When The Devil Holds The Candle

'Thank you,' Skarre said. 'Let's move on. Does he like his job?'

'I don't know really,' she said. 'A hardware store isn't very exciting, after all. But that was all he could get through the employment office. What he wanted was a job in a music shop, but they couldn't find him anything in that line of work. I don't think they tried very hard, either. They write down preferences in their files, but that doesn't mean anything. You have to take what you can get.'

'For an 18-year-old out in the job market for the first time, I can think of worse things than working in a hardware store,' said Skarre.

'Like what?' she retorted.

'Has he ever been involved with drugs?'

'No. And don't tell me that's what they all say.'

'No, I won't say that. But as far as you know, he hasn't?'

'No, he hasn't.'

Skarre wrote a few notes. He was thinking about how he would act if he ever had children. Whether he would lose all perspective.

'How long have Zipp and Andreas known each other?'

'Since they were five. Zipp wasn't too bright, and when he was a little boy, he was fat. He looked like a Polish sausage that had been stuffed too full.' She smiled. 'Andreas took Zipp under his wing. It still surprises me that they've stayed friends, they're so different.'

'Do you like Zipp?' wondered Skarre. She thought for a moment, picturing his blond hair with the lock falling into his eyes. 'Yes,' she said. 'Andreas could have found worse.'

'Good. Does Andreas seem content with his life?'

'He's not lacking for anything. If he were unhappy, I would have known about it.'

'And you and your son . . . You have a good relationship?'

'It's not possible to have a good relationship with a teenage son. No matter what I do, boys at that age don't want to listen to old ladies. Someday you'll understand what I mean.'

'So we'll say that he seems content.'

'With his life, yes. Not with me,' she said bitterly. I'm so naive, thought Skarre. I've always believed that good things await me later in life. But that doesn't seem to be true.

'Was there anything different about his behaviour lately? Anything special that you noticed?'

'I can't think of anything.'

'Did he take anything with him when he left?'

'His wallet and some cigarettes. Nothing is missing from his room.'

Skarre looked up.

'Not as far as I can tell,' she added.

'I'm going to talk to his friend. You should stay home near the telephone.'

She stood up and walked out of the room. Skarre had a strange feeling. There was something about this woman and everything that she wasn't saying. Who was Andreas Winther? It occurred to him that she didn't know herself. After a few minutes he left the room and went to Sejer's office. The door was locked. Surprised, he stuck his head in the door of Holthemann's office.

'Konrad?'

Holthemann shoved his glasses down his nose.

'He asked if he could come in late today.' Skarre looked at him in astonishment. That was unheard of.

'Anything up?'

'It's his mother. She died last night.' The news prompted a solemn nod from Skarre.

'We should send flowers, don't you think?' The department chief frowned. 'I'm not sure. Do you think we should?'

Skarre stayed in the doorway. Well, it was to be expected that people would die at the age of . . . he wasn't quite sure how old, but well over 80. It was the kind of thing that grown-ups had to deal with. Nothing to make a fuss about.

'I'll take care of it,' he mumbled and left.

*

The gravity of the situation came creeping in like an ominous fog from the sea. A policeman at the door!

Zipp put on a brave smile. My expression suits the occasion, he thought. I'm worried, for God's sake. Worried about Andreas.

'Jacob Skarre.'

'Come in. We'll go downstairs.'

His mother came out of the kitchen. 'No, why don't you sit here and I'll make some coffee.'

'We're going downstairs,' said Zipp grimly.

'I'm the one he wants to talk to.' In spite of her considerable weight, she was wearing a revealing white tracksuit. Her hair was gathered on top of her head and fastened with a red comb. She turned on her heel, offended.

'She always wants to know what's going on,' Zipp said.

Skarre smiled. 'It'd be good if I could talk to you in private.'

They went to the basement room. Skarre looked around. He sensed that Zipp was nervous, but people mostly were, regardless. But he took note of it. Noticed his unruly hair and tight jeans. The basement room with the windows high up on the wall. Like Robert's room, he thought. A television and video. Posters on the walls. Genesis, Jagger. A full ashtray. Blanket on the sofa, which might mean that sometimes he slept down here. Zipp fumbled with the cigarettes on the table. Lit one and exhaled, looking at Skarre, who sat on a chair and gave him a friendly look in return. Minutes passed. The tip of his cigarette smouldered. The silence ran on. Grey dust whirled in the streak of light from the window.

'Are you going to ask me anything?' Skarre smiled politely. 'I'm really here just to have a talk. To find out who Andreas is. What he might be up to.'

'I'd like to know that myself,' said Zipp, nodding.

'Let's start with the facts. When you met, when you said goodbye. Things like that. The things that are concrete.'

Zipp had now had time to think. The situation was impossible for him, considering everything they had done that he couldn't talk about. He wanted to help, but he couldn't. No blabbing!

He had to distance both himself and Andreas from the house of that woman. Most of the other things he could talk about. That they went to the Headline. That they had watched Blade Runner together. That afterwards they had walked around town for a while. But not the part about the pram. Or the part about the house and the woman. Or the part about the cemetery, either. Shit, that was a lot.

'First we went to a bar,' he said.

'Which bar?'

'The Headline.'

'What time was that?'

Zipp thought for a moment.

'Eight.'

'Did you meet outside?'

'Er, yes. No.' He made a quick decision.

'Andreas showed up here.'

'When?'

'About 7.30,' he said.

'Okay.' Skarre made a few notes. He needed to keep the boy calm. He accepted the times as reported, smiled reassuringly, listened politely, nodded, took notes. Zipp started to relax and became more talkative, smoking and smiling.

'I don't know what the hell happened. I hope he's all right.'

'Let's hope so. He's your best friend?' Zipp swallowed. 'My one and only.'

'I see. So he turned up here at the house around 7.30. Then you walked from here to the Headline. I suppose that takes about 15 minutes?'