Death By Water (34 page)

Roar gave him a couple of clues, almost let slip the story about the Christmas party to which some of the forensic people, for reasons that had nothing to do with him, had been invited. He stressed that there was absolutely no question of a relationship. That this lady was too old for him, as well as too smart and too married.

Dan-Levi smacked his lips in satisfaction. – Mother fixation, he suggested, but by now Roar had had enough and headed off to buy another round of beers.

– Now what about Berger? he wanted to know when he returned. – Have you for once put your investigative talents to any useful purpose?

Dan-Levi swigged at his beer, the froth settling on his moustache and his little goatee. – In a sense, as you like to put it. He waited until he saw his friend’s weary smile before continuing. – I spoke to a former elder of the Pentecostal church, a friend of my dad’s. He knows the Frelsøi family well and has followed Berger’s career.

He took another drink of beer, was in no rush.

– And?

– You want to hear what he said, or what he didn’t say?

– Let’s have it.

– Okay. Berger’s father was a pastor in the Pentecostal church.

– As was your father.

Dan-Levi made a face. – We’re talking about two very different kinds of father here. One who followed the New Testament on how to bring up children, and one who followed the Old. Whom you love also punish,
und so weiter
. Frelsøi senior was apparently the type who would have dragged his son up the nearest mountain without a moment’s hesitation and cut his throat if he thought God demanded such a sacrifice. The elder wouldn’t go into detail, but I gathered from him that the Bergersen Frelsøi family had been the subject of considerable concern in the community, and don’t forget this is the Pentecostal movement nineteen-fifty-something we’re talking about here.

– Violence? Abuse?

Dan-Levi considered the question. – My source won’t name any names, not even of those who are dead. Most of all them. If you approach the community as an investigator, you’re going to get the door slammed in your face. But that’s what it was like in those days. Everything should be sorted out internally, and nothing got done. It ended in the worst possible way, without anybody at all getting involved. It’s incredible what some people can do after a literal reading of the Bible. And if thy right eye offend thee, pluck it out, and cast it from thee: for it is profitable for thee that one of thy members should perish, and not that thy whole body should be cast into hell.
Und so weiter
.

Roar put his glass down on the table with a bang. – What you just said then, about eyes, is that what it says in the Bible?

– Yes indeed. Matthew chapter 5, verses 29 and 30.

Dan-Levi came from a family in which biblical texts weren’t followed to the letter. Roar had always liked being at his house; his parents were warm hearted and generous, and Dan-Levi’s father was much less strict than his own, who had arrived from Hungary an eighteen-year-old refugee with nothing more than
two bare hands and a will of steel
. But Dan-Levi had been obliged to learn the Bible by heart, and Roar suspected that he was putting the next generation through the same school.

His mobile phone rang. He saw who it was and took the call on the pavement outside.

– Take it easy, I’m not going to invite myself over to your place this evening.

Roar had to laugh, surprised at how happy it made him to hear that voice with its crisp Australian accent. When he’d found himself sitting next to her at the Christmas party, he had at first assumed Jennifer Plåterud was American, but when he hinted as much, she was greatly offended and assured him that she was a good deal less American than he was.

– Pity, I’d’ve enjoyed a visit, Roar responded now. – That’s to say, I’ve got Emily and I’m staying the night at my mother’s. Probably not a brilliant idea to meet there.

Jennifer’s laughter was a touch strained, he thought. Maybe being introduced to his family in this way was a bit much, even in jest.

– I’m calling from the office, she said.

– Cripes, do you always work this late?

– Often. There’s always plenty to do.

Her capacity for work was dizzying. She was superior to him there as well, not that she made an issue of it.

– I just got a call from Liss Bjerke.

– What? You mean she called
you
?

– It sounds as if she doesn’t want to have anything more to do with you, or anyone else from the station. I wasn’t able to find out why. She could well be in a state of shock, I imagine.

Roar chose not to say anything about what had happened at the interview the day before.

– What did she want?

Jennifer hesitated. – She has information she’d rather give to me than any of you. She said she had more faith in someone who was a doctor.

– What kind of information?

– I believe it has something to do with a document she’s found. She wouldn’t say over the phone. We agreed that she would come out here early tomorrow morning. Naturally I did all I could to persuade her to go to you, but she refuses.

Viken was always stressing that those he worked with could call him at any time; he was always available. It had struck Roar how little he knew about him. Viken didn’t wear a ring, and never spoke about a family. In fact he never spoke about himself at all.

As he punched in the number to inform him of what Jennifer had told him, Roar felt like a bright young lad rushing home with important news.

The detective chief inspector said: – Why did she call you?

– Who, Plåterud? Roar could hear how stupid his own question sounded.

– Why did she ring you? Viken repeated.

Roar looked around. The main street in Lillestrøm was deserted. – Don’t know.

He moved quickly on to what he’d found out about Berger’s background, thinking it would appeal to Viken’s taste for the psychological.

At the other end the DCI listened in silence. Then he said: – We’d better bring him in. I’ll take care of it.

– By the way, I’ve been in touch with the Montreal Community Police Department this evening, he added.

Roar had offered to handle the job of tracing Mailin Bjerke’s father, but Viken was determined to do it himself.

– They still haven’t found him?

It sounded as if the inspector was sipping away at something or other. Probably coffee, because as Roar knew, he was a teetotaller.

– It appears that he’s away travelling, but no one knows where or for how long. They’ve been to his home on the outskirts of Montreal several times, talked with neighbours and friends.

– An artist, isn’t he? Roar grinned. – Meaning he comes and goes as he pleases.

Viken let the observation pass.

– They’ve sent out an internal be-on-the-lookout, he said. – It’s up to us if they make it public. We’ll wait, for the time being.

– Almost worse than being a journalist, Dan-Levi sighed as Roar returned to the table. – Always on the job.

– How do you know it was a work call?

Dan-Levi thought about it. – It could of course have been the
lady
, he suggested. – The doctor lady.

Roar glanced over his shoulder. – If this gets out, Dan, I wouldn’t think twice about committing murder. Not for one second.

– Ooops, his friend said teasingly. – And here was me thinking of going home and doing a feature on people who left Lillestrøm and now live
la dolce vita
in the capital. I guess it’ll have to be something on the Beckhams instead. Imagine this scenario: David decides to end his career as a right-winger for LSK. He sends wicked Vicky on ahead to check out the night life in the city of Lillestrøm.

Roar declined to be distracted. He repeated his threat, illustrating with a sweep of the finger where the throat would be cut. – Halal.

Dan-Levi raised both arms and bowed his neck.

– Do you watch
Taboo
? he asked abruptly.

Roar had to confess that he did. – Particularly now that it’s work related.

– Viewing figures are bound to reach a million on Tuesday, said Dan-Levi. – Did you see what it said in
VG
yesterday about the last programme Berger’s going to make?

Roar had hardly had time to open a newspaper the last few days.

– The headline was
Death in the studio
. The hype is insane. They all expect him to top everything else he’s ever done before.

Roar wrinkled his nose. – Didn’t think you Pentecostals sat around on your sofas entertaining yourself with blasphemy, pure and simple.

– That’s precisely the point, Dan-Levi exclaimed. – If Berger had been a simple atheist, he’d be ignored. But the guy stands there and insists that he believes in a God.

– You mean Baal-something-or-other?

– Beelzebub. Atheism doesn’t provoke anyone, but a celebrity who openly admits to worshipping the lord of the flies, the God of the Philistines, he’ll get all the Christian condemnation he could wish for.

– Smart bastard, murmured Roar.

L
ISS LET HERSELF
into the house in Lang Street. Imagined what Mailin did when she came home. Put her boots on the rack in the hallway, wandered into the kitchen, a glance at the washing-up piled and waiting in the sink. They took it in turn to keep the kitchen tidy, Viljam had told her. If it was Mailin’s day, she’d get going straight away. She’d always be sure to get the dull stuff out of the way before it got out of control. Afterwards perhaps she’d sit down at the kitchen table. Did she listen for the sound of a door opening? Did she long to hear the sound of his voice from the hallway?

After doing the washing-up, Liss had a smoke out on the steps in the cold winter evening before snuggling up in a corner of the sofa with a blanket over her. She looked out; in the dark she could just about make out the patch of garden with the barbecue and tool shed. She’d put the notebook on the table; now she picked it up.

What I know about what happened to you:

10 December. 16.45: you leave the house. To the post office, then on to Morr Water. 20.09: text to Viljam.

11 December. Time?: leave the cabin. 15.48: text to Liss. 16.10: text to Viljam. 17.00: appointment with JH. 17.04: park the car in Welhavens Street. 17.30: text to Berger. 18.11: text to Viljam. 19.00: appointment with Berger. 19.03: call Berger, no answer. 19.05: text to Berger: you’ve been held up (according to Berger you never turned up). 20.30: due to be at Channel Six, you didn’t show up.

12 December. 05.35: videos made of you. Imprisoned, naked. The eyes.

24 December. Package with your mobile phone arrives, posted the day before in Tofte.

She read through it all again. Without thinking, she wrote:

Ask him about death by water.

She looked at the Post-it note she had taken from Mailin’s noticeboard in the office.

Who were you going to ask, Mailin?

The Phoenician. Dead for fourteen days. Something about the crying of seagulls. And a whirlpool. I’ve killed too.

She sat there looking at that last sentence. Read it to herself, felt her lips move but didn’t hear the words.

Something’s going to happen, Liss. You can’t control it.

She got up, crossed to the window, opened it and felt the cold grey air against her face. Everywhere the sounds of the city.
You’re in the middle of the world, but no one knows who you are, or what you’ve done.
She pulled on her jacket, shut the front door behind her, pressed on down Lang Street. Had to buy some smokes. And get something down her. She’d decided on ice cream, but the first shop she came to was closed. It was a relief more than a frustration, because she needed to walk. Far. Then eat. A lot. Then puke. Then go to bed. Sleep, long.

She turned down into Sofienberg Park, didn’t notice the figure that stopped on the corner of Gøteborg Street and stared after her for a few seconds before following between the trees. For the first time since Mailin’s body had been found, an image of Zako appeared in her mind. Lying on the sofa. Was he sleeping? Could she hang on to that idea? That Zako had woken again in that flat in Bloemstraat, gone out to the bathroom, taken a shower and then headed into town. That he was with Rikke right now, that he didn’t need Liss any more and could leave her in peace. When she heard footsteps in the snow behind her, she sensed they had something to do with her. The sensation became a thought: something will grab hold of me, tear me away from here, away from everything that stops me forgetting what I’ve done … There was a kind of hope in it, and the grip around her arm became a confirmation of the promise. She didn’t resist, allowed herself to be dragged away from the path, into the shadow of a bare tree. He wasn’t much taller than her, but his large fists pressed her up against the tree trunk, and she knew that if she went on standing there like that without resisting, it would happen again, the light pulling away and burning into everything around her. And if she didn’t resist, she would disappear, and none of what happened in this park on this evening would be anything to do with her any more.

– Stop following me, he hissed. The mouth smelt of overripe bananas. In the dark, she saw the outlines of Zako’s face, the high cheekbones and the pointed chin.

– I’ll stop now, she murmured, and suddenly it dawned on her who it was. He’d grabbed her by the throat in that stairwell in Sinsen. He knew something about what had happened to Mailin. I am not afraid, she forced herself to think. No matter what he does to me, I’m not afraid any more.

– You were sneaking about in Mailin’s office, she managed to say.

He bent even closer. – I didn’t take anything.

She struggled to control her voice. – What were you doing there?

– I told you, he barked. – Had an appointment. Looked through a couple of drawers. Found nothing.

– You tore a page out of her appointments book.

The grip on her arm relaxed. – Mailin was OK, he said. – There’s not many try to help. Enough that pretend to. I don’t want to get mixed up in anything. What I don’t like is you following me about.