The problem was that Aksel had no case.
At least, not here in the U.S.
He had no case, but still he had always been waiting. In quiet resignation, he had never given up the hope that someone would discover the injustice that had been done. This never came to more than a silent prayer at bedtime that tomorrow would bring good news. That someone would believe him. Someone other than Eva and Patrick.
Johanne Vik’s visit was important.
For the first time in all the years he’d been away, he considered going home.
He still thought of Norway as home. His whole life was in Harwich Port. His house, his neighbors, the few people he could call friends. Everything he owned was there, in a small town on Cape Cod. But Norway had always been home.
If Eva had asked him to stay, way back then when he left, he would perhaps never have boarded the MS Sandefjord. If she’d asked him to come back later, during the first years in the States, he would have jumped on the first boat. He would have gotten temporary jobs in Norway and lived frugally. Moved to a new town, where it would be possible to keep a job for a year or two before the story caught up with him and he had to move on. If Eva was with him, he could have gone anywhere. But he only had himself to offer, and Eva was not strong enough. Aksel’s shame was too great. Not for him, but for her. She knew he was innocent. She never seemed to doubt that. But she couldn’t cope with other people’s judgement. Friends and neighbors nudged and whispered, and her mother made everything worse. Eva bent her head and let herself be cowed. Aksel would have managed to stand strong with Eva, but Eva was too weak to cope with a life with him.
Later, when she was free, it was too late for them both.
Now, perhaps, the time was right. His life had taken a turn in an unexpected direction and there was someone who needed him at home. Eva hadn’t exactly asked him to come in the letter she sent, out of character and out of the blue. She was desperate.
Aksel had Johanne Vik’s business card. If he went, he could contact her. Patrick was right; the woman had come all the way from Norway to talk to him, so she must really be convinced of his innocence. His dream of being cleared might finally come true. The thought frightened him and he got up stiffly and rubbed his back.
The real estate agent had said a million dollars. That was some time ago. Cape Cod was at its prettiest now. As any potential buyer was hardly likely to be interested in the house, cleaning and maintenance were not that important.
Aksel Seier turned over a horseshoe crab with the tip of his boot. It lay there, like a deserted German helmet from World War I. He picked the crab up by the tail and threw it into the water. Even though he never decided to do something without thinking it through in detail first, he realized that he was well on the way to making an important decision. He wondered if it would be possible to take the cat with him.
FORTY-FOUR
Well, you were wrong as far as the half sibling theory goes,” said Sigmund Berli.
“Good,” said Adam Stubo. “Did you manage to get the blood tests without too much trouble?”
“Don’t ask. I’ve told more lies in the last few days than I have in my whole life. Don’t ask. At the moment we only have the results of old-fashioned paternity tests. The DNA results will take longer. But everything indicates that all the other children involved are really their fathers’ children.”
“Good,” repeated Adam. “I’m happy to hear that.”
Sigmund Berli was taken aback.
“Jesus,” he said and put down the papers in front of his boss. “You don’t seem particularly surprised. Why were you so eager to get it checked if you didn’t really believe it was the case?”
“It’s been a long time since I’ve been surprised by anything. And you know just as well as I do that we have to investigate every possible avenue, whether we believe or not. Right now it seems that everyone has been caught in a collective short-circuit, where everything is focused on…”
“Adam! Stop!”
The hunt for Olaf “Laffen” Sørnes from Rykkin had become a national concern. It was everywhere, in the media, conversations around dinner tables, at work. Adam could understand that most lay people had decided that Laffen was the child killer. But the fact that Adam’s colleagues seemed to have gotten caught up in the same frenzy, or at least in part, alarmed him. Laffen was clearly a pathetic copycat. His criminal record told a sad story of perverted sexuality that only now had resulted in an actual attempt to abduct a child. There were countless sad stories about similar cases in real life and in the literature. When a crime receives enough attention, there will be others who taste blood.
“Surely you can see that,” said Adam, and shook his head. “Nothing makes sense. For example, take the courier delivery of Sarah. Would Laffen have managed to pull off anything like that? Would a man who has an IQ of eighty-one manage to think out something like that? Not to mention pull it off?”
He thumped his fist on Laffen Sørnes’s file from the social services and Bærum hospital, where he had undergone tests for possible epilepsy.
“I’ve met the guy, Sigmund. He’s a pathetic bastard who hasn’t had the sense to do anything other than masturbate since he reached puberty. Cars and sex. That is Laffen Sørnes’s life. Sad, but true.”
Sigmund Berli sucked air through his teeth.
“We haven’t closed all other options either. Just let it lie. All avenues are still being investigated. But you must agree that it’s important to stop this guy. After all, he tried to…”
Adam raised his hand and nodded vigorosly.
“By all means,” he interrupted. “Of course the man must be stopped.”
“And,” continued Sigmund. “How do you explain the fact that he knew about the notes? About the message saying Now you’ve got what you deserved? We’ve tested the paper and you’re right, it’s not the same type of paper as the others. But strictly speaking, that doesn’t mean anything. The other messages were on different types of paper, as you know. And yes…”
He raised his voice to stop Adam from interrupting.
“… Laffen’s messages were written on a computer and the others were written by hand. But how did he know? How on earth would he know about that sinister detail if he had nothing to do with the case?”
It was the afternoon of Thursday, June 1. The caretaker had obviously turned off the central heating for the summer. It was pouring rain outside. The room was chilly, almost cold. Adam took his time pulling a cigar out of its metal tube. Then he slowly took out a pair of cigar cutters from his breast pocket.
“I have no idea,” he said. “But as time passes, more and more people know about it. The police. Some doctors. The parents. Even though we’ve asked everyone not to mention it, it would be unnatural if they didn’t tell their closest friends and family about the messages. All in all, about a hundred people must know about the messages by now.”
Among them Johanne, he thought. He lit the cigar.
“I have no idea,” he repeated, and blew a cloud of smoke toward the ceiling.
“Could he…”
Sigmund sucked air through his teeth again. Adam offered him a box of toothpicks.
“Could there be two people involved?” asked Sigmund Berli. “Could Laffen be some kind of… henchman for someone else, someone who’s smarter than him? No thanks.”
He waved away the toothpicks.
“Of course, it’s not impossible,” Adam admitted. “But I don’t think so. I get the feeling that the real criminal, the real killer that we need to catch, is someone who operates alone. Alone against the world, if you like. But the combination would be nothing new. Smart man with stupid helper, I mean. Well-known concept.”