the door. A figure loomed on the top step, and was I staring into a streaked face. It was my friend Runi. Andreas' mother.
C H A P T E R 1 3
Robert came out of the jail escorted by two officers. He was very pale. Several blood vessels in his eyes had burst and he hadn't eaten for days. Not by way of some form of protest, just that he couldn't keep any food down. He was living on Coke and coffee and cigarettes. He didn't want to escape or to make excuses. Simply to understand. He had nothing else to contribute. Now he had all the time in the world, and he soon realised that the best path to the rest of his life lay in his willingness to cooperate. Besides, they were perfectly nice, they treated him with kindness. And that was true of everybody, from top to bottom. Like this police lieutenant, for instance. Robert slowly sat down. What was the rush? Where was he going to hide? It would always be with him, the fact that he had killed Anita. Dragging behind him like a lizard's tail. He hadn't done many bad things in his life. It's true that he wasn't a very good student, but he had no shortage of friends. He was a pleasant boy, it said so in his school report. And he believed the same as most boys, that good things lay ahead for him. That he wouldn't fall into any of the traps. But now here he was, charged with firstdegree murder. Awareness of this fact kept striking him like a sledgehammer, with relentless precision, again and again. He had grown used to the pain.
'Sit down,' Sejer said. 'You can smoke if you like. And let me know if you need anything else. Anything at all.'
'Thanks,' Robert said.
He looked at the grey man. Sejer's towering height was impressive, but he didn't seem threatening. First and foremost, he was here to do his job. That felt good. He had done this before. Robert wasn't unique, not in this place, he was one of many. Sejer wished things were different. That Robert was the first, and for that reason would be remembered.
'The psychologist? He'll come if I call him, Robert.'
'It's fine like this.'
Sejer nodded, pushing back his grey hair. Robert sensed that behind his quiet demeanour slumbered mighty forces that might be aroused to anger if he didn't cooperate. He was wearing a shirt and tie and discreet charcoal trousers with sharp creases. His grey eyes were calmly scrutinising him.
'There's one thing I want to emphasise regarding this conversation. It might not be easy, but I want you to try anyway.' He pulled his chair closer to the desk. 'Through the whole course of events, as we go over everything that happened, try to avoid referring to the fact that you were drinking heavily all evening, or to how intoxicated you were the whole time. We both know that you were very drunk.' He paused and looked at Robert, who was still staring back at him with his eyes wide open, nodding. 'And we both know that this wouldn't have happened if you hadn't been drinking.' Robert lowered his eyes. He heard his lashes brush his cheek.
'We're simply going to review what happened, as you remember it, without emphasising that you were drunk. Placing the events in the context of your drunken state will come later. Your defence lawyer will take care of that. Do you understand?'
'Yes.'
He rubbed his sweaty hands under the desk.
Looked down at his shoes. Prison legs, he thought. Prisoner Robert.
'Let's go over the day that it happened. From when you woke up in the morning until the moment when Anita was lying dead on the floor. As detailed as you can. Take all the time you need,' he added.
Robert began. 'The alarm clock went off at ten to eight.' My voice, he thought. It's the voice of a child. So shrill and strange-sounding. 'I'm usually tired in the morning. But it was Friday. It's easier on Friday,' he said, smiling, 'knowing that it's almost the weekend. We were planning a party. The day before, at work. And Anita said yes. She had got out of a baby-sitting job. And the landlord was gone, so we had the whole house to ourselves. Well,' he took a deep breath, 'it was an ordinary day. I was feeling good. Better than usual.'
'Why was that?'
'Because of . . . Anita.'
It took great effort to say Anita's name out loud. Anita. Anita. If only the name could be erased from all the files in the world. There were lots of Anitas. Each time he heard the name, it all came back to him. And knocked him flat.
'All the same,' he said, clearing his throat, 'I had a suspicion that it wasn't going to last. For ever, I mean. And if I thought about that, I felt resigned. Sometimes I thought about that.'
'Why?' Sejer wanted to know. 'Why did you feel resigned?'
'Anita was . . . great. I didn't need anyone better than her. But deep inside I knew that soon she was going to run off and find somebody else. Someone better than me. Sooner or later.'
'How could you be certain of that?' Sejer looked at the boy's shoulders. They were hunched up, as if against a cold wind.
'She acted the way most girlfriends do, but she wasn't exactly excited about me. It was a matter of time before she chose Andreas. Or Roger, or someone else. I guess that's the way it is when you have lots to choose from. I've never had lots to choose from. That's why this was so important to me. Having a girlfriend. No, not just having a girlfriend, I've had them before. But to have Anita.' Sejer leaned his chin on his hand. 'Was Anita the prettiest girlfriend you've ever had?'
'I suppose she was. She always attracted attention, when I walked down the street with her. People would look at her hair and everything. And then they'd look at who was with her. Who the guy was with a girl like that.'
Sejer studied him intently. The narrow face and the thin hair that hadn't been combed in a long time and was now sticking out in every direction. Dark blue eyes, flitting all over the room. A streak of a mouth, almost colourless. Thin fingers with nails bitten to the quick. Practically a child.
'How did your day at work go?'
'As usual. There's a lot to do on Fridays. I called Anita during my lunch break. Not because I had anything special to say, but I liked being able to call her when I felt like it. She worked at the department store. We talked for two or three minutes, then we hung up. I wanted to ask her to wear a dress, but I didn't dare. Didn't want to seem like the controlling type. Girls don't like that. But she came in a dress anyway.'
'What time was it when everybody had arrived at your room?'
'About 7.00. Anders arrived later. He works until 7.00, so he was probably there by 7.30. I don't remember exactly.'
'What did you do?'
'Drank beer, of course. I mean, we talked. Played music. Discussed things.'
'What sort of things?'
'Football. The Joe Cocker concert, which we went to, at the Oslo Spektrum. He was rubbish. We talked about that for a long time. The girls got mad, they thought he was so . . . what did they say? They thought he was great. You know, the way he stood there, with his body twitching like that, as if he had no control over it. They fall for that sort of stuff.' Sejer smiled. Robert relaxed. There was still a long way to go before the fateful shot. He was at a moment when he was not yet a murderer, and it felt good to be there and forget about the rest, but it was coming. Like a raging bull, the terrible deed stood tossing its head behind a fragile fence.
'Then we talked about politics. The election. Two of them were going to vote and they were arguing about it. Roger and Greta started to dance. Anita was sitting next to me on the sofa. She sat there the whole time until late in the evening, except when she had to go to the bathroom. You know how girls are when they're drinking.' Then he stopped. 'I was so happy,' he went on, quietly now. 'I had everything. I mean it. My room. A job. A girl. Friends. We had two cases of beer . . . er . . . I didn't just have a weekend ahead of me, I had my whole life. Right at that moment I managed to convince myself that it was all going to last. But then I started getting really . . .'
'What were you thinking about,' Sejer interrupted him, 'when you sat on the sofa with Anita and looked around at everything that was yours?'
'That I could have sat there for ever. And about how everything would be when she left.'
'What kind of life did you envision for yourself then?'
'I don't really know.' He made an effort.
'Something about starting again. And how hard it would be. That we don't really ever get anywhere, we just
