The lift stops at the ground floor. The officers get out.
‘So what do we do now?’ Sandland asks and turns to him with her hand on the front door handle. Brogeland thinks about it.
‘I think he’s hiding something. I’ll call Svein’s Gym to check if he really was there. If it turns out that he wasn’t, we’ll put him under surveillance.’
‘There’s no way you’ll ever get a unit together at such short notice, Bjarne. Don’t—’
‘Oh, yes,’ Bjarne says and smiles. ‘I still have a few favours I can call in. And it would only be for a couple of hours. At least to begin with.’
He smiles, but Sandland merely shrugs.
Bjarne sighs to himself. She is still unimpressed.
Chapter 24
Atle Abelsen replies much more quickly than Henning had expected, but not by email, which is his usual form of communication.
‘Yo,’ Abelsen says when Henning answers the call.
‘Hi, Atle. I guess this means you got my email.’
‘No “how are you?” No “what are you up to these days?”’
‘How are you, Atle? What are you up to these days?’
‘Overworked and underpaid.’
‘I’m surprised to hear that.’
‘It’s a tough life.’
‘So I’ve been told. But I presume you’ve read my email since you’re calling?’
Henning is about to ask Atle what he has found out when he remembers something.
‘Before we start, did you know Erna Pedersen yourself? Did she ever teach you?’
‘No, but I called my mother. She still teaches in Kløfta. She said she had heard about her.’
Henning straightens up a little.
‘And what had she heard?’
‘Erna Pedersen had something of a reputation, as far as I can gather. Positively terrifying. Old school, I mean. We’re talking canes slamming against the desk, that sort of thing. Stand up when the teacher comes into the classroom, mind your manners and always say good morning.’
‘Ah, the good old days.’
‘Quite. But I know that wasn’t the reason for your email. I’ve managed to find out a couple of things about Erna Pedersen that might be of interest. In 1989 she filed a complaint at the local police station because her house had been vandalised. The old witch had finally had enough.’
‘I see,’ Henning says, picking up and clicking on a pen lying next to him.
‘She claimed she knew who the culprits were, but their names aren’t listed in the report. I don’t know if the police ever bothered investigating her complaint, but no one was convicted of anything.’
Henning ponders this for a moment.
‘Did the report say anything about what kind of vandalism it was?’
‘Eggs had been thrown at her house, basement windows had been smashed, that kind of thing. She used to cycle to school, I believe, but someone deliberately damaged her bicycle. Let down the tyres.’
‘Right,’ Henning says.
It sounds mostly like typical schoolboy pranks, he thinks.
‘Then her husband fell off a ladder in the garden in 1991, I think it was, and had a heart attack. Or the other way round, I don’t remember. I can’t imagine that made her less strict and bitter.’
‘No, I don’t suppose it did,’ Henning says while he mulls it over. ‘Was there anything else?’
‘No.’
‘Okay. It would be great if you could email or text me her old address.’
‘Will do. But how are you, mate? Do you still play music these days?’
Henning hesitates before he replies.
‘No, not often, I’m afraid.’
‘For God’s sake, man, you mustn’t stop. You had talent!’
‘Mm. Are you still drinking Calvados?’
‘Oh, forget about that. Let’s go for a beer the next time I’m in town.’
‘Okay. Thanks for your help, Atle.’
‘You’re welcome, dude.’
Chapter 25
A short morning of freedom.
Ever since Emilie Blomvik had a child there is practically nothing she treasures more than that. Several hours in a row where she can do whatever she likes. She can go to the gym, she can read that magazine that has been gathering dust on top of the fridge, she can watch a movie that has taken up space on the recorder for ever. No one needs watching or looking after or checking in. Nor will anyone disapprove if she drinks a can of Coke on a weekday.
Quality time with a capital Q, that’s what it is. However, it continues to surprise her that she rarely ends up doing any of the things she had planned, just like today. She was going to waste some time on the computer, possibly look for some lovely holidays, start one of the books she was given last Christmas. But if she tries to reconstruct the morning, remember what she actually did after taking Sebastian to nursery, she is stumped for an answer. She doesn’t remember anything other than reading the newspaper and tidying up the kitchen. The rest is one big fog of nothing.
Even so it has been bliss. No one needed her to do anything. The sheer knowledge that such moments exist gives her precisely the breathing space she needs.
She only wishes that Mattis would call soon. It has gone eleven now. Perhaps the meeting with the partners didn’t go as well as he had expected?
She hopes he won’t get disappointed or upset. Children hurting themselves or not getting what they want is one thing. It’s part of growing up, meeting resistance and maturing as a result. Adults sulking is another matter. She just can’t deal with it. And Mattis is one of the worst offenders when things don’t go his way. The whole house becomes enshrouded in a thundercloud she can’t get away from soon enough. On this specific point she has very little patience. One child in the house is enough.
Emilie has barely had this thought when the phone rings. She jumps, gets up from the kitchen chair and fetches her mobile from the worktop next to the bread bin.
It’s Mattis.
‘Hello?’ she says with expectation in her voice.
‘You’re speaking to Mattis Steinfjell, partner in Bergman Hoff, Solicitors. Am I speaking to Emilie Blomvik, the most wonderful girl in the world?’
Emilie clasps her hand over her mouth.
‘Is it true?’ she screams.
Self-satisfied laughter bubbles away quietly before Mattis gives up trying to suppress it. He starts laughing out loud.
‘But that’s wonderful, darling. Congratulations.’
Emilie doesn’t know what else to say. Neither does Mattis, or so it seems.
‘So go on then, tell me all about it.’
‘Well, there’s not much to say except that I’m moving up the food chain, sweetheart. You know what that means.’
Emilie shakes her head to herself, but she says ‘yes’ all the same. And then she lets him brag to his heart’s content and she has to pull herself together in order not to cry. One of several things she dislikes about herself since she became a mother is that she cries at the slightest thing.
‘That’s absolutely fantastic, Mattis,’ she says when he finally stops talking. ‘Once again, congratulations.’
‘We’re going to celebrate, sweetheart. I’ll buy some champagne we can open tonight. We’ll order a takeaway and get drunk.’
Emilie doesn’t reply immediately.
‘I’m on nights this week, Mattis. Don’t you remember?’
‘Can’t you swap with someone?’
‘It’s too short notice,’ she replies, but what she is thinking is that she could have asked someone if she really wanted to. And yet there is a part of her that doesn’t want to be with Mattis in his moment of glory. She realises she is worried what he might ask her while he rides his happiness wave. Like, for example, if she will marry him.