'You'rea bad liar, Gunnarstranda.'
Helooked across at her and said with a wry smile on his thin lips, 'You have toremember I've listened to lots of liars, all too many.'
'Strange,'she sighed.
'What'sstrange?'
'Thismoment.'
Shewent on: 'All the times I've tried to imagine what it would be like to bearrested. Thousands.' She glanced out of the car when he braked for a carcoming from the right. 'Talk about an anti-climax.'
'I'mbeginning to get used to it, too,' Gunnarstranda said drily.
Theyfell silent.
'Ithink…,' he began after a while.
'Areyou frightened I'll throw myself out of the car?' she interrupted.
'Ithink Henning Kramer discovered something,' Gunnarstranda persevered.
Shesighed. 'God, now you're being tiresome.'
'Ithink he discovered something your husband had missed, something which madeKramer dangerous in his eyes. I want you to think. What could Kramer havediscovered?'
Sheangled her head. 'I think that's pretty obvious, don't you?'
Gunnarstrandasent her an uneasy glance.
Shewas looking ahead with a scornful smile on her lips. 'It's staring you in theface. My God, if the rest of the police force is as stupid as you it's notsurprising I got away that time in '77. Can't you see it? How could it neverhave occurred to you!'
Gunnarstrandakept his eyes on the road and stopped to let a car through from the right.
Allof a sudden she became serious. 'It's my fault, too,' she said. 'I wanted tohelp Katrine that night at the party when she fell ill. So I rang Erik. Ithought he could drive us home. I wanted to escape and I needed to talk toKatrine face to face. Erik didn't turn up. Henning came to collect Katrine, butErik didn't turn up.'
Gunnarstrandanodded to himself. The picture was beginning to take shape.
'Iwaited for Erik at the party. When I saw Katrine leaving…'
'Yousaw her leaving?'
'Yes,I was on the veranda and saw her go out through the door, close it and walk tothe garden gate. I saw her in the light from the street lamp outside the gate.I saw her walking down the road. I thought about shouting to her, but didn't.Instead I went inside and tried to ring Erik to tell him not to pick me upafter all. He didn't answer the phone.'
'Hewas already on the way?'
Sigridignored the question. She said: 'That Monday you came to the rehab centreHenning was walking around in a trance. We talked about what had happened, allof us, about the party and about Katrine. Henning kept hassling us. We had totell him again and again what had happened that night. All the time I couldfeel Henning's eyes on me. There is only one explanation for that. Henning sawErik that night. He drove past Erik on his way up to Annabeth's at aroundmidnight. He had Erik on his tail when he drove to collect Katrine. Buteveryone knew I wasn't picked up until four in the morning. It was repeatedagain and again at the meetings on Monday morning.'
Shepaused. The policeman said nothing.
Shesmiled at him. 'I'm beginning to like you, Gunnarstranda. You know how to bequiet in the right places.' She coughed. 'Henning called us the evening afterthe funeral. He demanded to speak to Erik.'
'Whatdid they talk about?'
'Ithink Henning threatened to go to you with his suspicions and his sightings ofErik that night.' 'And your husband asked him not to,' Gunnarstranda completed.
Shelaughed a hollow laugh. 'It would never occur to him to ask anyone foranything.'
Shelooked out of the car window. 'No,' she said. 'Erik agreed to meet him so thatthey could talk it out, man to man.'
Chapter Forty-Seven
ElvisPresley's low, metallic voice blared out from the radio's loudspeaker on thebedside table. But the room was empty.
Hecouldn't believe it. Couldn't believe it. Once more he went into the bathroom,into the kitchen and into the small alcove. Not a soul anywhere. He looked downat himself. A man wearing yellow gloves. They would have to come off. He peeledoff the gloves and put them in his pocket. No, that wouldn't do. He took thegloves from his pocket and deposited them in the briefcase instead. Where toget rid of them? He sat in the armchair by the window and slowly ran his eyesacross the room. He peered through the open door to the bathroom – at a dirtylaundry basket. That was where. He slipped into the bathroom and dropped thebriefcase into the half-full laundry basket.
'MaybeI didn't treat you quite as good as I should have….' Elvis sang.
Heswitched off the radio and stood listening. Not a sound to be heard. Nomumbling, no rushing sounds in the pipes. For what must have been the hundredthtime he checked the bulge in his jacket pocket. He was ready. More than readyand no one was at home.
Itwas very strange. He hastened back to the window and looked outside. The samelawnmower he had seen through a corridor window on the lawn, abandoned. Why hadit been abandoned? Why was it so quiet?
Hewas getting hot and ran to the door. Stopped. He didn't want to go, not yet,not so close to the conclusion. There's something wrong. Best to get outnow! He grabbed the door handle. Changed his mind yet again. Locked thedoor from the inside. Reached the window in two quick strides. He took thelatch and pushed open the window. It had hinges on both sides, a window itshould be possible to tilt open. A safety catch had been added. It wasn'tpossible to open the window wide. He tried again. The window wouldn't move. Ameagre twenty centimetres of air was all the window was capable of supplying.
Theblood froze in his veins as someone was pressing the door handle behind him. Itcould not be Bueng. It was someone else. Thank God the door was locked. Helooked at the brown door – and turned back to the window. He thought: Smash thewindow. Now!
Theperson on the outside tried again. Jerked the handle downwards. Knocked.
Howthe hell were you supposed to open this window? He pushed at the frame. It gaveway on the left-hand side. There. A little bolt you had to flick up. Twoseconds later his left foot sank into a tangle of thorns. That didn't help. Therose bush snagged his leg. He was out. He closed the window behind him.Struggled out. The thorns tore at his clothes. He was sweating. But didn't stopto look around. He strode towards the gravel path dividing the lawn into tworectangles. The area was completely deserted. You should have known. Youshould have known something was wrong when it was so quiet!
Well,what had happened? A young woman in reception. That was all. And what had sheseen? A man with sunglasses asking after a patient. That was all.
Hestopped on the corner and cautiously looked around the house. A police patrolcar was parked in the drive. It was empty.
Now!he thought. Now! The car's empty. So there's only one or two of them. Acouple of second-raters answering a call. They're investigating a call someonehas made. No one is after you! Skedaddle!
Heset off towards the police car and walked past it and out. He turned left andkept walking, straight ahead. Every single muscle in his back was knotted.Every second he expected to hear a shout behind him. But nothing happened. Hewas twenty-five metres away now, forty. Five metres to the first crossroads. Heforced himself not to walk fast. One metre to go. He turned left withoutlooking behind him. He kept going, hidden now by a large block of flats. Fivemetres, ten metres. He breathed out. All was well. No one had seen anything.
Thethought of the empty police car bothered him. Why had the car appeared? Had itbeen called because of him? That was very unlikely. If the police knew anythingat all they would not have sent a single patrol car. It must have been calledout for some other reason. But why had someone yanked at the door? He tried toconsider the matter. He hadn't heard any shouting. That was a good sign. Apoliceman would have shouted if he was standing outside a locked door trying tocontact someone inside. It couldn't have been a policeman trying to get in. Sowhy had he panicked? Something must have gone wrong. But what? It wasimpossible to know. But if something had gone wrong whatproof did they have against him? Nothing. The police were tapping in thedark. The question was: Had it been a blunder to go there, to the nursinghome? No! It hadn't been a blunder. Reidar Bueng was the only connectionwith Sigrid's case. The only person who knew anything at all. The only link ofany significance.