Dreamless (22 page)

“You said I could call you if there was anything,” said a voice, which despite its deep timbre lacked any hint of authority.

“Who is this?” Singsaker asked.

“It’s Fredrik.”

“Fredrik?”

Singsaker dug through his memory. It felt as if the rest of his life was stored on some computer server in a distant country.

“Fredrik Alm?” he ventured after a moment. “What is it?”

“You said I could call you if there was anything.”

“I did. And is there something?”

“I want to talk to you.”

“If I’m not mistaken,” said Singsaker, “that’s precisely what you’re doing right now.”

“Not on the phone.”

“I see.” Singsaker sighed heavily and did his best to pull himself together. He’d already been dealt a few good blows today, but there was no reason he should take his frustration out on the boy. “Where are you right now?”

“I stayed home from school today. I’m not feeling well.”

“Okay, give me your address and I’ll be there in five minutes.”

*   *   *

“The Swedes have an incredibly strong and ancient ballad tradition. Lots of people think that it began with Bellman, but there were many great troubadours before him. My favorite is Lasse Lucidor,” said Gunnar Berg as he turned onto Prinsens Gate near the Trøndelag Theater.

“I don’t think I’ve ever asked you where you live,” said Siri.

“I actually live in Tiller,” he replied. “But I need to stop by a place that I’m renting. Lasse Lucidor wrote a number of beautiful ballads in the 1600s. He’s best known for a number of so-called occasional ballads.” Gunnar was unstoppable once he got started talking about these kinds of songs. Siri hadn’t yet had a chance to ask him about the police log, which was why she’d wanted to talk to him in the first place.

“Wedding songs and funeral ballads were his specialty. He was once arrested for writing a wedding poem titled ‘The Suitor’s Anguish.’ It was intended for Konrad Gyllenstjärna’s wedding. The song was so offensive that it was banned by King Karl X Gustav himself. Lucidor defended his work, saying that he had simply listened to his muse. He managed to win the case against him by acting as his own defense counsel, and so the case is considered an important victory for free speech in Sweden.”

They had now reached the premises of the Student Association. He switched lanes to take the exit toward Singsaker and Rosenborg.

“What’s interesting about Lasse Lucidor is that after being found not guilty of slander, he ended up dying in a duel at a tavern in Stockholm in 1676. It happened after a heated exchange of words with the officer Arvid Christian Storm. After killing Lucidor, Storm fled to Norway and soon afterward became the commandant in Fredrikstad. His descendants became very prosperous and eventually married into the well-known Wedel Jarlsberg family. That’s how things were, back in those days.”

They had reached the Fortress Park and were approaching the Rosenborg School.

“It’s not far now,” he said.

*   *   *

The Alm family lived in a big apartment building that had a sweeping view.

Fredrik opened the door when Singsaker rang the bell.

“Home alone?” he asked as the boy led the way into the living room. Fredrik nodded mutely. They sat down near the big picture window that looked out over the fjord. Fredrik looked ill at ease. Singsaker suspected that he was the type of person that didn’t really feel at home anywhere.

“What is it you want to tell me?” he asked, having taken a seat on the sofa.

The magnificent view of the fjord made him think about Siri Holm’s apartment. What he remembered most from that hour of dalliance with her was that he’d felt dizzy the whole time. Now he wondered if it had been because of the view. Or maybe it was the nagging suspicion he’d had even then that he was doing something that would have far-reaching consequences. But at the time he didn’t know what those consequences would be. If he’d known, would he have done it anyway? No, he thought. No, no, no. Or maybe he would have.

Would he be able to get out of this without being honest with himself? He’d never had an experience like that. He and Siri had put everything, and yet nothing, into it. It was that impossible combination of joy and vertigo, of feeling completely free and yet knowing there could be unanticipated consequences that had made their encounter something he would never forget. What he couldn’t explain to himself, much less to Felicia, was that it took nothing away from his feelings for her.

“She’s pregnant,” said Fredrik Alm, his voice sounding as it came from far away.

Singsaker was just about to say, I know, damn it all. But then he realized who Fredrik meant.

“Julie? Julie’s pregnant?”

“Yes.”

“Are you the father?”

“Yes.”

“So the last time she came over, it wasn’t to look at pictures, was it? She came here to tell you about the baby. Am I right?”

“Yes.”

“Do your parents know about this?”

“No. Just Julie and I, and her doctor, of course. Now you know about it too.”

“Did you talk about whether she should keep the child?”

“Yeah, we talked about it.”

“And?”

“We couldn’t decide. We couldn’t make up our minds.”

What a fucking mess, thought Singsaker, looking at Fredrik Alm. He was too skinny. At the same time, there was a new self-confidence in his gaze. This wasn’t the way to become a grown-up. Yet this was what had happened. A mentally disturbed man had kidnapped his girlfriend and his unborn baby. In that situation, no one could remain a child.

“You realize that I’m going to have to phone your parents, right?”

The boy nodded.

“And Julie’s parents need to know about this too.”

Again he nodded.

“You did the right thing, telling me,” he said, and then took out his cell.

As Singsaker punched in Brattberg’s number, Fredrik said, “It all seems so unreal. I know it’s true, but her stomach was still so flat. I couldn’t believe there was anything inside there.”

After Singsaker filled Brattberg in, he got ready to leave.

“How much did you tell each other?” he then asked Fredrik as they stood in the hall and he was putting on his coat.

“What do you mean?”

“If somebody had treated her badly, would she have told you about it?”

“Maybe. What are you getting at?”

“Did Julie ever tell you about anything that happened at choir practice?”

“Like what?”

“Did she complain about any of the choir directors?”

“No, not really. But she said something about a man she thought was disgusting, someone at the practices for the Bellman concert.”

“Did she tell you what he did?”

“No, just that he was staring at her in a creepy way.”

“Do you remember his name?”

“No. We didn’t really talk about it. It was just something she happened to mention. I think she likes saying that sort of thing, just to bug me.”

Singsaker thanked Fredrik for his help and then left. By now it was late afternoon, and he headed home for dinner.

The man Julie had described as disgusting was probably Høybråten. He was clearly the sort of man that had more than one reason for working with a girls choir. But that didn’t bring them any closer to the killer.

On his way home, Singsaker realized how much he was hoping that Felicia would be there, and that she’d calmed down by now. He tried to phone her, but she didn’t pick up. As he passed the Rosenborg School, he happened to think of his notebook. He recalled that he’d jotted down quite a bit of information, and it might be important for him to follow up on some of it. But once again, the school was closed and deserted.

*   *   *

When they reached Rosenborg, they stopped in front of a huge old building.

“This is where I rent a place,” said Gunnar Berg. They both got out of the car. “Do you want to come in, or do you need to get home?”

“Well,” said Siri, feeling a cool breeze ruffle her curls, “I haven’t even asked you about what I wanted to discuss.”

“Can you stand it if things are a mess?” he asked.

“Can’t live any other way,” she replied with a smile.

“Then come on in.”

She followed him to the entrance, where he unlocked an old, worn door and ushered her inside. From the front hall they proceeded downstairs to the basement.

“This is the room I’m renting,” he said and paused outside the door. Then he insisted, a bit bashfully, that she cover her eyes as he opened the door and led her in.

Then he told her to take her hand away from her eyes, and what she saw did not match the image she’d had of him up until now. There were dirty dishes piled up all over the floor, pages of notes were spread out on a table, and behind that stood something that looked like a big mixing console, with the top removed so that wires stuck out in all directions. The whole place smelled moldy, and she noticed that she was standing on something sticky, but she didn’t want to know what it was. She almost felt like she was back in her own apartment a week ago, before she’d decided to clean up.

She turned around and took a step back, slipping on something underfoot. She saw Gunnar Berg coming toward her a second before she regained her balance, and then she fell backward, with him on top of her. Something struck the back of her head. And then everything went black.

22

Elise Edvardsen was lying
on top of her husband, pounding on the mattress with her fists. Her thighs trembled as she wailed.

“Hush,” he said. “There’s a police officer outside.”

That only made her wail louder.

“I don’t care!” she screamed. Then she continued shouting incoherently.

“Now, now, sweetheart,” he said, trying to stroke her hair, but it was no use. She wouldn’t lie still. Then he wrapped both arms around her waist and tried to rock her. They’d gone to bed at eleven, and both of them had actually fallen asleep. But she’d been awakened by some horrible dream and rolled on top of him. He couldn’t remember this ever happening before. She was like an animal. But animals probably didn’t experience this sort of boundless grief and terror. She no longer saw any reason to hold back.

She moaned, loud and strident, clawing at his back. Then she calmed down and finally lay still, clinging to him as she sobbed.

“I was going to be a grandmother,” she gasped. “You were going to be a grandfather. Could it get any worse than this?”

It had only been a few hours since Chief Inspector Singsaker had phoned to tell them what Fredrik had said.

“Shhh,” said Ivar. “This is just as terrible for me.”

“I know,” she said. “I know.”

He felt her start to relax. Gradually, her breathing eased. The tension was seeping out of her limbs, but she didn’t let go of him. Slowly, she began to caress him. She was wearing only panties and a T-shirt. He reacted to her movements, knowing that it wasn’t appropriate. It wasn’t possible, not now. There simply wasn’t room for so many different emotions at once, was there? He tried to roll her off of him.

“No,” was all she said. Nothing else. She stayed where she was.

Then she took off her panties.

*   *   *

She awoke in the morning filled with guilt. How could they have done that last night, in the midst of this awful situation?

Her husband was still sleeping. She stroked his forehead.

“What’s going to happen to us?” she asked quietly, not wanting to wake him. She thought, I feel closer to him now. Before this happened, I didn’t know whether I still loved him. Now I know. And yet everything around us is black.

She got up, put on her robe and slippers. She went straight to Julie’s room, not even glancing at the policeman sitting on a chair in the kitchen.

Of course the room was empty. Julie hadn’t suddenly come home. She wasn’t sitting on her bed, laughing and saying that she’d sure fooled them. The bed was empty and unmade, just as it had been since Julie had disappeared. Elise went over and sat down on it. Under the pillow was a comic book that Julie had been reading. She loved comics. This one was called
Sandman.
Julie had tried to get her mother to read it, saying that it was so good. But Elise hadn’t understood why she should read something like that. Now she took it with her to the kitchen, deciding to leaf through it as she ate breakfast.

The police officer there told her he’d started his shift at two in the morning.

Good, she thought. That means he didn’t hear anything from the bedroom.

“I’ll get the newspaper for you,” she said and put the comic book down on the table.

Snow struck her face as she opened the door. The whole stoop was covered with snow, piled up by the wind. She was about to turn to get a shovel in order to dig out the newspaper when she saw it. Two black eyes staring at her from the snow.

She fell to her knees and began digging. Soon the dog’s fur came into view. She sat there holding Bismarck’s head in her hands. The rest of his body was still under the snow. The dog’s body was ice-cold and completely rigid. Elise let him go and ran into the house, screaming. Where was that damned policeman who was supposed to be keeping watch? Why hadn’t he heard anything?

23

When Singsaker had
gotten home the previous afternoon, Felicia was gone, and when he tried to call her, her cell was switched off.

He went to bed, hoping that she’d show up during the night and crawl under the covers next to him, but that didn’t happen. It wasn’t Felicia who woke him in the morning, softly humming some nineties hit song as she got dressed. It was his phone. As usual, he thought about how he still needed to change the shrill ringtone.

“Singsaker,” he said in a gravelly voice.

“Brattberg here. Did I wake you?”

“What are
you
doing up?” he said, looking at his alarm clock, which wouldn’t go off for hours. But he couldn’t be really angry with his boss. It was a weakness that he’d learned to live with.

“I got a call, same as you,” she told him.

“So there’s a development? Tell me it’s good news.”

“If a new lead in a case is good news, then yes. But from any other perspective, no.”