Bought sex? He’d been to a brothel once, in Amsterdam. In his second year as a student, a trip abroad with the so-called Brass Band Orchestra, in which he did his feeble best with a tuba. He was the only one with the lungs for it, and his lack of musical ability was of no consequence to the orchestra. The visit to the brothel had been the result of a bet made over an almost empty bottle of whisky.
– We note that it is taking some time for the question to be answered, Viken commented tonelessly.
Axel pulled himself together. – No, I’ve never done that.
He saw a tightening at the corner of the detective chief inspector’s mouth, as though he were registering a small victory, and it struck Axel that they had information about what had happened that night in Amsterdam over twenty years ago.
– Have you ever had a homosexual relationship?
Abruptly it felt as though the floor his chair was standing on was uneven. He knew he shouldn’t ask what the question had to do with the case. Or what was meant by a homosexual relationship. Whether nudity and intimate touching among teenagers counted. He must not on any account get involved in a sort of struggle over limits with the dour man on the other side of the table.
– No.
– Children?
– What are you asking about?
– I’m asking if you’ve ever had sex with children or minors?
– Of course not.
– Have you ever felt any attraction in that direction?
– No.
– Sadomasochistic sex?
Not once had the chief inspector’s voice deviated from that same low and intense delivery. Axel shook his head.
– Does that mean no?
– Yes… it means no.
He glanced across at the other man. Norbakk nodded to him with something that might have been an encouraging smile playing around his lips.
– And yet, Viken continued, lowering his head a fraction, – and yet we found, in the bedroom you share with your wife, at the back of a cupboard, a certain item.
Axel knew at once what he was talking about. Suddenly in all its enormity it dawned on him that his status as the accused gave the law the right to enter his home, trample through his bathroom, kitchen, bedroom, through his children’s rooms. He felt himself stripped naked, exposed to public view in the marketplace. Felt an urge to ask for a towel to hold in front of him.
– A pair of handcuffs, he said. – My wife and I… we bought them for a laugh. It was a long time ago.
– Who did you say bought them?
Axel thought back.
– It was me.
– And who usually wears them?
– Well, I’ve tried them too, yes.
Detective Chief Inspector Viken’s face remained as expressionless as a mask. But there was a hint in the eyes that he was enjoying himself.
– How did you meet Miriam Gaizauskaite?
Finally, a question Axel had been expecting.
– I was her supervisor during her practical training in general medicine.
– Supervisor? Is that all?
– We’ve been together.
– What does that mean?
– We had a relationship. A couple of weeks.
– Sexual?
– Yes.
– And your wife, does she know about this?
– Not yet.
– And you think it’s okay to deceive her?
– No.
Here Norbakk interrupted.
– You say you had a relationship.
Axel felt relieved at being asked the question.
– It can’t go on, he said.
– Nonetheless, you’ve rung her twelve times in just the last twenty-four hours, Viken countered. – That doesn’t sound as if you’re completely finished with the young lady yet.
Without a pause he continued: – When did you last see your twin brother?
Now Axel tried to hold the chief inspector’s gaze.
– Years ago. Don’t exactly remember when. Ten, maybe twelve.
Before he had time to think any more about it, Viken was at him again.
– In the photo albums from your childhood, there is not a single picture of you and Brede together. Not one fucking photo. That bothers us, Glenne. Anything like that, where we don’t understand shit, that bothers us.
Axel looked up at the video camera, then at the wall, then at the table between them.
– Brede isn’t in any of the pictures in those albums, he said. – All the pictures are of me.
A low growling sound emanated from Viken’s throat.
– You’d better explain that to us, he insisted.
– There’s nothing to explain. Brede was sent away to a kind of institution. All his possessions were given away. All the photos with him in them were removed.
– Removed? Who did that?
– My mother, I suppose. Nothing was ever said about it.
Viken looked to be chewing this over.
– You told your wife that several of the photos in the album are of Brede.
Axel struggled to know what to say.
– Give us the name of one person who knows him, Viken suddenly asked. – Somebody we can get in touch with who can confirm that this twin brother really existed.
A space seemed to open up. A cold wind blew in through it, and Axel heard his father’s voice: You must always pay your dues, Axel.
– I want my lawyer, he said as firmly as he could. – Before we go any further.
Now there was no doubt about it: the detective chief inspector’s lips moved.
Enough to show a small amount of pink gum.
Axel knew several lawyers. Just four days earlier, he’d been at the fiftieth birthday celebrations of one of them. He’d been standing in the dark out on the terrace and looking up into a starry sky. That was in the days when he still believed he could choose how the rest of his life would be.
He couldn’t face the thought of involving someone he knew. At this stage someone chosen by the authorities would be good enough. At this stage? He was still thinking it would all be over by nightfall, or at the latest the following day. He’d thought he would be going to work. With patients to look after. Then home afterwards. Dimly he became aware that this was not how it was going to be.
The defence lawyer’s name was Elton. A skinny little guy about his own age, with square designer glasses and a slim-fit shirt that would have suited someone twenty years younger. His voice was slim fit too. Axel had thought that what he needed was someone who could steer a boat. That way he could lie down in the bottom and not look over the railings until they were in the harbour. Elton didn’t look like a skipper at all, but he’d got hold of the documents relating to the case and glanced through them. Afterwards he announced confidently: – Let’s hope this is all they have, Axel. I think they’re taking a flyer here. And if that’s the case, you’ll be a free man very soon.