“I think it’s odd,” she said lightly. “Remembering a date like that.”
The piece of paper lay between them.
“I have always been deeply skeptical of photographers,” smiled Adam. “They distort reality and call it real.”
“And I of gynecologists,” she said, not looking at him. “They often lack the most elementary form of human empathy. The men are worst.”
“That sounds rather judgemental to be coming from you. What’s your view on youth workers?”
They both laughed a little. It was good that she’d moved. He didn’t make a fuss about it. Just settled down, as if it was in fact more comfortable to have the whole sofa to himself.
“Have you got any further with the cause of death for Kim and Sarah?”
“No.”
He drank the rest of what was in his mug.
“If we assume that there actually is a cause of death,” said Johanne, “then…”
“Of course there’s a cause of death! We’re talking about two healthy, strong children!”
He looked older when he wrinkled his brow. Much older than her.
“Could they have been… frightened to death or something like that?”
“No, not as far as I know. Do you really think that’s possible? To frighten someone with a healthy heart to death?”
“No idea. But if our man has found a way to kill people without leaving a trace…”
She felt a shiver down her neck again. She lifted her hair and ran her fingers through her bangs.
“… that means that he has ultimate control. And I guess that fits in with his profile.”
“What profile?”
“Wait.”
She stared at the piece of paper. It was lying so the text was facing Adam; the writing was so small that she couldn’t read it upside down. She held a finger in the air, as if she needed complete silence to finish her train of thought.
“This man wants revenge,” she said tensely. “He has a serious, antisocial personality disorder or he’s a psychopath. He can do what he’s doing now because he feels that it is right or justified. He believes he has a claim to something or other. Something he never got or that was taken away from him. Something that is his. He’s taking back… what is his!”
Her finger was like an exclamation mark between them. Adam’s face was immobile.
“Could he be… Is the murderer actually the father of these children?”
Her voice was trembling; she heard it herself and coughed. Adam paled.
“No,” he said eventually. “He’s not.”
Johanne’s finger gradually sank.
“You’ve checked,” she said in a disappointed voice. “If the children are their fathers’ children?”
“Yes.”
“It would have been nice to know,” she said. “Especially as you think I can help you.”
“I just hadn’t gotten that far yet. We know that Emilie’s biological father is not Tønnes Selbu. But we don’t think he knows that himself. The other children…”
He sank slowly back into the sofa and opened his hands.
“Everything indicates that they are their fathers’ children.”
Johanne’s eyes didn’t leave the piece of paper. The King of America was whimpering on the other side of Kristiane’s closed door. Johanne didn’t get up. The dog’s whining rose in volume.
“Should I-?” Adam started.
“I had a bit of a girls’ night here yesterday,” she interrupted. “We got a bit tipsy, all of us.”
Jack started to howl.
“I’ll let him out,” said Adam. “He probably wants to pee.”
“He’s not housebroken yet,” she said listlessly. “He probably just wants company. Kristiane will wake up now and then that’s that.”
But she still didn’t get up. Adam let the dog out of the girl’s room. It peed on the floor. Adam went and got a bucket and cloth. The whole living room smelled of Ajax when he went back to the bathroom and returned with the dog under his arm.
“Party,” he said, with forced humor. “On a Wednesday?”
“It’s a kind of book group, really. Apart from the fact that we rarely have time to read the same book, at least. We’ve been doing it since secondary school. Once a month. And, like I said, we got a bit…”
She blushed. Not because she’d had too much to drink the night before. That was none of Adam’s business. But because he made himself so at home in her apartment and was sitting with her dog on his lap, on her sofa. His hands were still wet with her water and her cleaning products.
“Later on in the evening, one of us just had to know how many the others had…”
Adam had never been with anyone other than his wife. Johanne didn’t think she’d ever met a man who could say that.
Are you telling the truth? she thought. Or is this just another way to make an impression? To make you different?
“… slept with,” she completed the sentence.
“Now I’m not quite…”
“… with me?”
She immediately regretted saying it.
“There is a point,” she quickly added. “There was lots of joking around and laughing, of course. Late evenings with good girlfriends often end up like that. A bit like when boys have to list their five favorite rock albums of all times. The ten best quarterbacks. Things like that.”
Adam had a big lap. His thighs were broad and there was room for the whole of the King of America between them. The dog lay with its mouth open and eyes half-closed and looked content.
“I’m sure we all lied a bit. The point is…”
“Yes, I’m intrigued, I must say.”
The words were sarcastic. The voice was friendly. She didn’t know which to believe.
“We leave a few out,” she said. “Everyone has someone they would rather not remember or include.”
He lifted his gaze from the dog and looked straight at her.
“Yes, well, not everyone,” she said, and pointed at the table as if she wanted to explain who she meant to include.
“But we did. Those of us who were here yesterday. We left out some names. Over the years we’ve all been involved with people who we either discovered very quickly were not our type or who it’s just embarrassing to think that you’ve actually… slept with. So as time passes, we forget them. Consciously or unconsciously. Even though their names generally still linger in our minds, we choose not to mention them. Not even to close friends.”
He carefully put the puppy down on the floor. It whined and wanted to be let up again immediately. Adam pushed it firmly away and pulled the document closer. The dog padded over to a corner and lay down with a thump.
“There’s only one ‘boyfriend’ here,” he said. “Karsten Åsli. And he’s also down as friend, or former friend really, of another. Do you think this Åsli may have gone out with more of the mothers?”
“Not necessarily. It might be someone completely different. Someone that none of them has mentioned. Either because they’ve repressed the whole episode, or because they don’t want to admit…”
“But these mothers know how serious it is,” he interrupted. “They know how important it is that they tell the truth, that the lists we’ve asked them for are correct.”
“Yes,” she nodded. “They’re not lying. They’re repressing. Would you like a drink? A whisky? A gin and tonic?”
When he looked at his watch, it seemed to be automatic, as if he couldn’t reply to the offer of a drink without checking the time first. Maybe Johanne was right; it was possible that Adam didn’t drink at all.
“I’m driving,” he said and hesitated. “So, no thanks. Even though it does sound good.”
“You can leave the car here if you like,” she said nonchalantly, adding, “No pressure. I can’t know if these ladies have all had the same boyfriend. It’s just an idea. There’s something so vengeful about this man’s crimes. So bitter. So evil! I find it easier to imagine that it’s driven by rejection from a woman, several women or perhaps even all women, rather than simply being pissed off with… the tax authorities, for example.”