Thatwas enough. Yttergjerde broke into a run.
Theneedle on the speedometer touched 110 kph. Shop windows and pedestrians werejust grey shadows. Cars in front of them swerved to the side and in their panicdrove on to the pavements with a jolt. Yttergjerde drove in the middle of thecarriageway, between lines of cars with casual nonchalance, crossing the lightson red, pushing into the wrong lane and back again, his mouth going like a taxidriver's all the while. 'Went to the Glomma last weekend,' he said. 'Floodingits banks, it was. In June, just imagine. Went on to Mingevannet with mybrother-in-law, down the lake, by Sarp. We were sitting in a boat, castinglines towards the shore. Do that in early summer, we do, when the pike's in thereeds. Only caught a few littl'uns though, tiny buggers no longer than an indexfinger. You wouldn't think they'd bite the spinning bait that was twice as longas they were, would you? And so aggressive! It was…
'Watchout!' Gunnarstranda shouted, grabbing the glove compartment with both hands tobrace himself for a collision.
However,Yttergjerde swung the wheel round and slung the car to the left, into the laneof the oncoming traffic. He maintained speed, driving towards a parked lorryunloading goods. Behind the lorry was a queue of cars; their line of sightblocked, they had not seen the police car. The first car came out and overtookthe lorry on its way towards them. Yttergjerde coughed and accelerated as heaimed for a gap between the two vehicles and one of the cars that had swervedto the side. 'Could use them as bait, you know. Save taking them off the hook.Pike are cannibals, too. My brother-in-law caught one weighing three kilos anddo you know where the hook was? In the pike's skull. My brother-in-law hadbloody hooked a pike in the skull and hauled it in. What about that! Threekilos!'
'Bloodyhell!' Gunnarstranda grabbed the strap over the door to his right as a cyclistwas forced to throw himself and the bike on to the pavement.
Yttergjerdeshrugged. They were already in Fredensborgveien. The howl of a siren echoedbetween the blocks of flats. Yttergjerde jumped on the brakes and screeched toa halt in front of another patrol car. Gunnarstranda was out of the car andalready on his way to the front door. What was a second patrol car doing here? Frølichcould never have made it here so fast.
Heraced up the stairs with long strides. Behind him, Yttergjerde was morecomposed. Gunnarstranda didn't stop until he reached the second floor and wasstanding in front of an open door. A uniformed policeman stood in the doorway.Gunnarstranda walked past him and entered the flat.
Thedead man was hanging from a hook intended for an electric light. It might haveseemed solid enough for a chandelier, but now it seemed fragile. Someone hadtaken the cable off the hook and laid out the dead man.
'Itook down the body and laid it on the floor,' said the uniformed constable bythe door. 'Hope that's not a problem.'
Gunnarstrandascowled at him, but said nothing. The constable shrugged and leaned against thedoor frame. Apart from the constable, Gunnarstranda and Yttergjerde there wasanother stranger in the room. Without uttering a word, Gunnarstranda watchedthe stranger trying to give Henning Kramer heart massage. It didn't seem to behelping. The man sat over the dead body, the back of his white shirt wet withsweat. Every time he thumped the dead man's chest the corpse shook. Every timethe man tried to pump the heart into life the lifeless legs thudded against thewooden floor. As did Henning Kramer's head. The man astride the dead body tooka small break, gasping for air, and went back to pressing Kramer's chest. Twolifeless feet and one head banged against the wooden planks.
Gunnarstrandamotioned to Yttergjerde who was leaning over the two on the floor. With a pairof nippers he cut off the rest of the cable, still coiled around the dead man'sneck. The man attempting heart massage glanced up, mumbled something and wenton pumping.
Gunnarstrandacleared his throat and asked the constable, 'Was he cold?'
'Asice,' the constable answered.
Gunnarstrandapointed to the man giving the heart massage. 'Who is this?'
Theconstable in the doorway gave a shrug.
Atthat moment Frank Frølich walked in through the door. He took one lookat the dead body and heaved a heavy sigh. He and Gunnarstranda exchangedglances.
'Hefound the body,' the constable said, pointing to the man they had spoken about.'But he has just started doing this.'
Frølichshouted to the man on the floor: 'Hello, are you a doctor?'
Theman turned round. 'Vet.'
'He'sdead,' Gunnarstranda said to the vet.
'Wehave to open his chest,' the man said. 'We have to try to squeeze his heartinto life by hand.'
'What?'Gunnarstranda said.
'Squeezehis heart into life by hand.'
'Areyou out of your mind?' Gunnarstranda's lips trembled with irritation. 'Theman's dead. Can't you see that? He's almost transparent. He hanged himself fromthe ceiling several hours ago.'
'Rubbish,'said the vet who stood up and dashed into the kitchen. Soon he reappeared inthe doorway with a large meat cleaver. The expression on his face wasconcentrated and he was sweating. He brandished the cleaver. 'We have to openhim up!'
'Imake the decisions here,' Gunnarstranda said roughly. His voice shook withsuppressed rage. 'He's dead.' His voice cracked on the word dead.
'Butit works with the rats at the institute. This is something I do every day. Wejust open the chest and squeeze the heart into life.'
Gunnarstrandastared dumbstruck at the vet with the cleaver. Yttergjerde was crouched downexamining the corpse as though it concealed profound secrets about his life. Itwas impossible to find eye contact with anyone in the room. No one was at ease.They don't like my tone of voice, thought Gunnarstranda. They'reafraid of what I might do. They think I'm going to crush this poor man. He's inshock. Take it easy, Gunnarstranda told himself. The man's in shock.
Therewas a clunk as the man in the kitchen doorway dropped the cleaver. His hands wereshaking; his jaw was quivering. He was obviously on the verge of a breakdown.The policeman, who was relieved that the man had dropped the cleaver, turned tothe window and pointed to the weary, grey cactus leaning against the glass.'Can you see the cactus?' he asked.
'Idon't understand what you mean,' the man in the doorway said, stroking hisforehead, exhausted.
'It'sgrowing.'
'Sowhat?'
'Thewindow sill isn't growing.' 'Hm?'
'Youcan't make wood grow again however much you water it.' v
Theveterinary doctor stared at the cactus in bewilderment. He spun round to facethe body on the floor.
'Buthe's my brother,' he cried.
Gunnarstrandatook his arm. He's about to snap, he thought, and looked into the man's eyes.'May I offer my condolences?'
'Don'tyou understand that I don't want to lose my brother?'
'Standstill,' Gunnarstranda ordered as the man bent down for the cleaver. In agentler tone he continued: 'I'm sure you're a good vet and a good researcher,and you've had lots of success with the rats you work with, but you must notforget that this body was a man once. Even if his heart did beat again afteryou opened his chest, you have to remember that blood has not circulatedthrough his brain for a long time. He would have to lie in a respirator withbrain damage until someone was kind enough to switch it off.'
'You'reright,' the man said quietly. 'I hadn't thought about that.'
Gunnarstrandapointed to the cleaver on the floor. 'Where did you find it?'
'What,'the man said, in a distant world.
'Wheredid you find the cleaver?'
'Inthe kitchen.'
'Soit belongs to the flat?'
'Ofcourse.'