‘OK,’ Harry said. ‘The police aren’t going to let him go. He has no witnesses, and he’s right about changing his story only making him look like a worm trying to wriggle off the hook.’
‘I agree,’ Krohn said. ‘I just wanted to keep you informed.’
‘Do you believe him?’
‘Is that important?’
‘Me neither. But he’s a pretty good liar. Thanks for keeping me up to speed.’
They hung up. Harry lay with the phone in his hand, staring into the darkness, trying to make the pieces fit. Because they fitted, they always did. So the problem was with him, not the pieces.
‘What are you doing?’ Alexandra asked, taking a drag of the cigarette.
‘I’m trying to see but it’s so bloody dark.’
‘You can’t see anything?’
‘Yeah, something, but I can’t make out what it is.’
‘The trick in darkness is not to look directly at an object but a little to the side. Then you actually see the object more clearly.’
‘Yes, and that’s what I’m doing. But it’s as though that’s where the object is situated.’
‘To the side?’
‘Yeah. It’s like the person we’re looking for is in our field of vision. Like we’ve seen him, but without knowing he’s the one we’ve seen.’
‘How do you explain it?’
‘That—’ he sighed — ‘is something I have no insight into and will not attempt to explain.’
‘Some things we just know?’
‘There’s no mystery to it, there is just some stuff the brain figures out by putting together the information available, but neglects to tell us the detail, merely offers us the conclusion.’
‘Yeah,’ she said softly, taking another drag of the cigarette and passing it to him. ‘Like me knowing that Bjørn Holm murdered Rakel.’
Harry dropped the cigarette on the duvet. He got hold of it again and put it between his lips.
‘You know?’ he asked, inhaling.
‘Yes. And no. It’s like you said. Information the brain adds up without you consciously trying or even wanting it to. And then you have the answer, but not the calculation, and you have to do the sums backwards to see what your brain was thinking while you were thinking of something else.’
‘And what was your brain thinking?’
‘That when Bjørn discovered you were the father of the child he believed was his, he needed to seek revenge. He murdered Rakel and let the evidence point to you. You told me it was you who killed Rakel. Because you feel it’s your fault.’
‘It was my fault. It
‘Bjørn Holm wanted you to feel the same pain as him, didn’t he? Lose the person you love the most. And feel guilt. I sometimes think about how lonely you both must have been. Two friends without any friends. Separated by... things that happen. And now neither of you has the woman you loved.’
‘Mm.’
‘How much did it hurt?’
‘It hurt.’ Harry sucked desperately at the cigarette. ‘I was going to do the same as him.’
‘Take your own life?’
‘I’d sooner call it ending my own life. There wasn’t much life left to take.’
Alexandra accepted the cigarette. It was almost down to the filter and she put it out in the ashtray and snuggled up to him. ‘I can be Rakel for a little longer if you like.’
Terry Våge tried to block out the annoying sound of the halyard continuously slapping against the flagpole in the wind. He had parked in the car park in front of the unassuming Kolsås Shopping Centre. The shops were closed so there were not many cars there, but a sufficient number for his own vehicle not to be noticed by the few cars coming down the road from the residential area. He had been sitting there for half an hour now, and had only counted forty passing cars. Without using the flash, he took a photo of each car as they drove into the light from the street lamp just forty or fifty metres from where he was sitting. The pictures were more than sharp enough for him to read the licence plates.
It had now gone nearly ten minutes without a single vehicle. It was late, and people were probably staying home in this weather if they could. Våge listened to the sound of the halyard and decided he had waited long enough. Besides, he needed to publish the pictures.
He’d had a little time to think about how to do that. Using his own platform and blog would of course breathe life back into it. But if he wanted to get the blog up and running and not just back on its feet, then he needed the help of a bigger medium.
He smiled at the thought of Solstad choking on his morning coffee.
Then he turned the key in the ignition, opened the glove compartment and pulled out an old, scratched CD he hadn’t played in a long, long time and pushed it into the aged player. Turned up the sound of Genie’s lovely, nasal voice and put his foot on the accelerator.
