The car was still there.
‘Why don’t they drive off?’ she said anxiously.
‘He’s talking on his mobile,’ Helge said. ‘He’s probably calling the police.’ He pressed his face to the glass to see. ‘Look at that car. It’s a limousine.’
They stared at the driveway.
‘Go and get them,’ Helge said suddenly.
Astrid was taken aback. ‘What?’
‘Get them. There’s something I want to say.’
‘But Helge,’ she pleaded, ‘they couldn’t help it. Someone called them.’
He looked at her imploringly, and grabbed her arm with a clumsy hand. Rarely did she see this type of engagement in him; it was as though he had been brought to life for the first time in months. ‘Please do what I say. You have good legs, after all. Hurry before they leave.’
Astrid ran to the steps. She reached the car just as it was about to drive off. The men looked at her curiously through the glass, the window slowly sliding down. ‘He wants to talk to you,’ she said in despair. ‘Can you come in? I’m sorry to disturb you, but this is very difficult.’
The men from Memento hesitated. The thought of seeing Helge Landmark face to face made them highly uncomfortable. He had something to say, and they didn’t feel they had the courage to hear it. But they did as Astrid requested, stepping out of the car and following her inside. They stood in the middle of the lounge and saw Helge Landmark in his wheelchair.
‘Good evening.’
Helge nodded, and they nodded in return. He pointed at the window with a pale hand. ‘Sorry for delaying you,’ he said. ‘But I’m interested in the car.’
The men looked at him uncertainly while they waited for him to continue.
‘I mean,’ Helge said, ‘that’s one hell of a car.’
Now they couldn’t help but smile.
‘It is,’ said Ingemar Arnesen.
Helge continued to study the limousine through the window. He put a hand in his matted hair. ‘Have you had it long?’
‘Since May.’
Helge looked at the other man. He was quite young, and this situation he’d landed in had flushed his cheeks red. ‘What is your name?’ he asked gruffly.
‘Knoop,’ he blurted out. ‘Karl Kristian Knoop.’ He bowed for good measure.
‘You’re an apprentice?’
The young man nodded. Wanting to do everything by the book, he made quick glances at his boss.
‘Have you been allowed to drive it?’
Knoop shook his head modestly.
Helge turned to his employer, now with a gleam in his eye. ‘You should let him drive. Give the young ones a chance. They have so much more energy than we do.’
A pause. Not knowing what to expect, Astrid rubbed her hands together. Helge had made a decision — she recognised the determination in his eyes.
‘Tell me about the car,’ he asked. ‘What kind of car is it?’
Instantly the men livened up, and Arnesen spoke.
‘It’s a Daimler. An Eagle Daimler, 87 model.’
‘Not bad,’ Helge said. ‘I imagine it’s a pleasure to drive?’
‘Indeed it is.’
‘Not bought here in Norway, was it?’
‘We got it from Wilcox Limousines,’ Arnesen said. ‘Used. It came from a funeral home called Morning Glory.’
‘Right.’ Helge laughed. ‘Morning Glory. You could see it that way.’
‘One hundred and sixty-four horsepower.’
‘Hm.’
‘Princess Diana rode in a similar car,’ Arnesen said. ‘That is, it picked her up at the airport when she came home from Paris.’
‘It wasn’t cheap, that car,’ Helge said.
‘Four hundred thousand,’ Arnesen said. ‘But it’s full of leather and walnut, and other elegant details. You should smell the cabin. It has a scent of luxury and finesse.’
‘No passengers complain in the back seat?’ Helge winked.
‘No.’ Arnesen cleared his throat. ‘No one complains. The car’s like a ship sailing the ocean. Just a gentle swaying. The engine makes almost no sound.’
Helge Landmark looked out at the car again, then back at the men. ‘Is it possible to make a reservation?’
‘A reservation?’
Arnesen gave him a quizzical look. Knoop had fastened his gaze at a point on the floor where there was a knot in one of the oak boards.
‘I would like to be driven in that car,’ Helge said and nodded at the window. ‘When my time comes. Or when my time is up, if you will.’
It was silent in the Landmarks’ lounge. But the silence didn’t last long. For now the men walked across the room and took his hand.
‘It would be an honour and a pleasure,’ Arnesen said.
‘An honour and a pleasure,’ Knoop repeated.
‘That’s good,’ Helge said. ‘So everything will be easy for Astrid. When you two stand at our door and are old acquaintances. Are we in agreement, Astrid?’
She nodded, her eyes filling with tears.
The short seance was over. Astrid followed them to the door and said goodbye. When the Daimler from Memento drove out on to the road, Helge Landmark asked his wife for a good dram of cognac.
She looked at him apprehensively. It had been a long time since he’d had a nip, and she was afraid all the medicine he was taking would make for an explosive mix.
‘Is that a good idea?’ she asked carefully. ‘Mixing it with your medicine?’
With what remained of his strength, Helge banged his clenched fist on the armrest of the chair. ‘Does that matter now, Astrid? Can you tell me that?’
She did as he demanded. Like an obedient child, she retrieved the bottle from the cupboard, her hands trembling when she poured. She felt strange. Afraid and elated at the same time.
Then she escaped into the kitchen to make bread dough, kneading it forcefully — there was no mercy in her clenched fists. While she was busy with the dough, the doorbell rang. She thought it might be the police and hurried to open the door.
But it was only a young man she didn’t know asking for directions to Sandberg Centre.
Sejer was outraged on behalf of the couple, and what they’d been through. He asked if anyone had harassed them before. If they had any idea of who could have sent the car. Helge Landmark was unable to respond. When he had asked his wife for a cognac, he’d felt terrific. After meeting the men from the funeral home, he’d felt almost like a man again. He had caught them off guard, and it had lifted his spirits. But he had come down again. The drink knocked him out. His eyelids were heavy as lead, and his head was spinning. The French cognac had given him a moment’s pleasure, a strong, uplifting buzz, another taste of life and all that was good about it. But he couldn’t handle it. With a crash he was back in his wheelchair, with the catheter, with the oxygen tank and no strength. There was also something about the inspector which embarrassed him. The man was his age, tall, strong and fit, with broad shoulders and best of his life ahead of him. With the chance to grow old with style and dignity, not gurgling and sniffling like himself.
‘Who knows you’re ill?’ Sejer asked.
Helge was silent. Astrid leaned forward to answer.
‘Many people know,’ she said. ‘Family. Neighbours.’
‘Does anyone visit you regularly?’
‘No. We manage on our own. At least, we have up till now.’ She didn’t look at the man as she said these last words. She sat with her hands folded in her lap, and she seemed completely perplexed. ‘But we sit outside. When the weather’s nice. Everyone can see us. See how things are.’