‘Actually, I do.’
‘Why do you believe him?’ Matteus’s brown eyes were almost black in the lounge light.
‘Well, it’s mostly a feeling.’
‘You trust this feeling? He tricked everyone for a long time. Why should you trust him now?’
Sejer shrugged. ‘Intuition is important. And I believe that mine is especially well developed. After many years on the police force, after meeting so many people from all walks of life. I believe people use their gut feelings more than they realise. That’s what carries us through life.’
‘But the police have to assess facts and clues and things like that?’
‘Of course. And we haven’t found anything at the crime scene which would indicate sabotage. So it’s word against word.’
Matteus looked hard at his grandfather.
‘I think he’s trying to pull one over on you.’
‘Is that so? Why do you think that?’
‘Because it’s his biggest talent. It’s what he’s done the whole time. It’s what he’s good at.’
‘Come on, I’m not clueless,’ Sejer protested. ‘I think I know a lie when I hear one. It sort of has its own tone.’
‘You think so? Its own tone?’
‘Like a rusty nail in an empty tin can.’ Sejer said. ‘That’s just an image, but you know what I mean.’
‘Right,’ Matteus said. ‘Now you’re beginning to sound really unprofessional. Listen to this. The part in Swan Lake — of course it’s mine. I’m just pulling your leg.’
‘What are you saying? Is that true?’ Still seated, Sejer gawped in surprise.
‘If you like someone, you’ll believe anything they say,’ Matteus said. ‘Think about that for a while. When you sit in your office talking to Johnny Beskow.’
Chapter 35
One afternoon Sejer received a message from the duty officer.
Johnny Beskow hadn’t reported to the front desk, and he wasn’t answering his mobile. An officer out on patrol had driven to the house at Askeland. The Suzuki was gone. But the door was open. The officer had found only the small, champagne-coloured hamster in its red-and-yellow plastic maze.
‘I’m worried,’ Sejer said.
‘Why?’ Skarre said.
‘Up until now he’s been so punctual, and he has a lot on his conscience. Maybe it’s a pity we couldn’t hold him in custody after all — we could’ve kept an eye on him.’
He kept waiting for the telephone to ring, perhaps with the message that Johnny had simply skived off. But he never got that call. He tried to finish his tasks, but couldn’t concentrate. As though I’m responsible, he thought, and of course I’m not. But he called me Grandpa. That made an impression.
When his work day was through, and they still had heard nothing from Johnny Beskow, Sejer drove to the medical centre where he’d finally made an appointment. For his dizziness, which came and went, and which continued to worry him.
He went in and sat among others in the waiting room, picked up a magazine, began to read. But he just sat there, his head buzzing with thoughts about what could be wrong with him. Some clogged arteries in his neck, maybe, so the blood flow to his brain was inhibited. What would they do if that were the case? he wondered. Can they be unclogged? He pulled himself together, reprimanded himself with his inner voice, a very austere voice. We’ll find out at least, he thought. Now that I’m sitting here, I’ll hear the verdict soon. Ingrid will be satisfied.
He tried to read again, but the letters crawled like ants on the page. How long has this actually been going on? he wondered. This sudden dizziness. The feeling that everything is moving, that the floor slopes. The doctor will ask, he realised, and I should be able to answer; and he’ll ask which illnesses run in my family. It occurred to him that no illnesses ran in his family. They had all been big, strong people in good health, and everyone had lived to a ripe old age. But they’ll do their tests, he thought, and I’ll have to wait for the results. For fourteen days, or for three weeks — these kinds of tests are sent to the laboratory, after all. So I’ll have to walk around in a vacuum while my fantasies run wild. And how they run wild! Could it be a brain tumour?
A name was called, and a woman got up and walked across the floor. Right, Sejer thought, glancing at his watch. I’ll be sitting here for an hour, no doubt. He got up and drank some cold, fresh water from a cooler. When he sat down again, his mobile rang in his pocket. He made his way out of the room. Heard Skarre’s slightly out-of-breath voice.
‘We’ve found Johnny,’ he said. ‘Up at Sparbo Dam.’
Sejer pushed the main door open. The sharp air made his eyes water.
‘OK, what’s he doing up there? Has something happened?’
‘He was floating face down.’
‘He drowned himself? Is that what you’re saying?’
‘We don’t know yet. But we believe it happened very recently. His moped is parked against a tree. A man from the city found him. He was here to inspect the dam. Where are you, anyway? Are you busy? Can you come?’
Sejer turned and glanced back at the medical centre. The wide double doors with the frosted glass meant to impede looking in. What had his son-in-law, Erik, a doctor, said about his dizziness? He had rattled off some possible diagnoses, and now Sejer tried to remember them. His dizziness could be a side effect of medications. But he didn’t take any medications. It could be a sudden drop in blood pressure, like when he sat still for too long and then got up quickly. And there was something called labyrinthitis, which was apparently some infection of the inner ear. Not to mention Ménière’s disease, which was a chronic illness with terrible bouts of dizziness, followed by loss of hearing and ringing in the ear.
But it’s probably just a virus, Sejer thought, infecting the balance nerve.
Which comes and goes. I’ll tackle it another time.
Then he began walking to his car.
Johnny Beskow was a sad sight.
His lean, bluish body had long, wet tufts of hair covering his forehead and face. Bony hands with bitten nails. Underdressed. Sejer walked around the edge of the dam searching for clues. Had anyone been here? Had there been any kind of confrontation?
‘Maybe he was balancing on the wall of the dam,’ Skarre said. ‘Then fell. Maybe he couldn’t swim.’
Sejer stared at the sluice, where the water gushed through the black pipe. ‘Why would he do that?’
‘I’ve heard it’s a tradition out here. For graduating students. In the middle of May.’
‘Johnny wasn’t graduating,’ Sejer said. ‘And it’s mid-October.’
Skarre noticed the inspector’s gloomy face. ‘What are you thinking about?’
‘This is where Johnny Beskow’s story ends.’
‘And not a soul in the world will miss him,’ Skarre noted.
‘Don’t say that.’
‘Perhaps his remorse got the better of him,’ Skarre said.
Sejer’s mobile rang just then, a cheerful tone. He let it ring. ‘I don’t believe so,’ he said. ‘I mean, he didn’t repent. But there’s another possibility.’
‘That someone helped him over the edge,’ Skarre said. ‘Aren’t you going to take that call?’
‘Yes. Don’t pester me. When is Schillinger’s trial?’
‘In January. He’s banking on reasonable doubt. If he gets reasonable doubt, he’ll be able to take home new dogs. You’ve got to take that call. Maybe it’s important.’
Sejer walked over to a tree and leaned against the trunk. He stood there for a moment, his gaze on the dead body on the stretcher, while the mobile continued its cheerful melody.
‘He’s taking some secrets to the grave,’ he said. ‘Don’t you think?’