Don't Look Back (33 page)

They ducked down. Kollberg began to whine again.

"If you start barking, you won't get any food for a whole week!" Sejer whispered between clenched teeth.

Johnas came out. He looked exhausted. This time he didn't look right or left but just got into the truck, slammed the door, and started the engine.

Sejer cracked open the door.

"Follow him. Keep a good distance. I'm going up to his apartment."

"How are you going to get inside?"

"I've taken a course in picking locks. Haven't you?"

"Of course, of course."

"Just don't lose him! Don't move until you see him turn the corner, then follow him. Most likely he'll wait until it's dark. When you see that he's headed for home, go to headquarters and get some backup. Arrest him at his house. Don't give him a chance to change his clothes or put anything away, and don't say a word about this apartment. If he stops along the way to dump the motorcycle, don't arrest him. Do you understand?"

"Yes, but why not?" Skarre asked.

"Because he's twice your size!"

Sejer grabbed Kollberg's leash, and got out of the car, pulling the dog after him. He ducked down behind the car as Johnas put the truck in gear and drove off down the street. Skarre waited a few seconds and then drove after him. He wasn't feeling terribly confident.

Sejer walked across the street, pushed a doorbell at random, and growled "Police" into the intercom. The door buzzed, and he stepped inside. Ignoring the elevator, he dashed up the stairs to the fourth floor. There were two doors, but he automatically turned to the door facing the street, where they'd seen the light. There was no nameplate. He peered at the lock, a simple latch, then opened his wallet in search of a credit card. He was reluctant to use his bank card, but next to it was a library card with his name and number on it. On the back it said: "Books open all doors." He stuck the card into the crack, and the door slid open. The lock was useless, but maybe it was going to be changed. For the time being, the apartment was virtually empty. He turned on the light and caught sight of the toolbox in the middle of the floor and two stools over by the window. There was a little pyramid of paint cans and a five-liter
bottle of turpentine under the sink in the kitchen. Johnas was redecorating. Sejer tiptoed inside and listened. The apartment was bright and open, with big bay windows and a good view of the street, and high enough to escape the worst traffic noise. It was an old building from the turn of the century, with a handsome facade and plaster rosettes in the ceiling. He could see all the way to the Brewery, which was reflected in the river some distance below.

He walked quietly from room to room, looking around. A phone hadn't been installed, and there was no furniture. A few cardboard boxes stood along the walls, labeled with a black marker: Bedroom, Kitchen, Living Room, Hall. A couple of paintings. A half-empty bottle of Cardinal on the kitchen counter. Several carpets, rolled up, lay beneath the living-room window. Kollberg sniffed at the air. He probably recognized the smell of paint and wallpaper paste and turpentine. Sejer made another round, stopping at the window to look out. Kollberg was restless, padding around on his own; behind him Sejer opened a closet here and there. The heavy carpet was nowhere in sight. The dog started whimpering and disappeared farther into the apartment. Sejer followed.

Finally the dog stopped in front of a door. His fur stood on end.

"What is it, boy?"

Kollberg sniffed vigorously at the door, scraping at it with his claws. Sejer cast a glance over his shoulder, not exactly sure why, but he was suddenly gripped with a strange feeling. Someone was close by. He put his hand on the door handle and pressed down. Then he pulled the door open. Someone struck him in the chest with great force. The next second was a chaos of sound and pain: snarling, growling, and hysterical barking as the big animal dug its claws into his chest. Kollberg sprang and snapped his jaws just as Sejer recognized Johnas's Doberman. Then he hit the floor with both dogs on top of him.
Instinctively he rolled onto his stomach with his hands over his head. The animals tumbled to the floor as he rose and looked around for something to use as a weapon. He dashed into the bathroom, caught sight of a broom, picked it up, and ran back to where the dogs were standing inches apart, growling and baring their teeth.

"Kollberg!" Sejer shouted. "It's a bitch, goddamn it!" Hera's eyes shone like yellow lanterns in her black face. Kollberg put his ears back; but Hera stood there like a panther, ready to attack. Sejer raised the broom and took several steps forward, feeling sweat and blood running down his back. Kollberg looked at him, paused, and for an instant forgot to keep an eye on the enemy, who rushed forward like a black missile, her jaws open. Sejer closed his eyes and struck. He hit Hera on the back of her neck and blinked in despair as the dog collapsed. She lay on the floor, whimpering. Sejer lunged forward, grabbed the dog's collar, and dragged the animal over to the bedroom. He opened the door, gave the dog a violent shove inside, and slammed the door. Then he fell against the wall and slid down to the floor, staring at Kollberg, who was still in a defensive position in the middle of the room.

"Goddamn it, Kollberg. It's a bitch!" He wiped his forehead. Kollberg came over and licked his face. On the other side of the door they could hear Hera whining. For a moment Sejer sat with his face buried in his hands, trying to recover from the shock. He looked down at himself; his clothes were covered with dog fur and blood, and Kollberg was bleeding from one ear.

He got to his feet, and trudged into the bathroom. On a blanket in the shower stall he caught sight of something black and silky soft that was crying pitifully.

"No wonder she tried to attack us," he whispered. "She was just trying to protect her puppies."

The rolled-up carpet lay along one wall. He crouched
down and stared at it. It was tightly rolled, covered with plastic, and taped up with carpet tape, the black kind that Sejer knew was nearly impossible to remove. He began tugging and pulling, the sweat pouring down under his shirt. Kollberg scratched and clawed and tried to help, but Sejer pushed him away. Finally he managed to get the tape off and began tearing at the plastic. He stood up and dragged the carpet into the living room. They could hear Hera whimpering in the bedroom. He bent down and gave the carpet a mighty shove. It unrolled, slow and heavy. Inside lay a compressed body. The face was destroyed. The mouth was taped shut, as was the nose, or what was left of it. Sejer swayed slightly as he stood there staring down at Halvor. He had to turn away and lean against the wall for a moment. Then he took the phone from his belt and stood at the window as he dialed the number, fixing his eyes on a barge moving along the river.
Hexagon,
from Bremen. He heard the beep and a prolonged, melancholy ringing. Here I come, it was saying. Here I come, but there's no hurry.

"Konrad Sejer, 15 Oscarsgaten," he said into the phone. "I need backup."

"Henning Johnas?"

Sejer twirled a pen between two fingers and stared at him.

"Do you know why you're here?"

"What kind of a question is that?" he said hoarsely. "Let me say one thing: there's a limit to what I'll stand for. But if this has anything to do with Annie, then I have nothing more to say."

"We're not going to talk about Annie," Sejer said.

"I see."

He rocked his chair back and forth slightly, and Sejer thought he saw a hint of relief flit across the man's face.

"Halvor Muntz seems to have disappeared from the face of the earth. Are you still certain that you haven't seen him?"

Johnas pressed his lips together. "Absolutely positive. I don't know him."

"You're sure about that?"

"You may not believe it, but I'm still quite clearheaded, in spite of repeated harassment from the police."

"We were wondering what his motorcycle was doing in your garage. In the back of your truck."

Johnas uttered a snorting sound of fear.

"Excuse me? What did you say?"

"Halvor's motorcycle."

"It's Magne's motorcycle," he said. "I'm helping him repair it."

He spoke quickly, without looking at Sejer.

"Magne has a Kawasaki. Besides, you don't know anything about motorcycles—you're in a different field, to put it mildly. Try again, Johnas."

"All right, all right!" His temper flared and he lost his self-control, gripping the table with both hands. "He came trotting into the gallery and started pestering me. God, how he pestered me! Acting like he was on drugs, claiming that he wanted to buy a carpet. Of course he didn't have any money. So many strange people wander in and out of my shop, and I lost my temper. I gave him a slap. He ran off like the little brat he is, leaving behind his motorcycle and everything. I lugged it out to my truck and took it home with me. As punishment, he's going to have to come and get it himself. Beg me to give it back to him."

"For just a slap, your hand certainly took a beating, didn't it?" Sejer stared at the flayed knuckles. "The thing is that nobody knows where he is."

"Then he must have taken off with his tail between his legs. He probably has a guilty conscience about something."

"Do you have any suggestions?"

"You're investigating his girlfriend's murder. Maybe you should start there."

"I don't think you should forget, Johnas, that you live in a very small place. Rumors spread fast."

Johnas was sweating so heavily that his shirt stuck to his chest.

"So what? I'm going to move," he said.

"You mentioned that. Into town. Is that right? So you taught Halvor a lesson ... Maybe we should let him be for a while?"

Sejer wasn't pleased. It just seemed like it.

"Could it be that you lose your temper rather easily, Johnas? Let's talk a little about that." He twirled the pen some more. "Let's start with Eskil."

Johnas was lucky. He had just bent down to take his cigarettes out of his jacket pocket. He took his time straightening up.

"No," he groaned. "I don't have the strength to talk about Eskil."

"We can take all the time we need," Sejer said. "Start with that day, that day in November, from the moment you got up, you and your son."

Johnas shook his head and nervously licked his lips. The only thing he could think about was the disk, which he hadn't managed to read. Maybe Sejer had taken it and read through everything Annie had written. The thought was enough to make him feel faint.

"It's hard to talk about it. I've tried to put it behind me. Why are you so interested in an old tragedy? Don't you have more pressing matters to occupy your time?"

"I know it's hard, but try anyway. I know that you were having a difficult time and that you really should have had professional help. Tell me about him."

"But why do you want to talk about Eskil?"

"The boy was an important part of Annie's life. And everything about Annie needs to be brought to light."

"I know, I know. I'm just confused. For a moment I thought you might have suspected me of ... you know. Of having something to do with Annie's death."

Sejer smiled, a rare open smile. Then he gave Johnas a look of surprise and shook his head.

"Would
you
have a motive for killing Annie?"

"Of course not," he said. "But to be honest, it took a lot for me to call you and say she'd been in my car. I knew I was sticking my neck out."

"We would have found out anyway. Someone saw you."

"That's what I thought. That's why I called."

"Tell me about Eskil," Sejer said, unperturbed.

Johnas slumped forward and took a drag on his cigarette. He looked confused. His lips were moving, but not a sound came out.

In his mind everything was clear, but now the room was closing in around him, and all he could hear was the breathing of the man on the other side of the table. He glanced at the clock on the wall in order to organize his thoughts. It was early evening, 6:00
P.M.

Eskil woke up with a gleeful shout at 6:00
A.M.
Tumbled around in our bed, hurling himself this way and that. Wanted to get up at once. Astrid needed to sleep some more; she hadn't slept well, so I had to get up. He followed me out of the room and into the bathroom, hanging on my pajama legs. His arms and legs were everywhere, and he talked nonstop, an endless stream of sounds and shouts. He wriggled around like an eel when I tried desperately to put his clothes on. He didn't want to wear a diaper, didn't want to wear the outfit I found for him. He kept on reaching for anything that wasn't nailed down, and finally climbed up on the toilet lid and began pulling things from the shelf under the mirror. Astrid's jars and bottles crashed to the floor. I lifted him down and was immediately swept up in the same old patterns. I scolded him, kindly at first, and shoved a Ritalin pill in his mouth, which he promptly spat out as he grabbed the shower curtain and managed to pull it down. I tried to get dressed, tried to make sure he didn't damage anything, didn't break anything. Finally we were both dressed. I lifted him up and carried him into the kitchen to put him in his chair. On the way across the room he suddenly threw his head back and hit me in the mouth. My lip split open and began to bleed. I strapped him in and buttered a piece of bread. But he didn't want what I fixed for him; he shook his head and threw
the plate across the table, screaming that he wanted sausage instead.

"Johnas?" Sejer said. "Tell me about Eskil."

Johnas shook himself and looked at the inspector. At last he made a decision.

"All right, if that's what you want. November 7th. A day like any other day, which means an indescribable day. He was a torpedo, he was destroying the whole family in his wake. Magne was getting worse and worse grades in school and couldn't stand to be home any more. He would go off with his friends every afternoon and evening. Astrid never got enough sleep; I couldn't keep regular hours at the shop. Every meal was a trial. Annie," he said all of a sudden, smiling sadly, "Annie was the only bright spot. She would come and get him whenever she had time. Then silence would descend on the house like the eye of a hurricane. We would collapse wherever we were sitting or lying and completely pass out. We were exhausted and desperate, and no one gave us any help. We were told quite clearly that he would never grow out of it. He would always have trouble concentrating, and he would be hyperactive the rest of his life. The whole family would have to put up with him for years to come. For years. Can you even imagine that?"